I'm in an Eren mood, and just found your bomb fics🫶🏾!! I was wondering if you can do a tomboy/boxer(or weight lifter) reader who has a smart mouth with Eren, they're really competitive and always arguing(jokingly, because they both have smart mouths) it can smut or not whatever you feel🩷🩷
SUCKER.
best friend eren x boxer black reader
warnings: ex jean, eren HATES jean, pussy eating, recording, great sex/mean ren
a/n: doing a part two 🫶🏾
masterlist
Friday night, 11 p.m.
A small gathering was taking place while you were at Connie’s house. Your friends, including your annoying best friend Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Historia, her girlfriend Ymir, and your ex-boyfriend, Jean, were there. Your use of the term ‘friend’ for him is rather polite. You were here, drinking rather than mentally preparing for your match in the upcoming week at home.
You were lying on the couch. Eren lazily leaned his head on your lap, entertaining himself with random Instagram reels on his phone while holding a bottle of Cognac in his unaccompanied hand. Card games were being played by the rest of the crowd to entertain themselves. As you were all quite drunk, Connie made the decision to introduce a drinking game.
“Not gon’ play with them?” He whispers, the sound still rumbling against your exposed thighs.
You sigh, actually contemplating it. You probably would’ve said no if you were sober —scratch that—you definitely would’ve said no. You know that Eren wouldn’t play unless you did. His ego is too big to admit it, but he followed you around like a lost puppy. The only reason he came here was because of you.
“I might. Join me? We should keep a score to see who gets the most points.” You grin, head spinning when you abruptly shift your position.
“Compelling. What kind of points?”
“Isn’t this game like you have to answer a question or drink? I get to drive your beamer for a week if I answer the most questions. And you have to buy me new gloves for my match.” You poke his shoulder as you speak. You see his eyebrows raise up in amusement.
He snorts, “And what do I get if I win?”
“What do you want? And don’t say nothing crazy, I’ll fuck you up.”
At that, he gives an amused laugh, “Girl, please. You can’t even reach my face. Short ass.”
You flick his forehead with your finger, snickering when he groans a bit. “Reached it now, didn’t I?”
“You’re not funny. Nobody laughed, actually.”
“I did. Now, answer the question, fore’ I do it again.”
You get an eye roll and a sly smile on his pink lips as if he has come up with some devious plan. You would’ve started regretting this, but you’re not a quitter. You started this shit, and you’re gonna finish it through.
“You have to do anything I say for a week.”
You suck your teeth, “We not in some video on Pornhub, boy. Be for real.”
“Any video starring you and me in it would have Hollywood rushing to put it on the big screen. You be for real.”
That renders you silent. For a moment, no one says anything. Eren just stares intently into your eyes, waiting for your response.
“.. That’s what you want?”
“That’s what I want.”
There’s nothing much to say after that. You push Eren’s head up so you can stand, ass jiggling in the shorts you were wearing. As if by magic, he follows behind you, with you failing to notice his gaze drifting downwards to give your ass a drooling gaze.
They gathered in the living room and sat in a nearly perfect circle. You opted to seat yourself right next to where Sasha was sitting. Eren, of course, shoved Jean, who was sitting on the opposite side, to sit next to you. You would have said something before you and Jean broke up, but that isn’t your man.
Your relationship with Eren was a source of jealousy for him, leading to your split. For years, you and Eren had been friends; you had practically grown up together. Your moms had been friends, so by default, you two started hanging out every single day since grade school. The two of you were very close, extremely close. You slept in the same bed together; he was your first kiss, and you were his. You even lived in the same apartment.
You’re not oblivious. At least you don’t think you are. It was always clear to you that having a boyfriend would necessitate changes. The act of sleeping in the same bed and cuddling with Eren would necessitate changing. Eren reluctantly understood, but there are times when you wake up in the morning and find him fast asleep on your stomach.
Every day, Jean would complain about Eren being too close to you and how he doesn’t like him living with you. He suggested that you move in with him a month after you started dating. You two hadn’t even fucked yet.
You would never drop Eren, he was too important to you. So, it’s safe to say your relationship with Jean didn’t last long.
You ignore his gaze on you as you giggle at something Sasha said. Connie finally comes back with a stack of cards that say ‘Truth or Drink: Dirty and Sex Edition’ and a bottle of Hennessy.
