My Attempt At Humanizing Horse Girlies✨ I'm Not A Character Designer So I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

I’m at the beach rn so I wanted to do a quick drabble with fem!reader x König at the beach. Light suggestive themes.

First of all, König does NOT like the beach. There’s too many people, it’s too loud, it’s hot, not to mention all the stares he gets for being tall, hot, and littered with tattoos and scars. Oh, he also wears one of those black surgical face masks to the beach.

König would never go to the beach on his own accord. You’d have to ask nicely beg him to go to the beach with you. He only agrees because he can’t have you prancing around in your cute little bikini with no big strong man to protect you from all the wandering eyes at the beach

König would pack so much water for you two. He can’t have you getting dehydrated! He would carry a whole cooler full of water bottles. You’d shove some snacks in there too, to feed your grumpy man and thank him for going to the beach with you

König has to be almost dragged to get in the water. He was never much of a water person; all his training is on land. He can’t watch for enemies if he’s playing mermaid with you, come on Schatz! He would absolutely NOT play mermaid, I’m sorry :( come on Schatz, grown men don’t play mermaid

After a while, König would get fed up with the water and go back to your spot. He would watch you the whole time though, making sure you’re not drowning or no one is getting too close. His eyes wouldn’t wander to any other woman but you

After an hour or so, König would demand you get out of the water for a water break. He’d make you drink a whole bottle before going back out to swim.

Oh also sunscreen. König gets really bashful when you have to apply sunscreen to him, but he has no trouble applying it on you. Hell, he has half a mind to paw at your breasts while he’s rubbing the sunscreen into those soft curves. You always bat your lashes innocently at him, and he grumbles and tries not to get a hard on. He also reapplies sunscreen to you every hour. You won’t get sunburn on his watch!

Going to the beach isn’t the most relaxing with König, though you know you’ll be well hydrated and cared for ❤️ and it’s all worth it to König when he gets to take you out to dinner afterwards in your cute post-beach makeup and sundress

First time smut writer: Um. Hope this is OK? It's only a bit of smut at the very end of the epilogue and you can skip it, it's ok. So sorry, um. Oh dear me. Please don't judge me. Nobody read this omg what have I done 😳

Seasoned smut writer: *ringing bell* Come get uR PORNOGRAPHY! 10k pwp, it's KINKY AS HECK so share it with all your friends!!! If you've got any suggestions for my Kinktober just drop it in the comments, I will write whatever wet, messy & DOWNRIGHT FILTHY fic about these two idiots 👏

Self-conscious dadbod Buggy who has countless accessories to distract from his gut.

Fit and toned Buggy who peels off clothing at a moments notice.

Dirty pirate Buggy who sweats profusely under his leather fucking pants and a heavy ass coat.

Buggy who stays clean and is meticulous about washing and conditioning his long lush hair.

Confused Buggy who just can't seem to charm people. Even if he's a performer, he can't help but fail at this role.

Completely oblivious Buggy who effortlessly oozes charisma. Panties are dropping and masts are rising wherever he goes.

Godemiché (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: Do you know it’s him that’s fucking you?

Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader

Rating: 🌶️ Explicit 🌶️

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: Dubcon elements, improper use of Devil Fruit powers.

A/N: i do not know what possessed me to write this.

———

It started as a joke. You, a sprightly young thing with twinkling eyes and a dirty sense of humor, unused to the close quarters that came with crewing on a ship. Him, a dirty old bastard with a detachable cock. He presented it to you in a soft cloth bag, grinning mischievously.

“Use it in the dark,” he said with a wink.

He didn't think you would. He thought he'd hear a scream in the middle of the night followed by you slapping him with it the next morning. He may have grown older, but he never really grew up.

But no.

What he feels that night, just as he's drifting off to sleep, is a delicate hand around his shaft. He jerks upright, head whipping around to catch the intruder and hand going to his crotch.

But there's nothing there, neither tackle nor intruder. He panics a moment, only to remember what he’d done and where it is.

It’s currently in your possession. And you’re using it.

The gentle prickle of hair tickles his shaft. You must be sliding it between your pussy lips. How’d you know he was weak for that? For a woman in her natural, unkempt state?

