Dsmp x reader smut

Show the world what you own.

credits to OdeToTheOld

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Wilbur's hands graze your back as you lean across the pool table. You try to ignore it, angling your cue stick to get the shot right.

You end up finding that angle and hit. The balls ricochet and one of your striped clinks into a corner bag.

You shoulder past Wilbur, walking towards Quackity. You can feel him glaring past you, staring the other man down. The skin around his left eye is puckered and milky from where an enemy had done their damage, but to you, it just makes him all the more intimidating.

Wilbur's as good as a zombie, though his tall stature scares you a bit. His hair is greasy and unkempt, his skin flaky with undertones of green, and he smells. Reeks, even.

You're not sure why Quackity keeps inviting him over.

His hands ghost your waist as if this doesn't happen every time he invites the zombie over.

Leaning into Quackity's warmth, Wilbur regards the two of you. "Too bad you don't share, Quackity," he grins past you, musing at Quackity, "or else this little play thing of yours would have come home with me months ago."

Your nostrils flare as Wilbur idly leans down and spins a pool ball with his fingers, effectively ruining the game you had been playing. He does not give you any more of his attention, shifting all of it to Quackity, who's hands grip your waist rather harshly as his eyes dance from your stiffened form to Wilbur's cat-like manners.

"Don't call him that," Quackity all but growls, pulling you into his chest.

Wilbur quirks a brow and pulls his attention from the balls he's been playing with to the defensive stance of the man behind you. "A game of poker, maybe? And then we can settle it," he invites, shifting his gaze to meet yours. He smiles at you, and the only way it can be truly described as is predatory. Anger flares in your stomach. The audacity of this man.

"There's nothing to settle." Quackity finalizes, pulling you behind him as he starts to walk away.

"Quackity-" Wilbur shouts, scrambling to follow behind him. "C'mon. We're friends. Just let us-"

"Wilbur, leave," Quackity seethes. He positions himself in front of you and out of Wilbur's line of vision.

You can hear his proud grin when he speaks. "Just let them decide, Quackity. Give them free choice, for once."

You push in front of Quackity. "I do, you dead son of a bitch."

"Previously dead," Wilbur corrects, glaring at you. "Why don't you come over here and see how dead I really am?"

That's Quackity's breaking point. "Wilbur, get the fuck out of Las Nevads and don't ever come back, or I'll make sure-"

"Alright, alright," Wilbur laughs, making a surrender gesture and backing away. "I'll stay out of your hair." And then he says to you: "don't be afraid to stop by the van, darling."

You fail to hold in a gag.

Quackity calls security to make sure Wilbur is dealt with as he paces around the casino.

You lounge near a poker table, curled in on yourself. The only noises around you are Quackity's quiet muttering to himself that you can't quite make out and the clinking of abandoned slot machines.

You twirl a poker chip in between your index and middle finger, watching Quackity. "It's fine, really," you tell him, and the both of you can see straight through the lie. Your boyfriend turns a bit to look at you, confused.

He clenches his jaw, studying the revolted look on your face. He knew Wilbur was like that, but not that he'd ever do anything to you. Especially when he was right there.

"It's not, though," he shakes his head, walking towards you.

You smile up at him a bit, trying to sell what he already knows is fake.

"I shouldn't have let him near you," he continues, obviously still pissed. It's kind of hot.

"Shit happens." You excuse, waving a hand in the air as if you can wave away the problem. His jaw ticks as he looks down at you, and a softer expression replaces one of anger. You pale, knowing what it means. It's not fear, more so your impatience and keen awaiting. His soft eyes dance from yours to your lips as if he's checking a meal before he eats. Absent-mindedly, you lift yourself from your chair and find yourself in Quackity's grip once more.

His head dips down to your neck and he immediately latches on, sucking at the soft skin. You stifle a gasp, your hands finding their way to his back, trying to find something to hold onto. He smiles at your reaction but does not falter in his marking, his hands exploring your body like he's never touched you before.

He holds you close, his hands eventually finding your waist as he grips you tightly, lightly digging his fingers into soft flesh. You drop your head to rest on his shoulder, quieting the soft whimpers you let out at his contact.

He stops once your shoulder has at least a few spots that bloom with light purples, and you know they're going to bruise bigger and harsher. Still, you move your head from your boyfriend's shoulder to in front of his face, capturing his lips with yours.

Quackity makes sure to hold you as he walks you towards a chair and pulls away for a second to sit. Without a thought, you sit on one of his legs to kiss him again, and he gladly accepts. His hands find your hips and without anything more than a bit of light pressure, you grind against him. You sigh into his mouth at the stimulation, not pausing your kiss.

You pull away to hide your face in the crook of his neck after a bit now that a more constant stream of pleasure-elicited noises are leaving your mouth. Quackity goes straight back towards your neck, dragging your hips when you get too tired to continue.

Your hazy, muddled thoughts don't do much but focus solely on the pleasure between your legs and your rapidly approaching orgasm. After being with him for so long, Quackity can tell.

"Just like that, baby," he mutters, pulling back from your properly marked neck to watch as you unfold.

You cry out a moan, your orgasm ripping through you. Pleasure hazes everything and for a bit it's all you can feel. Quackity drags you through it, keeping your hips at a steady pace while your pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation.

"One more time?" He asks, but doesn't slow enough for you to answer.

Wilbur notices your marked-up neck the second he sees you the next day. That, and your limp.

"No sharing, then?" He muses, standing just on the outskirts of Las Nevadas. Legally, where he's allowed. Still under the blistering sun he finds it in him to ruin everyone's day.

Quackity doesn't say anything. He just takes your arm and leads you off, certain you need to be decorated with the beautiful purple just a bit more.