“Ya’ll know the drill, answer the question, or take a shot. Don’t be pussy, though.” He addresses the group over music playing.
The game gets off to a fast start. The questions began simple, such as ‘Are you a virgin?’ or ‘How many bodies do you have?’ These are not things that should make anyone feel ashamed. Eventually, they became a bit more intimate, at least for you. You had 9 points, and Eren was in the lead with 12 points.
“Your turn, (☆).” Connie addresses you.
After pulling a card from the pile, the next question causes your breath to pause. Swiping the bottle, you take a deep breath to prepare yourself for the burn this drink will give you.
You’re stopped short by Eren, “Aht— you gotta tell us what the question says.”
“Not important.” You take a sip, gagging when the flavor finally hits your mouth. You’re too occupied to notice Eren quickly removes the card from your lap. When he reads it out loud, you almost choke on your spit.
“Have you ever hooked up with a friend?” In response to the rest of the group’s ‘Ooohs,’ he snickers at you.
You smack his head lightly, “Asshole.”
“Who you fucked, girl?” Sasha pokes at you. The attention is entirely on you, causing your face to flush in embarrassment.
“I plead the fifth.”
“Was it Eren?” Jean’s voice prompts a quick turn of your head. He looked so angry, so ticked that he could explode if you said one wrong word. You answered to avoid causing a scene,
“No.”
You’re nearly afraid to look at Eren, yet you realize he’s staring at you. His gaze was burning on the side of your face, making you squirm. Jean’s scoffing shows he didn’t believe you, but you’re not here to argue with your ex. Connie recognizes that you no longer want to talk about it, so he turns the spotlight on him when he pulls another card.
You’re about to send a grateful glance to him for that, but your body stiffens when Eren whispers in your ear,
“You just gonna lie to him like that?”
You grit your teeth, keeping your voice as low as possible, “Shut up.”
“What, you gonna protect his feelings?” Eren’s energy is condescending and irritable, to say the least.
“I’m protecting your frail ass ego. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you when I tell them you didn’t even make me cum.” You lie through your teeth, smirking, thinking you won.
You almost yelp when you feel a pinch on the side of your hips, “C’mon, mama. Your body never lies, especially not to me. Remember those pretty moans clear as day— ‘Oh, daddy! Right there— gonna cu-’”
Your hand covers his mouth, and you’re about to smack him again when you feel that stupid, cunning smile against your hand. You pause and sigh in relief when you realize that no one has heard him, as they’re too preoccupied with Sasha, who’s indulging in the bottle. No one except Jean, who’s practically seething in anger as he glares at Eren.
- -
It was now one in the morning. Most people were passed out because of how drunk they were. Only you, Eren, and Jean were awake, with Jean nearing sleep while staring at his phone. It goes without saying that Eren won the bet; he had no shame when it came to his sexual innuendos.
You’re about to get up from your seat on the floor, but Eren’s grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. You try to look at him but realize he’s not even paying attention to you. Instead, his eyes are intently focused on the shorts you’re wearing with a frown.
“You good?” You speak, thinking that your sudden voice will dislodge his gaze.
“Hmm. These shorts aren’t easy access.”
That’s the message the liquors are trying to convey -- it must be. You and Eren only slept together once, but you assured him that it was a mistake that wouldn’t happen again to keep your friendship intact. He handled it well, perhaps too well. Almost like he was expecting you to say that. As if you hadn’t experienced heaven on Earth that night, you both returned to your normal lives.
“Eren, there are people here.” You whisper rather harshly.
He unbuttons the only button on your garments, “I don’t see anyone.”
“Jean is right there.”
“..Anyone important.”
Your eyes widen when he plays with the hem of your peaking panties now that your shorts are loose. He’s so stealthy with it, too, like he’s not doing anything wrong. You have to snap out of it when you realize you’re in a room full of friends. You slap his hand,
“We’re not doing this here.”
His response is quick, “Oh, so if we weren’t here, you would?”
“If you two are gonna fuck, can you do it somewhere else?” Jean is downright peeved by the sexual tension that is erupting between you two. At this point, he’s just annoyed. Annoyed that his suspicions were confirmed. You two are definitely more than just friends.
You freeze, failing to remember that he was still awake for a moment.
