honeyyhivee

[honeyyhivee]

i put spell on you ⠀ྀི

⠀ྀི in which sir crocodile feels you put a spell on him ⠀ྀི

cw ⠀ྀི minors dni! reader’s a cult leader with a vampire-like devil fruit (I’m in a spooky mood), black!fem reader in mind but read as you please, explicit smut with a bit of plot, blood drinking/feeding/draining (not during, but before), unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks!), petnames/nicknames (mistress, woman, pretty, doll), hair pulling, biting, cunnilingus, spanking, squirting, restrained by a belt

word count & thoughts ⠀ྀི 1.7k , lowercase intended, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated ♡

“mistress, there’s a man… he’s been looking for you.”

a man in a velvet red suit with a star symbol on the right side of his blazer, symbolizing his allegiance with you. in this wide, dome like opera house, seats filled with your followers, only lighting being the only working chandelier in the middle of the stadium, big arches along the stone walls with a beautiful mural of you on the wide ceiling. you, in a long, dark, flowy dress laid on a gold, black and maroon fainting couch, exhausted by the ceremony of loyalty, swearing in a new member.

a wine glass in your hand with a deep red, smooth fluid, tasting richer and smoother than any red wine a human would drink, filling the beautifully crafted glass. your eyes peered at the man and slowly you tilted your head. “this is important to me… why?” you uttered, wiping the side of your lips, careful not to mess up your lips. “well, miss… he’s um, he’s very close. saying very personal things about you.”

your glare intensified, causing your follower to speak up his words and to speak clearly. “your grace, he’s been saying how you and him have unfinished business. not specifying what that business is and, you see, he’s getting too close.” from his words you chuckle and tut your tongue, not understanding why he was so scared. “do you think this… man could do something to harm me?”

“well- no, mistress, but-“

“so, i ask again, why is this important to me?”

“well, it’s- um… sir crocodile, the warlord of the sea.” the very name echoed throughout the opera house, turning the heads of many. “is it? sea warlord, huh…” you muttered and scanned the building for the biggest men before grinning a wide cheshire grin, fangs on both the top and bottom row of your mouth showing. “sounds tasty… you’ll do something, love?”

your voice, as smooth as butter as you demanded this warlord be brought to you, you knew exactly who this was. a man who was part of your old life.

to your surprise, the biggest, tallest and strongest men in your following that you sent out were deemed as unfit to protect you, being slain by crocodile as they tried to order him to come with them. crocodile took all of them out without a sweat, getting information from the last man alive.

through shallow, ragged breaths, the last man alive, the newest man who’d been sworn in days prior, swallowed and gave crocodile all the knowledge he had, believing croc would let him live. that belief he had was short lived, being killed swiftly afterwards by croc for his disloyalty.

as a storm passed, you grew hungrier and impatient, feeding on a follower, who’d given you the permission to, in front everyone. your fangs deep into his neck, not draining him yet, you were interrupted at the perfect moment.

the storm cleared up as yells came from the entrance of the opera house before the doors were heard slamming open against the hard walls. you took your finishing sips as loud footsteps against the polished hardwood of the flooring took your attention.

“my, my, what an interesting sight.”

a deep voice glossed your ears as you looked up and dropped the man you were draining. sharp toe shoes, a big fur coat in that dark suit, and that big, gold hook. you knew exactly who this was, blood slowly dripping from your lips that slowly turned into a grin.

you stood to your feet as he kept walking towards you, your members following him closely with their eyes, ready to protect you if need be. finally, he got to the bottom of the stage, as you peered down at him, his dark eyes slowly making their way up to yours, simply mesmerized by being in your presence.

having your very eyes maintaining contact with his own set his soul on fire, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way. “woman, you set those weak men to come grab me?”

you went to your knees, leveling with him with the smirk that hadn’t left your face since you got your eyes on him. “i wasn’t gonna get you myself. if you wanted me, you would’ve come regardless and look at ya’… here… in front of me.”

you held your hand out to him, allowing him to press a soft kiss on it before helping you down the steps. your breath hitched at his big, tall stature, praying no one could see it in your face as you walked him to a small office in the front of the opera house. the simple aroma that came from his clothing brought you back, years back, he was and will continue to be the only man who’s been able to satisfy you in every single way.

“i heard you were searching for me… askin’ around.” he chuckled, shaking his head not even being able to deny the claim. “got some business to handle… that’s what i was told… what business, baby? missed me?”

he did miss you, he missed your touch, your smell, your suave tone of voice, and, god, did he miss the way you’d look up at him with hungry eyes. so, when you slowly made your way up behind him, circling him until you were able to face you, then batting your pretty lashes at him, he couldn’t hold back.

the “business” being the craving he had for you that couldn’t be satisfied by anyone else besides you. his hand softly gripped the back of your head, pulling at your hair softly but firmly with his other arm wrapped around your body. you grinned a little before giving him a quick kiss.

“if i… i don’t wanna hurt you again.” you muttered against his lips. “what fun would that be, doll?” this time he went deeper, the two of you moving to the nearest surface. the papers, the money, the flowers, the offerings given to you by followers all on the ground with you bent over this dark wood desk with the beautiful engravings on the sides of it.

crocodile wanted to get everything he had desired, pulling your arch to force your arch more and feeling on your ass. “missed you.”

“i can tell-“ interrupting your words with a spank, causing you to squeal. that’s exactly what he needed, his hard, large hands slapping your ass once again just to hear that sound come out of you.

only time he’d ever go on his knees would be for you, having you with your legs spread open in front of his face. he was looking at his meal, drooling at the sight of your cunt, dripping and aching for him. eyes rolling back as he began to savor your taste without warning, lapping from your pussy to your ass, you just gripped at what you could, biting your bottom lip.

both his big hands spreading your cheeks so he could further admire his pretty little baby, a choked out moan left your lips feeling his tongue shove itself deep between your folds. crocodile loved those sounds, putting him at such peace as he massaged the spots he spanked, his erection throbbing more and more as he continued to eat you.

“fuck- wait-“ your pleases fell upon deaf ears, with him lost in it and you on the verge of tears feeling your release washing upon you hard as you made a mess on his tongue, squirting onto his mouth and face. he stood up, quickly getting his coat and vest off, rushing to get his belt off as he watched your body shake and your pussy drip onto the floor.

“arms to the back, pretty.” hazily you did as he demanded, feeling your arms be restrained by his belt as he tightened it around your wrists, being sure that they weren’t hurting you. you laid your head to the right side, watching as he took his cock out of his pants.

“take a deep breath.” was his only warning before pushing his thick tip, that leaked pre-cum, into you, stretching you out in a way that you only dreamed about.

letting you take another inhale before slowly shoving himself into your cunt, savoring every second of it with a small hiss from his lips. you clenched around his thickness as he gently pumped himself into you, he was a gentleman after all, needed to savor his craving completely. up until you whimpered his name, trying to hold back was no longer easy to do. not when you were begging for more of him.

his grip on the belt tightened as he began to fuck himself into you, grumbling under his breath for you to hold still. you couldn’t hear him though, you were too busy moaning and drowning in the feeling of him hitting your spot each time he thrusted into you.

you just kept squirming with your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he had to fix it himself, pulling you up by the belt restraining you, with his cock still rutting into you, your back arched away from his body with his free arm around your neck, catching you in a small chokehold.