And then it grows warm and smooth and wet. He’s inside you. He feels your muscles shift as you take all of him, easing him in and out, getting him good and lubricated.

He almost chokes.

You’re already quite wet, and it slips and slides in and out with ease. Hot cunt, cool air. He grinds into the air, gasping with each distant thrust.

You grow slicker with each pump. Finally, you take him to the hilt, his entire cock sheathed inside your warmth. You clench him tight.

The air isn't enough. He groans and flips onto his belly. Grabbing a pillow, he mounts it like a dog in heat.

He squeezes his eyes shut. If he pretends, if he thinks real hard, it can be you. He is fucking you, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been dreaming of this since you climbed aboard — hell, even before that, when he first saw you milling about the docks.

Do you know? he wonders as his hips grind. Do you know it's him that’s fucking you?

Your walls flutter, pulling him deeper. You’re coming. And coming. And coming. Must have been a long one. He wishes he could see you fold and buck and your eyes screw shut and your breath hitch and—

He tries not to come. He tries so, so hard. But he fails.

Burying his face in the mattress, he whines your name, high and sweet as a cotton candy cloud. He grinds his hips into the pillow, praying that he’s dreaming and that he’ll open his eyes to see you underneath him.

But alas.

He empties fast and plummets back to Earth. Falling to the side, he reflects on what a pathetic, dirty old man he is.

He can't look you in the eye the next morning. Avoids you at breakfast. Dodges you all afternoon. But you corner him in the evening. Quite literally. He's in the aft hold when you get between him and the door.

Your hands darts out. In a few quick movements, you've undone his trousers and jerked them open. He's too stunned to even cover himself.

Pulling his waistband away from his body, you withdraw something from your pocket and drop it inside. He expects an ice cube. Or a firecracker. He braces himself for pain...

... But it doesn't come. Instead, his equipment returns to its rightful spot, a red silk ribbon tied in a bow adorning his shaft.

“You can have it back, but I’m gonna need that again soon,” you say. You give him a saucy wink and slip out the door.

Well. Seems like you did know.

———

To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar

Konig despises eggplant. He won't go near the stuff. No matter how you cook it, he'll shiver and grimace every time you offer him a bite.

He goes with you everywhere - and I mean everywhere. Sits at the empty table next to you while you get your nails done. Walks down the path from your front door to the mailbox at the crack of dawn, his hands shoved in his pajama pants. Clingy, though he'll never admit it.

Loves a bar of 70% cocoa as a snack. Doesn't need water or milk to wash it down, but he won't turn down a glass of cold, whole milk if it's offered to him (it never is. He grabs it himself).

He'll yell at you to turn the water temperature down when you shower together. Corners himself as far away from the stream as he can, acting like you're threatening him with a scalding fire poke.

When he comes home after missions, he doesn't always drag you to the bedroom to do the devil's tango. Sometimes, he hugs you tightly and begs you to make an actual meal, something to replenish him after weeks of boiled chicken and canned beans from wherever he was shipped off to. He wants you to sit at the table with him and just talk, please just distract him from his own thoughts.

If you hand him something, he'll hold it. He won't even pause what he's doing, whether that's talking about Spartan phalanx formations, or listening to you babble about your day. And he won't let whatever it is go until you tell him what to do with it. You'll turn around, seeing him holding the half stick of butter you handed him well over five minutes ago. "König, baby, you can put that back in the fridge."

He holds your breasts in his sleep in a non-sexual way - but damn, his grip can be fucking tight sometimes. He's got his head resting on your soft stomach, snoring against your skin as his fingers dig and squeeze at your tits. It takes a few minutes of your whining and shoving at his head before he finally relents, wrapping his arms around your waist instead.

He's happy to go to Home Goods with you and spend an hour just sniffing the different candles. He tends to lean towards the apple, cinnamon, pumpkin, or any warm, holiday scents. He can't stand the ones like "tropical waves", or "fresh linen".

He has eaten an entire wheel of brie cheese in one sitting. Multiple times. With nothing else to compliment it. And he will do it again. You can't stop him.

tozozozo

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

Timeout: Janitor

Reasoning: swore in daycare

Got new markers and had to try them out. I dont celebrate halloween, but i like its vibes

Designed a new outfit (and face x.x) for Sunny and hes so cute!! Moony is next for a makeover