“Jean, it’s not like that-”
“It is like that. I might take you up on that offer, Jean boy.” Eren abruptly ends your sentence with a gleaming smile, making it clear that he’s only trying to annoy him. He’s petty like that. You’re tempted to hit him again.
“No, it’s not. Stop being petty-”
Eren turns to you abruptly, eyes zeroed in on your lips. His voice is purposely loud so Jean can hear precisely what he’s saying to you. “Will you let me eat your pussy again if we leave here, (☆)?”
You gasp, your pussy tightening a bit at how desperate his tone is. You really want to say yes, but you know that’s the liquor talking. It has to be. Jean scoffs, pulling you out of your daze.
You scowl and push his hands off you, “I’m leaving, and I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”
When you stumble to stand, he watches you, his eyes fixed on the fatness of your ass and its movement. These shorts are a favorite of his. He sighs, his lips twitching as he speaks,
“Can I-”
“No.” And with that, you stumble off to the room, making sure to lock the door behind you.
Eren makes the decision to return to the couch in the living room to sleep. Jean’s eyes never leave him all the time, and when he catches him staring, he doesn’t fail to stare back,
“The fuck are you looking at?”
Monday afternoon, 3 p.m.
“Imma be real with you. I’m all for equality and shit, but seriously, you hit like a girl.”
The deep voice of your best friend flutters in your ears as you throw another punch at the hand he’s holding up. You’re both in the boxing ring at your local gym, practicing for your next match.
As always, your best friend is there to help you and throw some lighthearted insults your way.
“Eren, please don’t get fucked up.”
He gives a laugh, a genuine one that makes you roll your eyes, “Oh yeah? With those weak ass hits? Forgive me if I’m not shaking in my shoes right now.”
You throw another hit at his wrapped-up hand, harder this time. You can tell by the way his unwavering hands move a little. You grit your teeth at the fact that he doesn’t wholly stumble back.
“Yo,’ ass was damn sure shaking in your shoes when I almost folded you.”
“So, we lying now?” That little smirk that was forming on his face never backed down.
It almost irritates you how arrogant he is. Connie and Eren always get into these friendly play fights, never anything serious. But that’s just your best friend. If anything, you would probably chew up any other person with your mouth. Connie, for example. Not Eren, though; he always had something to say back.
“Every word that comes out your mouth is a lie.” Your whisper
“You not any better.”
You hit his hand again, “Now, what the hell are you yapping about.”
“Why would you lie to your little boyfriend yesterday?” His voice is low and calculated as he questions you. He was getting heated again.
“Ex. And I’m not sorry. I didn’t want to tell the man who’s been worried about us the entire time we dated that I got your dick wet.”
“Dated. Past tense. So, why the fuck are you worried about it?” Now, he holds your hands to prevent you from moving.
You huff, “I’m not rude, Eren. I have no beef with the man. Now, let’s keep practicing, please.”
You think he’s going to release your hands, but he only stares at you. Your heart is racing. Does he really feel upset about this?
It seems he is because Eren pulls your body out of the ring and drags you to the nearest locker room. The gym is closed today, only opened to the two of you because he’s friends with the owner. Now that he has you to himself, he has no worries about anyone ruining this moment.
You would have protested; your resolve is usually stronger than this. But it’s Eren. Your Eren. Your best friend who happens to be really good with his tongue, his fingers, and that absolute monster in between his legs.
Fuck it feels so electric when his tongue laps in between your wet folds, your body squirming on the bench he seated you on. You can’t stop twitching, your arousal just overflowing on his tongue.
“Thought this was a mistake? ‘It can never happen again’, that’s what you said right?” He lightly bites on your clit, relishing in the gasp you emit.
“Look at you now, letting it happen again.”
He pushes two fingers past your walls and rapidly moves them in and out, grazing your spongy spot. They’re curling inside you, and with every stroke, you feel yourself falling more into a haze. Your eyes start crossing as Eren stirs up your insides.
You whimper out, “S-Shut up. Shitt.”
“Oh, no. You’re gonna listen t’me today. Maybe we should send a video to Jean, show him everything he could never do to you.”
You hate yourself for it, but the thought of it gets you even wetter for some reason. With the way your best friend chuckles against your core as the squelching sounds coming from you get louder, he can tell, too. Your pretty brown pussy is just splashing on his face, he’s in love with it— in love with you.
He rasps out breathily, “Wet my face, baby.”