“told you to sit still, now look at you.” you whined before gripping the arm he held you in a chokehold with, biting down into his forearm. he winced a little before continuing to work open your pussy.

you had not been touched this good, since the last time you saw him. tried to replicate the feeling but nothing worked. no one was him, nothing could compare to him, and it was better now, he’d grown bigger and effortlessly hit the spot that made you see stars and feel the kind of ecstasy that nothing, no one besides him, could awaken in you.

with the squelching of your wetness, the slaps of his skin against yours, and the cries coming from your lips, crocodile found the bliss he would’ve done anything to find, like you put a spell on him to make sure he’d never be able to feel this way with anyone.

no matter if he came inside off you, no matter how many times your orgasms hit, you both wouldn’t stop. had to make up for all the time you were apart.

© honeyyhivee (2024)

don’t use or steal my work, thanks!

[honeyyhivee]

BOUND TO BE ⟢⸻ Ryomen Sukuna

cw ──★ NSFW, MDNI, husband & wife dynamics, established relationship, fem reader, descriptions of fem anatomy, m! masturbation, spanking, spit stuff (i am fully down this rabbit hole), cum play, breeding, headlock, arguments, rough sex, manhandling, i cannot remember anything else.

a/n: when i am a chill guy and i try to divorce my husband for fun.

Trying to divorce your husband, Sukuna, is hard.

Because it does not matter how much effort you put into packing up your most essential belongings, making arrangements to stay with a friend for a while, and getting a lawyer to serve him; it all sums up to be null.

Sure he gets served with the papers, but he's sending you a picture of the documents all shredded up by his German shepherds. And a text that follows, 

“You know I hate reading.” 11.45 AM, Read.

But he definitely read those papers. He hated them more than any piece of paper he has ever read. And he hates reading to begin with! So he did the most convenient thing and simply destroyed them. 

Hence, when you call to yell at him, it changes nothing. And even if you still have a set of the same documents, or if you warn him that you will send those papers again, and how he better keep them intact this time—all that he hears is your pretty voice yelling at him, but he has no idea exactly what you were even saying. But damn did you sound great just burning his ears. Cursing him out for everything and anything you can, calling him an asshole, and hanging up on him with a ‘fuck you’. 

He knows that the blows are not going to get any softer if you knew what he was doing right now.

It is not even that he is thinking about anything particularly lewd when he gets bricked up in the middle of the day, it is just the kind of effect you have on him. He is sitting in his office chair, hard as a rock in his pants, and telling his secretary to cancel the board meeting. So he can jerk off while listening to the audio recording of the call he just had with you. 

Ryomen Sukuna has no shame in whipping his cock out of his slacks, leaning back in his very expensive chair, in his very spacious office; spitting on his cock, and jerking it off, with nothing and no one, but his wife on his mind. The recording of the call he just had with you playing on repeat in the background, and you yelling and shouting at him all angry just makes his wrists pick up the pace.

His mind wanders off to daydreaming about how he would bend you over his desk, and slap your ass and cunt until it's red and stinging. How he would only rub his cock in your juices and tease your hole with a little taste and pull away, until you stop whining and groaning and go straight to yelling at him, like you did on the phone. How he would like to put you in a headlock, and have you drool on the gathered up sleeves tightly bunched up on his biceps, and leave a patch on it. 

How your eyes would gloss over and roll back in the inside of your head, and all the yelling and shouting would get stuck in the back of your throat because how good it’d feel to have his warm body weigh you down on the cool surface of his desk. As he thrusts into your cunt mercilessly, until your cervix is bruised, and your walls remember the shape of him. How he will have your cunt clenching to keep all of his seed safe inside your womb, along with his cock, tightening around it and making it difficult for him to pull out. Just how he would clean you up and pick you up in his arms, and drive back home, to fuck you on you two’s bed, until you are well bred and full of noting but his cum.

The squelching sound of his precum and spit—helping him slide his hands around his cock faster and with ease—could never compare to your cunt making sweet sweet noises when he is thrusting in her, the wetness cannot be even compared, and the way your walls hug him tight, warm, and snug; cannot be replaced with anything else.

So how can he just let his wife leave him?

He is a firm man.

He has always been so, with firm beliefs and convictions. And it is part of the reason why you fell in love with him, to even stay married to him for over a decade. But everything has its limits, and you are only a human. Being able to hold your ground may be one thing, but being inflexible to the point that you push away your own wife, is another.

Unfortunately Sukuna did not know the answer to perfect equilibrium. 

And hence, he is in this situation. Trying to give space to his wife, for once, when she actually needs it. Instead of pushing himself into her space when she didn't need him to do that, and withdraw when she tried to reach out to him. For once Sukuna has done the right thing.

Until he did not.

Driving down to your friend's place, to take you back with him, because of course he knows where you are despite your best efforts. You even went out of your way to not go back to your parents’ place this time so he would not be able to trace you down as quickly as he always does. But he has his ways of getting a hold of you, he always has. 

When the bell to your friend’s place rang at twelve AM, you simply thought maybe it was her boyfriend visiting. He has always had odd timing, so you got up to open the door, instead of your friend who was almost halfway asleep on the couch. 

“Are you done throwing a tantrum?” The last person you expected to be standing behind the door when you opened it, with no guard up or whatsoever, was standing in front of you. Clad in a three piece suit, messy pink hair, newly formed bags under his eyes, and signature frown—it was your husband.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“Is the yelling necessary?” 

“YES!”

His eyebrows furrowed further at the state of you. You looked like shit, in terms of that you didn't look taken care of. And that is simply unacceptable. 

“Why did you open the door so easily? Did you even check before opening it? What if it was some creep huh?” His nagging made something flutter in your stomach. Oh, how much you have missed him.

“Yeah, like you are any better.” But this was no time to show him that.

He simply sighed at you, folding your hands on your chest, looking like you had no intention of hearing him out or planning on packing your bags to leave with him. 

“Alright. You made me do this.”

With effortless movements on his part, and some flailing around like a fish on your part, you were on his shoulders; hanging like a sack of potatoes. To be then driven back to the house you built into a home with your now soon to be ex-husband. It did not even make him huff out some air, to walk to his car with you throwing punches on his back. With one large hand on your back, and another around both of your legs—so you do not kick him and tumble off his shoulder in the process.

He sat you down in his passenger seat, while mumbling something about how he would come and pick up your bags tomorrow. He did not even flinch or get angry at you for yelling crude profanities at him, or pulling on his hair, before he locked you in the car. So he could easily get to the driver’s seat, without you trying to escape, like you ‘ve done before. You just wanted him to get pissed enough at you, so you can make an excuse out of that and make him leave you alone. 

Or so you wanted to make yourself assume.

Because trying is all you can really do. Throw some fits and tantrums, try to get him to sign those papers—but you know he would never. His apathy and disdain for communication aside, he is a great husband, and he loves you maybe more than what you can fathom.

And at this point you're so far beyond the point of return, that you don't even think you can do without him, nor can he do without you. He looked paler, and thinner, and the crease between his eyebrows looked worse. But you also looked horrible, with the shine in your hair gone, skin looking dull, visible marks of tears on your cheeks—you missed him dearly, and waited for him earnestly. 

What even the fuck is ‘giving space,’ and how did Sukuna, your husband, of all people got to know about it? Maybe you would have returned home much earlier, if he simply chased after you like he always did. So you tried to stretch your little bubble, to see how long before it really pops, because if the pressure of the air is not enough, what is even enough? 