Your face twists as he works his fingers against your cervix. The sounds coming from you are simply divine. The heat in your stomach is palpable, and the heat in every crevice of your body is sizzling and electrified.
“Want me to fuck you, right? Cum then, (☆).”
It’s as if your body knows what he’s saying because you release immediately. Your body shakes when you squirt. Your addicting juices spraying all over his fingers— his face. Eren slurps up everything you have to offer, and its sounds are just so obscene that you’re sure anyone would know what’s going on if they just walked by the door. Your loud moans would probably give it away, too.
Eren deliberately takes his time creeping up to your panting lips and pulling his thick fingers out of your walls. Your breath is sucked out of your lungs when he kisses your lips. The taste of your essence makes your pussy drip as he sucks on your tongue. You love it, so drunk off the taste of him.
You frantically pull his hips onto yours, unaware that he’s already pulled his dick out. It’s not much for his tip to force itself inside of you. He has to do most of the work to fuck the rest of his inches in. You’re gasping against his lips, trying to moan, but he won’t let you. Every time, he swallows them.
It’s torture. He’s so thick that it stings a little. He gets a little impatient and slams into you all at once. Screaming in a muffled voice, you quickly press your hands on his stomach. He’s making your pussy sing some nasty noises that make you feel so good.
You’re squirming your body as Eren starts feeding you gut-punching stokes. That won’t do.
With a harsh grip on your wrists, he pushes them above your head with one hand. “I couldn’t make you cum, right?”
You huff, your eyes rolling back in your head when he abuses your cervix. It’s too late for you to realize when Eren takes out your phone. He knows your password and keeps thrusting in you when he opens Jean’s message thread. He scoffs when he realizes you haven’t yet blocked and deleted his number.
That catches your attention as your eyes struggle to settle on him, “W-What are you doing?”
He shuts you up by speeding up his movements. Shit. You almost choke on your spit when he leans his body on you so hard your legs are reaching your ears. The only inkling you get that he’s recording is when your ears catch on the sound it makes when he presses that red button.
You don’t stop him or even struggle against his hold. You can only morph your face into pleasurable expressions as he makes you feel euphoria. He sets your phone on the wall behind the bench, and he can see it’s showcasing the both of you. Good.
Eren, let’s go of your wrists to use both hands to press on the back of your thighs into the wood underneath you. You feel him deeper this way, his bulge pressing against your stomach every time his tip touches your womb. He finds joy in the fact that the camera captured that.
“Ren— baby— I’m g-gonna make another mess.” You whine, pressing on his stomach to stave off your impending orgasm—it does nothing. Nothing, but make him push harder so you can feel how deep he’s going.
“Go on then. Show the camera how messy you get for me and only me.”
Your breathing stutters, “Only you— fuckkk. S’too m-much”
“You love me, baby?”
You cum right then, choking on your moans as you barely get your words out, “Love you so much.”
He groans against your ears when he fills your pussy with his seed. It’s so much, too, so thick, you feel as if it’s coming out your throat. This is what you craved the most, the feeling of his cum stuffing you. You’ve dreamed about this since he did it for the first time.
Feeling worn out, you are basking in the afterglow while breathing heavily. Eren never takes his dick out of you, but he takes this moment to end the video and quickly sends it to Jean with a small message accompanying it,
she lied, lol. 😂
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Man, okay, chapter 58 of "Saezuru", and this one was a doozy.
As usual, the Yakuza plot is super complex and involved, and I think I'm going to have to go back over previous chapters to make heads or tails of it. So I'll just focus on Yashiro and Doumeki, and in turn, Misumi and Tsunakawa for now.
So the cat's just out of the bag with Misumi finding out about Yashiro's involvement with Doumeki (though it seems clear to me that he isn't really aware of their sexual relations at this point, and I dread to find out what his reaction will be if he does find that out). What I didn't expect here was for Tsunakawa to basically start shit by telling Misumi about Doumeki, seemingly just to see what his reaction would be. But clearly, there's some deeper agenda at play. I think he's trying to gauge just how involved with Yashiro Doumeki is, and seeing Misumi's over the top reaction to finding out that he essentially sent Yashiro to the same place Doumeki was is going to give Tsunakawa a pretty good idea. He's going to know from Misumi's reaction that Yashiro and Doumeki aren't just "friends" or associates, or working together on business. Misumi is obviously pissed, but I think he'll be a lot MORE pissed if he finds out that Doumeki's been going to Yashiro for, it seems, the last two weeks, every time he has a moment to (and I'll get into that in a bit here). I've said before that Misumi's possessiveness of Yashiro would cause him to be particularly unhappy if he were to find out Doumeki is back in Yashiro's life, because I think he sees Doumeki as a threat to his hold on Yashiro. Also just to add, Misumi saying "That fucker hid it from me", with regards to Yashiro, also seems to convey just how pissed Misumi clearly is.
I also found Tsunakawa's comment about Yashiro seemingly having it good, and Misumi's response to that really interesting. Misumi says "Is that how you see it?", which implies to me that Misumi is aware that he basically keeps Yashiro in a kind of prison. That he may appear to have the freedom to move about and do what he wants, but the reality is, he's been under Misumi's control and thumb for over 20 years at this point. He isn't free at all, actually.
And okay, so... I don't know what the heck Doumeki is doing or thinking at this point. The fact he's been going to Yashiro over and over, for the last few weeks, having sex with him and then leaving, all the while clearly driving home to Yashiro the message that he doesn't have any feelings for him any longer and is just using him for sex... I can't imagine the toll this is taking on Yashiro mentally, and I can't imagine what it is Doumeki is trying to accomplish with this, other than keeping Yashiro in traction and basically trapped. I'm just going to flat out say I don't like it, and I think Doumeki is doing Yashiro a lot of harm at this point. He needs to quit pretending he doesn't care, and I think in order to do that, Doumeki is just going to have to face his own fears of losing Yashiro and accept whatever happens. I spoke before about how Doumeki is trying to control Yashiro, to keep him from running away, and a lot of that is rooted in a possessiveness that, frankly, he has no right to. Again and again throughout his life, Yashiro has been treated like an object and a possession by other men, and I see Doumeki doing the same to him now, and it really sucks. He's fucking with Yashiro's head, whether intentional or not, and given Yashiro's mental problems, I think it's wrong and potentially irrevocably damaging to him.
I think Yashiro's agitation toward Kageyama is sort of indicative of his growing despair, too. Kuga comes in and starts questioning him about Doumeki, and just Kuga being there, with Kage, is serving as yet another reminder of Yashiro's own isolation and loneliness. He gave Kuga to Kage, basically, set them up together, and then Kage has the gall to ask Yashiro here if he's alright, and then bring up to him his feelings for Doumeki. Given their history together, and his own obliviousness to Yashiro's feelings, that must seem particularly insulting and like rubbing salt into the wound for Yashiro. Kage also badgering Yashiro to "get out already" of the Yakuza, as if it's that easy, all while remaining blissfully unaware that Yashiro is only in the Yakuza to begin with because of Kage and the sacrifice Yashiro made to save his friends life and career... yeah, I was feeling pretty pissed at Kage and his usual, shitty ignorance this chapter.
The final images, of the rain starting to come down, and Yashrio remembering his exchange with Doumeki before the time skip, asking him what falling in love feels like for him... well, this is what falling in love feels like for Yashiro. Constant rejection and loss. First with Kage, and now, seemingly, with Doumeki. That last time it was raining, Yashiro seemed to lose Doumeki, after watching him be shot and fall under Hirata's gun. And shortly thereafter, he let Doumeki go, casting him out of his life for both their sakes.
That we see him walking alone in the rain here seems to symbolize his eternal loneliness, the way he's fated to forever love and not be loved in return. The second to last panel, showing Yashiro's pained expression, his teeth gritting together, and his words "Spare me, really,", seems like a plea to the universe to stop tormenting him like this.
How much pain can one person take?
Anyway, these are just my initial impressions after one read through. This was a really dense chapter with a lot going on, so I may have gotten everything wrong, lol. I'm going to go back and read it again, more slowly this time, and if I have any additional thoughts, I'll add them.
Just an additional note. Yashiro replying "No, not really," to Kage's question of whether he intends to quit the Yakuza also seems indicative to me of Yashiro's general feelings of despondency. At the beginning of the time skip, Yashiro seems almost intent on getting out, making real moves toward that end, trying to make enough money to basically buy himself out. But now he's saying he's not even really intending on quitting. I feel like, given what's going on between him and Doumeki, Yashiro is started to feel hopeless, and his resignation to his position in life, despite the misery he's always felt being trapped in that world, seems like an extension of that.