Saying you hate him? That you cannot stand him? Or that you want a divorce? If only he figured out the easy way around your wrath, maybe then he would not have the unnecessary lawyer’s fees charged on his card that he gave you. 

“You're done with this now?”

It took you a few minutes to answer his question, you just silently sat there with your face planted on the window, as you continued to stare at his reflection—how one of his hands remained on the steering wheel, while the other you could feel rubbing up and down on your bare thighs, barely covered by your shorts. He just knows exactly  how to shut you up. And this is how it goes, you get defeated and you refuse to look at him, until he has you back home, on your bed, and you cannot help but look at him, just him.

“Yes.” The mumble was loud enough to get to his ears, which made the corners of his lips twitch. 

“Good girl.” 

“Shut up, or else I'll actually divorce you!”

He laughed to himself, but he felt the threat deep in his bones. Oh to be threatening Ryomen Sukuna and have him in the palm of your hands.

“Sure. Let's just go home. But you are still getting punished.” His voice sounded at ease, to finally have you with him, but nothing about what he said was going to be easy for you. Sure it sounded playful, or endearing, and filled with love—because it was, but that did not mean the threat was not present. 

But you would have it no other way. Just him talking to you with sweet threats, and mean punishments. Sure it is going to be hard when he will have you crying tears of pleasure and pain, bent over his lap—but you know you are going to enjoy every second of it.

“I know Kuna.”

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: divider by @/omi-resources.

have fun :3c this opened new doors for me. you will be seeing more of him from me >:)

I'd provoke him sm just so he'd rock my shit

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[honeyyhivee]

in the vibrant; loud, gentleman’s club were pretty women all shapes and sizes who danced and twirled on the shiny poles, lived an office. the office was just as luxurious, it had a staircase and large clear windows to look down onto the club. in that same office was a bathroom. large, with a clear mirror that saw everything. but onyankopon’s favorite use of the mirror was when he stood and watched you bounce on his dick.

“yea, dance like it’s the pole mama” he slapped your round ass smirking at himself when you cried out bitting his shoulder. he just stood in his nike socks and naked as the day he was born. his chocolate skin glistened and muscles bulged. his tattoo decorated him beautifully. just like the girl who used her strength to bounce on his dick, hands wrapped around his neck, and ass clenching. while her clear stripper heels hung behind ony as all he did was hold her, slap her ass, and whisper nasty ass banter.

her bundles tickled her ass, teeth steady digging into her plump lip while her eyes rolled to the back of her skull. “that’s right baby show me why you my favorite girl” his words sent a strike to her heart. her pussy creamy and dripping down to onyankopon’s balls.“m’your favorite?” her big doe eyes looked into his pretty brown ones. “yea baby,” he kissed her lips. “now. show. me. why.” with his words he fucked his cock up into her going deeper and making her head fall back. he grunted in approval as he immediately got back to work.

his eyes glued to the mirror watching his dick disappear in the creamy goodness that was your pussy. throwing his head back he bit his lip, as your head crashed down into his neck a loud “onyyyyy” coming from you as your squirted all over him. so much so that it dripped down his leg. onyankopon slapped your ass, holding you up more, and finally started to fuck you during your orgasm. “fuckkk!!!” you moanded cunt sensitive but ony didn’t care, his balls tight and dick pulsing. he stuffed you full. not letting up as his ropes painted your pretty insides, solidifying why you are his favorite.

[honeyyhivee]

Nanami always pays for everything. A complete pushover. The restaurant bill, your classes, your hygiene products, sometimes even part of your rent. Every time, he's the one who pulls out the card, as if it were the most natural thing to do. And even though he does it without hesitation, it weighs on you.

He often tells you that you deserve it all, that you're his priority. That he can more than afford to buy things himself. He says it with such sincerity that it's almost soothing. Almost. Despite his words, guilt whispers to you that he's giving too much and that you're taking advantage of it.

Every time, you thank him. With smiles, tender gestures, grateful 'thank yous'. But deep down, you have this need to give back even a little of everything he gives you. To show him, in your own way, that you love him as much as he loves you.

So you decide to give him a gift. Not something you buy, something you can find in stores or online, not something expensive. Just something personal, real, sincere.

So, you poured your heart into a handmade notebook, filled with photos of the two of you, of him, of shared memories. On each page, a little note, a handwritten memory, surrounded by sweet and simple decorations. You added a letter at the end, filled with your feelings for him, and a bracelet you woven in his favorite colors, delicately attached to the notebook. Then, a small bouquet of paper flowers, all wrapped in a discreet, modest ribbon.

That evening, after yet another dinner he paid for without paying, you went to his house, the gift in your hands. He didn't suspect a thing. When you handed it to him, he looked at you with slight surprise, then gently took the package.

He opened it slowly. His eyes scanned the pages. And then, a smile appeared on his face. One of those he didn't often show. A sweet, rare, sincere smile.

"You didn't have to do all that..." he murmurs, his voice a little lower with emotion.

You lower your head slightly, embarrassed but happier, your cheeks a little warm. "I wanted you to know how much you mean to me... and to thank you. It's not much, but it's all I did with my heart."

He places the notebook next to him and moves closer. And before you can say another word, he takes you in his arms. A long, gentle hug, his scent invading you and reassuring you.

"You make me so happy, you know?"

You smile against his shoulder, realizing it more and more, but you're so happy with him too.

"I should be the one saying that."

a/n: i love nanami sm omg.. ⟢﹒ masterlist

[honeyyhivee]

౨ৎ virgin!reader who really wants fratboy!satoru to take her v-card.

"just the tip," you breathe, the words a soft plea against his lips. they're swollen and tender from his kisses, and his fingers gently brush a stray strand of hair from your flushed cheek. you're perched so prettily on his lap, your pupils blown wide, face flushed.

satoru clicks his tongue, shaking his head, a small, regretful smile playing on his lips. "sorry, cherry. no can do."

a frustrated whine escapes you, a puff of warm air against his skin. "but… why?"

"because," he says, his thumbs lightly tracing the curve of your jaw, "it never ends up being just the tip. the second i try to do what you want, i know i'll cave." he playfully squishes your cheeks together, forcing a pout that doesn't quite reach your heated eyes.

"well, is that such a bad thing?" you ask, your voice thick with lust. "don't you want to have sex with me?"

"obviously, i want to have sex with you," satoru says, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he rolls his eyes. "i just… i want us to take it slow, okay?"

you groan, throwing your head back in exasperation. "seriously? we've been taking it slow. just. the. tip. baby steps, right?"

satoru chews on his bottom lip, feeling shameful for even considering it. he'd promised himself he wouldn't rush this, that he'd give you the best first time possible. you deserve that.

but then there you are. his girl. right here. your discarded shirt lies on the floor, and the lace of your bra does little to hide the tempting press of your perky nipples. it isn't entirely his fault if his resolve is crumbling.

and crumble it does.

"just the tip," he repeats, his voice a husky murmur, his gaze dropping and then flicking back to yours, heavy with unspoken need. he's hovering over you now, the slick head of his cock aligned perfectly with your glistening pussy.

"yeah, yeah," you mumble, impatient, your hands reaching up to hook around his neck, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"cherry, i mean it," he says, his eyes locked on yours, a warning and a plea all in one.

"uh-huh. can you just… can you put it in now?"

satoru sighs, the sound laced with a mock reluctance that does little to hide the tremor in his hands as he grips your thighs. it's just the tip, a gentle press against your slick folds, and a gasp escapes your lips, a feeling of fullness hitting instantly.

he finds himself mentally reciting the names of this year's football teams, a desperate attempt to cling to some semblance of control, to not climax this early. and he's supposed to be the experienced one.

"'toru," you whine, your inner muscles clenching around him, a delicious squeeze that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through him. his hand comes up to gently caress your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin, and you lean into his touch.

"shit, cherry," he grunts, his control fraying at the edges. "please don't squeeze like that. i c— can barely…"

"you— you should just put all of it in," you whisper, your fingers tangling in his impossibly white hair, tugging gently.

"no," he mumbles, the denial a weak protest. keeping you away from this sweet release, even though you could probably come from this alone. "you feel so good. so… so tight."

"all the more reason—"

"no." this isn't how it's supposed to happen. your first time deserves more than a stolen moment in the middle of a forgotten study session. there should be flowers, maybe candles… it should be perfect.

he's already made up his mind, the decision firm despite the insistent throb of his cock. satoru’s thumb brushes lightly across your swollen clit, and a small whimper escapes your lips.

"satoru, i really need you." and then you look up at him, your eyes glossed with unshed tears, desperate and raw.

fuck it.

as long as it's here, with you, it'll be perfect. besides, he vaguely remembers seeing some dusty candles in the back of the storage closet.

[honeyyhivee]

simon “ghost” riley is so fucking blunt with his words

you’re not even trying to be sexy. just sat on his couch in that worn old tank top, the one with the frayed strap and no bra underneath. your legs are curled under you, hair damp from the shower, picking at your nails and talking about some show you half-watched.

he’s not listening.

"y’re tits sit nice in that top f’yours," he says, eyes on the tv. voice low, almost lazy, like he’s commenting on the weather.

you blink at him. "what?"

"didn’t stutter, love," he says, finally turning to look. eyes dragging down your chest, slow and shameless. “reckon you wear shit like that on purpose.”

your face goes hot but he just huffs a laugh through his nose, leans back further. spreads his thighs a little wider like he’s settling in.

“saw a porno the other day. girl looked like you. sweet thing, bit mouthy. got fucked face-down in a stairwell.” he pauses. shrugs. “thought of ya.”

your jaw drops.

“what?” he says, tilting his head. “should be flattered. ain’t every day i get off twice to the same fuckin’ video.”

he grins when you throw a pillow at him. catches it. holds it in his lap.

"gonna keep wearin' that top, or y’gonna come sit here and gimme a better fuckin’ view?"

[honeyyhivee]

femlock! shidou x fem! reader ❤︎ smut mdni

femlock! shidou who’s soooo touchy with you !! 

she’s always got the longest, sparkliest nails and she loooves scratching your skin (not too hard) with them :3 

femlock! shidou insists on doing your makeup. “come on, babe !! i’ll just put on some mascara, i sweaaarrr!!!” 

“okay, now i wanna make sure you’ve got some lipstick,” she’d pur, her own plump lips curving up into the most devious of smiles; and you know exactly what she’s got planned. she’s quick to lean in, pressing her lips against yours and letting the gloss transfer over in a bit of a smudgy mess. 

she doesn’t pay too much attention to it, as she likes to say; “the messier, the better!” 

femlock! shidou's makeup vanity is soooo unorganised it’s crazy. but she makes it work ! 

femlock! shidou had petnames for you even before you two started dating. she’d always call you “babe,” or “bae,” and just flash you a wide grin when you’d question it. 

she deffff has a pink strap— she’d love to bedazzle it with sparkles and all that but she doesn’t want to hurt you so she refrains :’( 

messiest kisses eveeerrr. lipstick and lipgloss everywhere, her nails practically clawing at your hair, neck, shoulders, cheeks— anywhere she can reach, she’s grabbing !! 

femlock! shidou definitely has the cutest matching sets ever. hot pink panties with a bra of the same kind; but she likes those bras with the little bows in the middle. her fav colour combo is pink & black !! 

whines and complains when she has to take off her nails. “come on baaaeee, you can handle my nails, riiigghtt? ugh, fiiinee..” 

femlock! shidou can be suuuchh a bitch sometimes but she makes up for it by giving you a kiss on the (lower) lips later that day >.< 

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or use it to train ai ♡

[honeyyhivee]

“HOLD IT ANGEL, I KNOW YOU CAN.”

FEATURING THE ONE AND ONLY: 七海.建人. NANAMI KENTO

content warnings : 18+ only, dub-content, sadistic!nanami x masochistic!reader, established relationship, bdsm scene, orgasm control (edging and overstimulation), reader’s hands are bound, mirror sex, mentions of penetrative sex, feral nanami (this man is crazy)

author’s note: kinda ooc nanami bcs he is SADISTICCC in this one and he would never be this mean (i think) but i would let this man destroy my uterus 👰‍♀️ #ovulation i hope u guys enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it even though it is definitely 100% not canon nanami nor is it for the light hearted 😭. idk what overcame me as i wrote this. (self indulgent af)

word count: 1.2k!

hope u enjoy n sorry for it being so short!

kaori. 🤍

This was a sight kento never wanted to forget. The way your body trembled was in front of the mirror as he forced you watch him have his way with you. The look in your eyes pleading; babbling about you weren’t sure if you could handle it left him so achingly hard. Oh no no no, sweetheart, you were going to take everything he gave you. It’s only fair because you asked for it right? Looking up at him oh so sweetly, suggesting a new idea in bed. You looked so adorable fiddling with hands when you tried telling him that you wanted him to ‘edge you until you couldn’t take it’. He was more than willing to indulge into this fantasy of yours. Hell, he might even be enjoying this more than you.

Your sweet husband has his legs locked around yours, restraining every attempt or effort of you trying to move away from him from the overwhelming sensations. His head resting on top of your shoulder as your body quivers under him. Your hands clawing at his tie restraining your wrists together while you pull at them. It makes him so fucking hard that only he could reduce you to such a mess. His eyes watched you tentatively through the mirror, mesmerised by the way you shake your head furiously, eyes welled up in those pretty eyes of yours, cries and pleas falling like a mantra from your lips yet it was never your safe word. Your words seemed to contradict everything your body was saying.

“Hold it angel, I know you can. Be a good girl for Kento. I’m counting down from 30 again and i need you hold it alll in like the precious girl you are,” he coos. It nearly makes you break. Before you can let out another whine or protest, you feel his fingers slipping inside your gummy walls almost too easily as your cunt welcomes him with an immediate clench around his fingers. He scissors them open again before shoving them deeper making your entire body lurch forward at the oversensitivity of his fingers prodding into your cunt.

The delicious torture starts again. His fingers curl upwards wiggling around inside you eliciting a wail of pleasure as your legs tense against his to no avail, his fingers massaging and rubbing against your poor needy cunt that’s been aching to cum. Your head is fuzzy, the faint smooth voice of your husband grounding you, the slow, maddening counts filling your head. “30….29..28, such a good girl, hm? 27…26……..25…24…” You can barely focus on his voice or the way he looks at you through the mirror, watching your body convulse under him as you try everything to resist cumming instantly, the overwhelming need to cum yet the tightening coil building in your tummy is slow.