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Husk coming home from a rare day out doing hotel errands no one else could do to his partner having set up a romantic date night in for them
His inner hopeless romantic implodes
- 💃
That man needs to be wined and dined~
He's so exhausted when he comes home that night. Everything fucking hurts; he feels like he's been in a fight, when really all he was doing was running around the Pride ring completing errands for Alastor. Did Alastor really need all of this shit done, or does he just think it's funny making Husk waste his time? Whatever the reason, he's tired and sore and pissed, and all he wants is to curl up in his bed and drink himself to sleep. Angel is waiting on the couch when Husk enters the lobby, and Husk is firmly intent on ignoring him, until-
"Hey, Husk! (Y/N)'s waiting for ya! Wants you to meet them in their room!"
The fact that this doesn't excite him lets him know how fucking tired he is. "God damn it, it's been a long fuckin' day..."
"And maybe you could use a long fuckin' night to deal with it!" Angel suggests with a laugh.
"I'll just tell 'em I'm too tired... I'm sure they'll understand..." Of course you'll understand. You've always respected his boundaries. Still, having to turn down a night of passion with his favorite person still sucks, no matter how not in the mood he is right now...
He goes to your room, fully expecting to hear seductive jazz music and see you in some sexy bed clothes. Instead, the music is a calm piano-led melody, and your outfit is more suited for a night out, classy and beautiful. You're sitting at a table covered in a nice tablecloth, with two steak dinners and a sweet-smelling candle display in the middle.
"Welcome back, Husk!" you say cheerfully. "I figured you'd be hungry, after being out for so long, so I thought I'd have some dinner ready for you. It should still be hot! Lucifer showed me a good spell to make sure of that! That's all he helped me with, though. I cooked it myself, no magic."
Husk takes a seat and cuts into the steak. The knife glides right through the tender, juicy meat, and he can't help but flick his tail as the delicious taste melts in his mouth. Rare, just as he likes it, and hot and fresh as if it just came off the grill.
"You didn't have to do all this for me," he says.
"But I wanted to," you say. "You deserve a nice surprise every once in a while." You smile at him. "The way you're digging into that steak is making it worth it. I take it I did a good job?"
"It's delicious," he says after swallowing his current bite. As he continues eating, you grab a wine bottle that he hadn't noticed before in his starved, exhausted haze.
"This is the kind that you said goes well with steak, right?" you ask as you fill both of your glasses with the dark red liquid.
"Yeah, that's the one," he replies only needing the slightest glance at the label to know what kind you're pouring. "You've got a good memory."
"Of course I remember! Do you think I don't listen to my partner when he talks about his interests?"
Husk laughs as he brings another bite of steak to his mouth. "Never doubted you for a second, doll."
It's nice for him to be doted on every once in a while. The food is incredible, exactly to his tastes, and you never let his wine glass go empty, even when it's clear that between the two of you he'll be drinking the majority of the bottle.
The two of you won't be having sex tonight. Even if the meal and conversation helped to lift his mood, his body is still in no state for anything wild. Still, you'll show him affection in whatever way he needs.
"Would a massage help?" you ask. "I hate seeing you in so much pain."
"A shoulder rub would be nice..."
The two of you change into something more comfortable, you in a non-revealing pajama set and him in nothing but a clean set of boxers. Husk then lets his mind drift away as you firmly rub the tension from his neck, his shoulders, his wings, his back... anywhere he requests, you're happy to provide. Soon, he's too relaxed and maybe a little too drunk to think or move. He wraps his arms around your torso and snuggles into the crook of your neck, with no intention of going anywhere until he's good and ready.
"I love you, Husk," you say as you lightly rub behind his ear.
You didn't need to say it; you've done more than enough to show it, not just tonight, but every minute you ever spend with him.
He still loves hearing it.
"I love you too, doll."