You choke on your moan, pretty tears streaming down your face as you convulse against him. The squelches of your cunt is so loud that you would’ve been embarrassed if you were even the slightest bit more focused but kento is fucking you dumb! Suddenly at the 15th count mark, you hear a faint buzz of your pink vibrator that makes your eyes widen and has you thrashing against him. However, it does nothing but make him hold you tighter against his chest and flex his legs apart to keep yours even more spread. He attaches it to your clit and pounds you harder with his fingers. They prod and fuck into you deeper, no longer the curling motions or rubbing against your walls.

“Ngh-ah! Kenn!” you sob. “I-I needa- hnngh!- cum soo bad, puhplease! let me cum i-i can’t Kento,” you squeal out pathetically. “I don’t fucking care how bad you need it honey, hold it” he hums It nearly drives you mad when you hear him reach the 10 count mark. Maybe then, maybe, he would let you cum.

“6…..5…..4….3…2.. You better not cum,” he warns as he feels your pathetic cunt flutter and quiver around his fingers. He thrusts his fingers into you deeper again making the dragging the 5 seconds out even more, setting your nerves aflame. The vibrator sending strong sensitive vibrations throughout your body down your legs. You can do nothing but sob against his grip, your thighs are clenched, eyes squeezed shut as you do everything in your body to keep it in. keep yourself from cumming. You hear him reach one and you’re oh so close to the release you need.

Unfortunately before he reaches 0, he slides his fingers out of your cunt with a ‘pop!’ and clicks the vibrator off. He tuts watching your slick run down his forearm as he watches the juices drip down his fingers, “so messy, angel” he tuts.

He watches as you tremble and cry against him in need. You couldn’t move your hands down to take the pleasure yourself more so even rub your thighs together for any friction with how your husband has them spread. All you can do is wail and cry from the frustration as Kento shushes you. Your body shudders, you never knew YOUR Kento could be this sadistic. You had expected to let you cum a while ago but he just wouldn’t budge. What’s worse? You can’t help but also enjoy this delicious torture, he’s been relentlessly teasing you like this for so long you’ve lost track of time.

You feel the burning sensation fizzing down as your cunt throbs with need as Kento runs his hands up and down your thighs. When he had deemed you rested long enough, he starts his torture again, instead from a final count of 10.

You almost cry out of relief but you’re so silly to think he’d let you off so easily. The last 10 counts are torturous.

He starts off hard and fast. Calloused fingertips rubbing your clit in tight circles making your toes clench. That wasn’t all, he reaches with his other hand to insert not two, but thick three fingers inside you, stretching you out fully. The heat in your tummy building up so fast and overwhelming. He curls his fingers, reaching that sweet spot that you couldn’t even dream of reaching on your own. "There we go, angel, feel me," he murmurs in your hair, watching as your thighs begin to tremble again, "feel my fingers deeeeep inside you. I know, baby, it’s so difficult to hold it yeah? but i know you can.”

You whine, gasping out, “Ken, too much!! can’t ngh—” your eyes roll back as you feel the fingers on your clit working harder and faster with the pistoning fingers of his other hand. No— more..!" You huffed through your tears.

You felt like you were going to burst. This time he didn’t stop you after 0. Worse, he kept going. He hears you pant and gasp against him trying to come down from the violent convulsions of your body from your orgasm but he wouldn’t let you go. The sharp piercing sensitivity becoming more brain numbing yet so so good. He drags it out for as long as possible to watch as you scream out so loudly all your neighbours would definitely file a complaint.

It really got too much but his fingers just kept rubbing and pinching and smacking against your sore and sensitive clit. You let out little whines of protests but it doesn’t do much :(

Instead, he gets up and carries you from the chair he had you spread open in front of the mirror to the bed instead where he continued to fuck you stupid and cock-drunk for him as you sniff and whimper. only for kento.

Oh, this was definitely not the last time this was happening.

[honeyyhivee]

My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza

My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.

The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.

I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.

Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.

I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.

Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.

Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

Vetted by @gazavetters

[honeyyhivee]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[honeyyhivee]

finally getting to ride cowboy! izuku’s cock for the first time, bouncing desperately in his lap while he sits back and watches. the shit-eating grin on his face, those boyish dimples, his sun-kissed skin scattered with freckles… god he’s a sight to see, a sinful one that might have you coming undone without much resistance. he’s filling you up so nicely, worn hands smoothing over your hips as you worked out your thighs for all they were worth. the burn was worth it, getting to hear him praise you with that honey-suckle sweet southern drawl, breathy and wrecked. even though he was smug, he was clearly feeling it too. his chest was heaving, an angelic blush warmed his cheeks.

his emerald eyes seemed to flicker between the bounce of your breasts and the wanton expression plastered on your face. damn, you were pretty. you were taking him like a champ, even when his hips started to buck up to meet yours. your ride felt more like you were trying to last on the back of a bronco, or maybe a bull, your palms slapping down on izu’s chest to steady yourself.

“that’s it sweetness, lookin’ like a pro up there,” he hummed through a clenched jaw, sending a slap to your ass that echoed through the empty hayloft.

“that feel good? you like ridin’ my cock?,” he cooed, and when you didn’t answer he continued, “yeah you do. my little buckle bunny, hm? you’re missin’ somethin’.”

he eased you to a slow grind, tipping his large cowboy hat from his head and placing it upon your own. Warmth settled in your gut, and you were far too debauched to think properly, but you still managed to tip it towards him as he would when he greeted someone.

“Atta’ girl. Go on, show me how you want it.”

fruit bats: @neon-gothicc @bakubunny @bookcluberror @kunigamisgirl @dizazter-dragoon @jazzafayesworld @cherriluvs35 @dreamcastgirl99 @pastelbakugou @ladybirdk @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @maddietries

[honeyyhivee]

꩜ CURSED ENERGY? NAH... CURSED DICK!

MY ANACONDA DON'T... — forget vanilla. with them, sex isn't just good, it's transcendent. it's not like there's room for improvement, but go big... or go home, right?

꩜ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna.

warnings — áfab!reader. óverstimulatión, dégrading, dúmbification, sqúirting, breedíng. dóm!characters. bóndage (geto's). unprótected séx. blood (sukuna's). inappropriate use of cursed technique + jujutsu. lemme know if i missed anything! 3.2k+ words.

(呪術廻戦) : note — i think i've forgotten how to write fluff now </33

꩜ SATORU GOJO

the way satoru finds that spot… it’s like he’s got a sixth sense for it, beyond even those eyes. the insistent grind of his hips, the precise angle his thick cock takes as it buries itself deeper. it’s a language your body understands entirely.

“satoru! fuck,” you gasp, head arching back against the worn headboard. it’s so good it borders on agony, a delicious overload that makes your vision swim.

“ah, shit, pretty,” he grunts, his voice roughened with lust. “you’re taking all of me. look at that, huh? so fucking tight.” each powerful thrust has the head of his cock slamming against that sensitive nub deep inside, a relentless pressure that steals the air from your lungs.

all that exists is him – the slick heat, the straining length, every vein and ridge a searing imprint against your slick, yielding flesh.

it’s unnerving, almost invasive, how intimately he seems to know your body, mapping its secrets with a casual expertise. and with those all-seeing eyes, it’s foolish to think he doesn’t.

a wave of dizziness washes over you, coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pure sensation. the faint throb of his teeth marks on your neck is a distant hum against the overwhelming now – the relentless pounding, the feeling of being stretched and filled beyond capacity with each savage push.

the bed-frame creaks in protest with every thrust, the small room thick with the wet, smacking sounds and the friction of skin against skin. the remnants of their last bout, his slick warmth, are still trapped inside, each subsequent invasion driving it further, staking a deeper claim.

he’s not just moaning; it’s the most pornographic thing you've yet to hear, the most obscenely beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. he's whining like a bitch in heat, really.

“no, d- don’t stop,” you plead, your inner muscles clenching instinctively, milking him with desperate urgency.

“mm, not gonna stop,” he bites out, leaning down to press a hard, possessive kiss to your swollen lips. “but you gotta try not to squeeze so damn hard, sweetheart. i might just lose it.”

a mumbled apology escapes your lips, barely intelligible. you’re right on the edge, that familiar release beckoning with dizzying speed. you never stood a chance against him.

never with the way he fucks you, zeroing in on that core of pleasure with an almost cruel precision.

a strangled cry tears from your throat, breath hitching in ragged gasps. “i’m—"

"—i know,” gojo grinds out, cutting you off, his own breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “fuck, me too.”

when he comes, it’s a violent shudder that consumes his entire body, thick ropes of his seed erupting deep inside you. he collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, riding out the tremors of your own shattering climax.

then, he pulls back slightly, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded. “you know,” he says, his voice still thick with the aftermath, a tenderness in his gaze, “i think we should get married.”

꩜ SUGURU GETO

veiny, thick tendrils of cursed energy snake around you, binding your wrists to the cold metal of the bedposts. they pulse with a subtle, unsettling warmth, a living restraint.

you don't even bother to struggle; experience has taught you the futility. instead, you brace yourself, a strange mix of resignation and fierce anticipation settling in your gut for whatever suguru is willing to give.

the cursed energy is as unyielding as any rope, maybe even tighter. you can already feel the pressure points, the faint burn that promises bruises blooming beneath your skin in the morning.

a small price, you think, a ridiculously small price to pay for the brain-scrambling, mind-numbing oblivion he can deliver.

a very, very small price indeed.

"what a good girl," he purrs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peppers light, almost clinical kisses across your forehead and cheeks. "thought for sure that little whimper earlier meant you were about to tap out."

you huff, the sound catching in your throat and breaking into a shaky whimper despite yourself. "i— i can handle it," you insist, squeezing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation already building. maybe focusing on your breathing will help. just a little.

geto clicks his tongue, a sound that vibrates with amusement. "i have no doubt." you can't decipher if it's genuine or laced with his usual condescension. he has a habit of that, a detached superiority that somehow only amplifies the raw intimacy of his fucking.

if your mind isn't already a hazy mess, you might ask him if he even realizes he's doing it. actually, no, you wouldn't. you like it.

"think you can even take some more?" he's baiting you, you know it. everything with suguru is a subtle power play, a quiet competition. it's the same for you, a bad coincidence, you'd said. him? he voiced it as "being made for each other."

"y— yes, fuck!" the word is a desperate gasp as his thick cock slams into you, a raw, visceral connection that steals your breath. his hand slides down, fingers grazing against your slick folds, teasing the swollen nub of your clit. always the deliberate tormentor.

you want to tangle your fingers in the silky length of his hair, to pull him closer, but the pulsing restraints hold you captive. a frustrating, exquisite helplessness.

"cute lil' pussy," he chuckles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your ear. does he even realize how devastatingly beautiful he looks in moments like these?

his long, dark hair cascading around his face like a fallen angel, a sex-driven, lust-fueled angel bathed in the dim light.

he bucks his hips, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he drives into you. your slick, aching hole does its desperate best to accommodate his size, that initial stretch always taking a painful, exquisite moment. by the time you adjust, he is already impatient, fucking you with a controlled ferocity that borders on brutal.

but you can never stay truly upset with him when it comes to this. he just… thrusts the discomfort away, slamming into your wet heat with a possessive intensity that drowns out everything else.

"sugu— 'm really close," you inhale, sharply, the words broken by a sharp intake of breath.

"yeah, princess?" he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, a flicker of something akin to tenderness in his dark eyes. "can feel you."

he finishes soon after, a series of deep, shuddering thrusts that wrack his body. but not before he ensures you follow, his fingers relentless on your clit until you cry out, your own release a messy, shuddering wave.

within a blink, the pulsing tendrils of cursed energy dissolve, leaving behind only the faint red marks on your wrists. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the irritated skin, a smug wink flashing in his eyes.

꩜ KENTO NANAMI

nanami's great at sex. always has been. you didn't even think the guy could get better at it. and yet, here he is, showing you just how much more mind-numbingly good he can be.

with those long, surprisingly gentle fingers, he's got your jaw cupped, his thumb stroking your cheek as he murmurs, "can you feel me, darling?"

it's a stupid question, obviously you can feel him. every ridge and vein of his thick cock is pressed against your tight cunt, and you've never felt this stretched, you swear.

nanami just adores how your mouth falls open, your brows all scrunched up in that adorable little frown as his fat tip hits your sweet spot. his other hand slides down to your belly, pressing just lightly, like he's staking his claim. he's prideful, is what he is.

his thrusts are so controlled, so damn rhythmic it's almost hypnotic. every movement has a purpose, a precise intention. there's nothing sloppy or senseless about the way he's fucking you. it's like he's engineered your orgasm.

"oh, fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into the solid muscle of his back, trying to hold on as the pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.

"feels good, no?" he asks, his intense gaze locked on your face. honestly, you wouldn't have pegged him as the type to need his ego stroked, but the look in his eyes says otherwise.

you want to answer him, but your eyes roll back in your head, and you're practically useless, just a whimpering mess under his ministrations.

nanami lets out this low chuckle, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to your forehead. the bastard knows exactly what he's doing to you.

you can feel that 7:3 ratio thing he probably has going on in his head, even if he's not consciously counting. seven deliberate slides in, each one stretching you further, followed by three slightly shallower, teasing movements that keep you right on the edge.

your breath hitches in your throat, and you drag your nails down his solid back, leaving little trails of sensation. "i- i can't…" nanami just ignores your incoherent mumbles, because he knows you don't even know what you're trying to say. you're just strung out on the feel of him.

the slams of his hips against yours get a little less controlled, a little more urgent, but still with that underlying precision that's so distinctly him. you can feel the tension coiling in him, like a tightly wound spring about to snap.

"oh, love, i can feel – fuck – you clenching around me," he grunts, rutting his cock deeper into you. you're desperate for the release that's building, every muscle in your body contracting as you moan and whimper.

nanami lets out a low groan, his usual composed mask finally cracking as he follows you over the edge. his movements keep up, a little less methodical now, until he's shuddering against you, filling you with his hot, precise load.

he finally stills, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing a little ragged. "god, i love you," he murmurs, a rare hint of pure satisfaction in his voice.

seven minutes (and three seconds) in heaven.

꩜ CHOSO KAMO

choso's stamina isn't just a flex; it's a goddamn superpower. the kind that leaves you wondering if he has some extra hearts tucked away somewhere. "monster-like" feels polite; "relentless" is closer to the truth. you're pretty sure your boyfriend can fuck through the apocalypse and still ask for another round.

his face is buried deep between your tits, the wet heat of his mouth a brand against your skin. his moans are thick and muffled, vibrating against your chest as he rides you, each thrust a deep, insistent press.

hours blur into a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs and desperate gasps. the digital clock on your nightstand glows a mocking 2:47 a.m. you feel like you've been wrung out and hung to dry, utterly, deliciously drained. meanwhile, choso looks like he's just finished his warm-up.