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after hours of punishing vox and edging him and stuff he’s so deep in subspace he just begs you to praise him 😕😕 i just love the idea of his bratty walls coming down and just wanting the readers approval, like being all weepy about it!! he puts up with so much shit (and gives out the same energy) for so long all day that he just wants his mommy to be nice to him 😔 mmfph subby vox just 😍😍
Tender
THANK YOU ANON I just wanna care for this lil needy brat so badly I swear <3 also I like how my name is VoxisDaddy and yet every time I write him in a sexual context, he's a subby bottom and occasional pervert lol
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Pairing: Vox x Reader
Type: Headcanons + kinda rambly | Fluff
C/TW: Suggestive content, marking this 18+ because of it, needy Vox, tears, mommy kink, fluffy aftercare, sub!Vox x Dom!Reader, reader implied as fem im sorry :c
In which after hours of endless (pleasurable) torture, all Vox wants is his mommy's sweetest affections <3
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Whatever the fuck it is he did to deserve this overwhelming pleasure he's already long forgotten about. Poor baby's too fucked dumb :c
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Once you finally detached yourself from him, his legs fall limp against the bed, quivering. You could poke or accidentally graze his thigh and his legs would twitch rather suddenly. "Mommy" falling from his lips in short mumbles
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He would so panic when you get up to leave, reaching a clawed hand out to grasp at your arm desperately. He'd softly tug on your arm as he babbles almost incoherently
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You swear you can hear something about "mommy" in there somewhere—which is new. He normally used that term during or leading up to it, never after
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Though perhaps by now you already understand what he wants since this is likely not your first rodeo like this. Gently you'd pry his hand off of you and he wouldn't put up much of a fight sine he doesn't wanna accidentally scratch you. He'd look up at you pleadingly though; don't leave him :c
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You'd have to reassure him and kiss his knuckles softly. Saying something like—"I'm just gonna go get something to clean you up baby, I'll be right back." No longer than a few moments do you come back with a damp rag and carefully run it over his quivering thighs and the surrounding area. He lets you do this, his gaze never leaving you
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Once he's all cleaned up and not feeling so sticky anymore this man will absolutely not let you leave
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He's actually so fucking clingy, muttering into your skin about how good you made him feel and if he did a good job—asking if he's forgiven for being such a brat
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Maybe you'd contemplate this just to be a bit mean cuz he's really been unnecessarily rude lately, today being the final straw, but looking at him all clingy, teary eyed, and desperate for your love you can only sigh; "You did so good for me baby. So much self control."
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ The lights in the city didn't shut off too early this time :D
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I feel like in his fucked dumb foggy brain, he'd silently beg to suck on your tit. Being the good boy he is, he waits for permission and goes for it—whimpers softly at your quiet praises
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Ngl I kinda see the clinging seeping over to the next day
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Like you'd be sitting on the couch sipping on your morning drink and Vox would walk over in more comfortable clothing. You'd raise a brow—he usually heads to work as soon as possible, what the hell is he still doing here? He'd wave you off, giving some kind of excuse then sitting on the floor in between your legs, resting against you as you watch tv. his arms resting on your thighs as he sits back and relaxes his sore af body
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Either takes the rest of the day off and follows you around like a lost puppy or practically clings to you as he sits in his office chair working-or maybe on your lap while you hug him from behind
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This last one is just a personal funny thing I'm picturing and it's Vox being in a noticeably good mood that day and just giving his assistant a random ass pay bonus. Side eyeing you to see if you noticed his generosity lmao
IM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE A WEEK AND A HALF TO COME OUT ANON SVAOVBNO
Sometimes my posts get shadowbanned, I'd really appreciate it if you not only liked but also reblogged <3 no pressure, just a thought!!
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I think I cried harder today over my dad's jackets than I did at his deathbed. That was a miserable time of course, a memory that will likely be seared into my brain until I die, but I cried... I think a normal amount, all things considered. More than I ever usually do of course, but I typically don't cry At All. All this free crying is certainly surreal.
The jackets, though. I was put in charge of doing his laundry, because we don't want to pack up dirty clothes. I was expecting it to be unpleasant bc my dad's dirty clothes - gross. But really, it was much more unpleasant in that... those were his. It felt wrong to touch them. Felt wrong to treat his jackets as gross. Because they were just his jackets. They weren't even in the hamper. And then I was remembering him wearing them, and then I was crying. Again. And again. Weeping over these damn jackets.
Then I found a shirt on his bed that still smelled like him. It smelled like a Hug From Dad. And that set me off crying even harder.
In total, I think I cried like 6 times within 40 minutes. It took me that long to finish sorting the damn clothes bc I just. Was a wreck. Like, what are you supposed to do when you're living life like normal, vaguely hopeful bc you're taking steps to secure your own happiness, and then 4 days later you're sorting your dad's laundry because he fucking died. Suddenly. Without a goodbye.
And you have to worry about his lack of a will (even under an ideal situation, only 2 heirs and no conflicts between us, probate's a fucking Bitch), and arranging the funeral, and prepping his obituary, and picking out pictures, and writing a speech bc you want to talk at his funeral, of Course you want to talk at his funeral, but even just thinking about anecdotes you could share has you crying yet again.
I've cried more times in the past 3 days than likely the entirety of last YEAR. And that's WITH my cat, and uncle, and family friend dying. Those all hurt, my uncle most of all, & I was real fucked up over it. But this? This was my Dad. Likely the person I'd have named 2nd closest to me in my life, second only to my sister. He wasn't perfect, but he did so much for me throughout my entire life. All he wanted was to raise us to be happy and independent. And he accomplished it, we're getting by without him, but we still wanted several more decades with him. He was only 57. We should've gotten several more decades with him.
But here we are now. Playing investigators to his life, digging into all his shit, trying to find documents and take inventory of all his things, and learning Many things about him in the process. In his lockbox of sensitive documents, like his SSN and birth certificate and all that stuff, we found an old letter. About a decade old now, written in my hand. Right at the very top, we found that he'd kept the letter I wrote to him telling him frankly about my struggles and the things I wanted him to do better. He kept it. He tried to take it to heart. He looked at it again, sometime more recently than all the rest of the documents. That was on top.
His love for us is evident everywhere. The pictures he has hanging up all over the place, majority of them with us in them. The old fathers day cards placed on display in his bedroom bookshelf. The gifts we gave him, even stupid little knick knacks, placed around his apartment with pride. I wish we'd taken more videos of him. I don't want to forget the sound of his voice. I don't want to forget his smell either, the smell of a Hug From Dad, but I still tossed that shirt into the wash even though it felt like saying yet another goodbye.
It's the suddenness that hurts the most, I think. We were planning on having him help me finally get my license this year. My final words to him, the last thing he would've seen from me, were messages asking up on whether he'd called his car insurance company to make sure there wouldn't be problems. I should've called him more. I don't know if I'm going to learn from this.
I cut my 2 weeks off early to have time to grieve and to work on things for the funeral and settling the estate. The last thing I'd wanna do right now is selling fucking bubble tea in a job I already decided to leave. So here I am without a job, though with potentially two life insurance policy payouts to come. Inheriting half his 401k. Inheriting couches, knickknacks, keepsakes, paintings, art pieces, maybe even his guitar and other furniture if we can figure out what to do about space (I don't have room for this furniture, I don't know if I even have room for the couches, but God do I want to keep so much of this furniture). It has me even considering keeping one of his guns, just one. A tiny little revolver, it sits so comfortably in my hand. I don't even want to use it for anything. I just want to have it, keep it stored in a drawer with its ammo kept separate. I don't like guns, but this is a part of him. He loved collecting guns. He was about as responsible with them as someone can be, keeping them locked in a lockbox and impressing upon his children the importance of gun safety (I've known the basic gun safety rules ever since I was a little kid. Of course, of course, of course.) It reminds me of him. It's horrifically easy to have a gun in Indiana. I apparently don't even need a permit to carry anymore. (I have no intention to ever carry this in public.)
It's all a cycle. Business, grief, thoughts about my future. Round and round, like the most nauseating carousel in existence. I don't know how I'm still so functional. My skills with compartmentalization have been my lifesaver.
And im just thinking about the story my dad's best friend shared today. About a friend of theirs who lost her father. She reached out after hearing about my dad to share his words with her: "it's okay to grieve, but don't make his death your life".
He explicitly referenced himself in this, saying if he were to die suddenly that he wouldn't want us to define ourselves by it. Grief is expected, but he wants us to be able to move on. He's always wanted us to establish ourselves and make ourselves happy. He wouldn't want to be a weight holding us back from that.
So every time I start to feel guilty for thinking about having nicer furniture or using his life insurance payout to fund the rest of my college, I remind myself of that. Thinking about the material isn't a bad thing. I'm only human. And in the end, he'd Want me to be thinking about it. He never intended to die, certainly not without warning like this, so he would've only encouraged me being pragmatic about it all.
He only ever wanted us to be happy. So I need to do what I can to live up to that.
I love him. I miss him already.
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