"ngh, baby," he groans, his voice thick with need. "i'm… fuck, i'm gonna cum." you've lost count of his "gonna comes" hours ago, each one a lie that somehow still manages to feel good in the moment. your own orgasms have been a dizzying parade, each one pulling another ragged whimper from your throat.

"oh, choso…" you whimper, your back arching instinctively as he hits that sweet spot. your fingers tangle in his loose, messy hair – those ridiculous space-buns have long since surrendered to the friction. you're probably pulling too hard, but the only sound he makes is a deeper groan of pleasure.

a shaky sob escapes you. "i… god, i can't." your muscles are screaming, every nerve ending raw and overstimulated.

"s— sure you can," he breathes, his lips trailing wet kisses up your neck. "last… last one, i promise." his voice is husky, laced with a desperate edge that almost sounds believable.

except, choso is a liar when he's this deep inside you. the second his hot load pulses into you, you can feel him twitch, his cock hardening again with infuriating speed.

and yeah, you love his blood manipulation, you really do. knowing it keeps him safe out there, facing whatever cursed shit he has to deal with — that's everything.

but this? using it to recycle his blood, straight from his balls to his dick, so he doesn't "waste time" getting hard again? you want to argue that the downtime is the only thing keeping you from dissolving into a puddle of pure sensation. the break is essential.

you need it like you need air.

"choso, please," you hiccup, a pathetic little sound.

"please what, baby?" he mumbles, finally lifting his head to press soft, wet kisses to your tear-streaked face. "please, more?" his eyes are dark and hungry, pupils blown wide.

"no! no… not more," you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut against the fresh wave of sensation building in your core. you can feel another orgasm clawing its way closer, and the traitorous part of you, the part that is addicted to his touch, actually wants it.

he barely waits a breath after his last shuddering release before plunging back into you, his movements insistent and demanding. "oh, but you're doing so good," he insists, his words broken by ragged gasps.

"this is it, okay? j— just this last one, baby." he sounds like he's begging now, his voice thick with desperation, and in your hazy, pleasure-addled state, you almost believe him.

but then you are coming again, that familiar, overwhelming rush consuming you, and he is coming too, his body bucking against yours, and… he is a goddamn beautiful, stamina-blessed liar.

꩜ TOJI FUSHIGURO

yeah, toji doesn't have some fancy cursed technique to whip out in bed. so what? you think that ever stops him from getting exactly what he wants?

hell, no. the dude might be a deadbeat dad and a general pain in the ass, but when he commits to something – and he's definitely committed to you – he goes all the way. a real thorough bastard, that one.

right now, he has you locked in this brutal-as-hell mating press. your knees are practically glued to his sides, and his arms are like iron, squeezing you so tight you can feel his damn heartbeat against your own.

his fingers aren't just holding on; they're digging in, promising a nice little collection of bruises for you to discover later. a reminder, you figure.

his thick cock is stretching you open, filling you up in a way that makes your vision blur and your head spin. "you're a goddamn slut, you know that?" he grunts out between these rough, possessive kisses that leave your lips swollen.

"tell me," toji breathes, his hot breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat building between your legs. "you know what you are."

your head flops back, heavy and useless. all that matters is the feel of him buried so deep, the relentless back-and-forth stealing your breath and any semblance of thought.

you can taste blood where you're biting your lip, but the pain is just a background hum to the overwhelming pleasure.

"a… slut," you manage to choke out, the word sounding needy and desperate, already begging for the next brutal slide.

toji lets out this low groan that vibrates right through you, a sound that screams you're mine. his grip tightens even more, his thumbs now pressing hard into the slick, tender flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider, making him feel impossibly deep. it's almost violent, the way he handles you, but every rough touch sends these crazy sparks of sensation shooting through you.

he pulls back just enough to lock his dark, intense gaze on yours, and you can practically see the possessiveness burning in his eyes. "mine," he bites out, like it's the only truth in the universe. then, he slams back into you, and your nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging on for dear life.

the air's thick with your ragged gasps, the wet, slapping sound of your bodies grinding together, and you just know he's getting off on how tight you are, how you clench and tremble with each savage thrust.

one calloused hand leaves your side to roughly cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple until it's hard and aching. the other hand stays glued to the wet heat of your thigh.

"beg for it," he mutters, his voice low and rough, a total taunt.

a shaky cry escapes you, right on the edge of a sob. "please, toji, p— please…"

he lets out this low chuckle, a rumble against your ear. "yeah, yeah." and even though he acts like he doesn't give a shit half the time, he's always a sucker for you. the heat low in your belly coils tighter and tighter. your back arches, and you writhe against him, desperate for that release.

and when you finally come, it hits him just a few brutal seconds later. his hot load pumps into you, coating your insides, and toji groans, a deep, animalistic sound as you squeeze every last drop out of him.

"damn, ma," he breathes, his forehead pressed against yours, shoulders relaxing.

relaxing; only for a moment, because then you know the cycle will repeat.

꩜ RYOMEN SUKUNA

it's no surprise sukuna is rough. he's sukuna. taunting, malevolent, deliciously so. a razor's edge of threat underlies everything he utters, a constant hum of danger that can be playful or genuinely menacing. except in this space, beneath him, it is always, undeniably, intentional.

you are splayed out, limbs heavy and unresponsive, reduced to a whimpering, slick mess under his gaze. his crimson eyes, sharp and predatory, burn into yours, pinning you down more effectively than any physical restraint.

he trails a long finger down the inside of your thigh, the touch surprisingly light, yet you still flinch, a tremor running through you. a faint, red line blooms in its wake, almost imperceptible.

"feel that, flower?" he rumbles, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your bones. "better listen close, wouldn't want you ending up in little pieces."

you know, somewhere in the haze of arousal and fear, that it's a hollow threat. he wouldn't destroy what he so possessively claims. yet, the fear still coils in your gut, sharp and thrilling.

terrifying, yes, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

his thick cock stretches you open, every inch a deliberate invasion. you can feel the head press against something deep inside, a hard knot pushing so far in it creates a visible bulge in your lower belly. the slick heat of him fills you completely.

then comes the unsettling, wet sensation of a tongue, not from his mouth, but from lower down, sliding between your slick folds.

"'kuna— can't..." you whine, which he whole-heartedly disregards. it traces a path of hot, insistent licks, right up to your swollen clit, leaving a shimmering trail of his spit.

"what a messy girl, huh?" he rasps, his voice thick with the effort, as if you aren't completely consumed by the feeling of him inside you. your only response is a helpless groan that vibrates against his skin.

your eyes squeeze tighter, the pressure building again, that familiar knot of another orgasm clawing its way up. your inner muscles clench around his shaft, slicking him even further as you squirt onto his thick length, milking him with each involuntary spasm.

it isn't long before his own ragged breaths fill the air, his hips bucking against yours as he empties himself inside, filling you to the brim with hot, pulsing pleasure.

"maybe," he says against your ear, a low murmur, "if you're lucky, next time i'll let you take both."

❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜

tagging jazz (@jeonwiixard) + mia (@mia-can-yap-too) cus they wifey <33

[honeyyhivee]

hear me out..angry husband!kento coming home from work catching u touching yourself..?

⁀➷ KENTO DENIES YOUR RELEASE ♡

the house is quiet when HUSBAND!KENTO steps through the door, the weight of a brutal workday clinging to him like damp fog. his tie’s already loosened, jacket slung over one arm, but his jaw’s tight, brows pinched—client meetings went south, and the office left him itching for control. he expects you in the kitchen, maybe humming over dinner, not… this. the faint sound hits him first—a soft, breathy moan drifting from the bedroom, pulling him like a taut wire.

he pauses at the doorway, shoulder against the frame, and his eyes narrow. you’re sprawled on the bed, sheets tangled around your ankles, one hand between your thighs, fingers working slow, slick circles. your other hand’s under his shirt—his shirt—pinching a nipple, head thrown back, lips parted as you chase release. you don’t see him, too lost, and that’s what snaps it. he clears his throat, sharp and loud, and your eyes fly open, a gasp choking in your throat.

“kento—” you stammer, yanking your hand away, thighs clamping shut, but it’s too late. he’s already stalking closer, tossing his jacket aside. his face is storm-dark, eyes burning, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips, mean and deliberate.

“couldn’t wait for me?” he says, voice low, edged with steel. he looms over you, one knee dipping the mattress, his hand snatching your wrist—the one still glistening with your arousal. he brings it to his face, inspecting it, then licks a stripe up your fingers, slow, tasting you while his gaze pins you down. “you know better.”

your cheeks flush, half-shame, half-need, but you try to hold his stare. “i… i missed you,” you whisper, hoping it softens him. it doesn’t. his grip tightens, and he pushes your wrist back, leaning down ‘til his breath scalds your lips.

“missed me?” he mocks, soft but biting. “then why’re you doing my job?” his hand’s between your legs before you can blink, fingers sliding through your wetness, spreading you open. you whimper, hips bucking, but he presses you down with his other hand, flat on your stomach, keeping you still. “stay,” he orders, like you’re a dog, and you do, trembling under him.

he’s merciless from the start—two fingers plunging deep, curling hard against that spot that makes you see stars, his thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, almost to himself, watching your body arch, chasing the high he’s building too fast. you’re close already, thighs shaking, breath hitching, and he knows it—his eyes flick up, catching every twitch of your face, savoring how desperate you look.

“kento, please,” you whine, hands clawing at the sheets, and he just chuckles, dark and low, pulling his fingers out just as you start to clench. you gasp, empty, aching, and he smirks, licking his fingers clean while you squirm. “no,” he says, simple, final. “you don’t get to cum ‘til i say.”

he’s relentless, starting again—fingers back inside, slower now, teasing, dragging you to the edge but stopping every time your moans get too loud, your body too tense. minutes bleed together, and you’re a mess—tears prick your eyes, hips grinding against his hand, begging without words. he spanks your thigh, sharp, making you yelp, and leans down, lips grazing your ear. “you think you deserve it?” he murmurs, voice like velvet over a blade. “touching yourself like a needy little thing while i’m gone?”

“i’m sorry,” you sob, but he’s already flipping you over, yanking your hips up, face pressed into the pillows. his mouth’s on you now, tongue lapping at your clit, sucking hard, and you scream, muffled, hands fisting the sheets. it’s too much, too good, but he pulls back every time you’re about to break, leaving you trembling, sobbing, so close it hurts.

“kento, please, let me—” you try, voice raw, but he cuts you off with another smack to your ass, lighter this time, almost playful. “no,” he says again, fingers tracing your folds, slow, deliberate, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy. he’s relentless, dragging it out—sliding in deep, stopping short, circling your clit ‘til you’re bucking, only to pull away. your tears soak the pillow, body thrumming, every nerve screaming, and he watches, calm, controlled, savoring your desperation. “you wanna cum so bad, don’t you?” he taunts, thumb brushing your clit, too light, too brief. “should’ve thought of that before touching yourself.”

he keeps you there—minutes, hours, maybe longer—edging you ‘til you’re a wreck, thighs slick, voice gone. then he stops, abrupt, standing, adjusting his cuffs like nothing happened. “that’s for touching yourself without me,” he says, voice cold, final, leaving you throbbing and empty. you face’s tear streaked and his eyes soften, just a fraction, as he wipes a tear from your cheek. “you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself. “don’t forget it.”

he’ll soothe you soon—after the lesson’s sunk in.

[honeyyhivee]

“keep reading, don’t let me distract you.” ☆

tutor!nanami had figured, through weeks of trial and error, that your only genuine motivation when it comes to studying is sex.

he’s not a prude, much to some peoples disagreement. and you’re paying him well to prep you for your exams, so what’s so wrong with motivating you to study? he thanks the heavens that you've got a large enough desk to accommodate him sitting beneath it, face sandwiched by your thighs.

the words on the page in front of you are blurred though—you keep blinking the gaze of lust away to no avail because kento’s tongue pushing inside of you is relentless and prompting tears of need to gloss your vision.

you read your study material out loud to him, a tactic he taught you to help memorisation. but your words stumble over themselves as your tutor pushes two long fingers inside of you and starts curling them (it helps that he’s tutored human anatomy too). the second you stop and part your lips to let a sweet moan fall free, though, his ministrations stop as well.

“did i tell you to stop reading?”

“but—”

“you’ll never pass these exams if you don’t learn how to follow instructions.” he chides. “i’m starting to wonder if this really is enough motivation.”

“it is. you’re just so—”

“tell you what,” his glasses fall down his nose a little. “if you score more than a ninety on this exam, i’ll fuck you properly. that a deal?”

[honeyyhivee]

YOU ARE NOT DYING jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. MIA for two whole days, your older boyfriend finds you have been sick the whole time but don’t worry, they are here to take care of you!

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, you are early twenty and they are late twenty, petnames, fluff, crack,

GOJO SATORU

he bursts through your apartment door like a whirlwind in a storm — keys jangling as they hit the floor, designer sunglasses still perched on his nose, even though it's nearly sundown. the moment the door swings open, his voice echoes through the quiet, too-quiet apartment.

“sweetheart? baby?” his voice is deceptively cheerful, light and sing-song, but the tension is there, tight in the undercurrent. he hasn’t heard from you in two days. no text. no call. nothing. and you never go that quiet, not even when you’re mad at him.

satoru’s long legs carry him through your apartment like he owns the place — which, to be fair, he kind of does, considering he pays your rent without your knowledge. he steps into the dimly lit living room and freezes.

you’re there, bundled up on the couch like a miserable, sniffling ghost. oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, one of his, naturally, and a pathetic mountain of tissues around you like a fortress. there’s a blanket halfway off your legs, a cold cup of tea on the table, and your phone sitting dead by your hand.

“...what the hell,” he breathes, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he takes it in, brows furrowing under snowy bangs. “are you seriously dying in silence? do you hate me?”

you groan softly, barely able to lift your head. “didn’t wanna bother you… you’re busy with work…”

“busy with work? babe, i thought you got kidnapped by some creepy guy who’s into sniffing socks or something—which, by the way, i would’ve lost my shit over.”

he’s already moving, dropping to his knees in front of the couch, hands large and warm as they cup your flushed face. you’re burning. “oh my god, you’re so hot,” he says, wide-eyed, like it’s not from the fever. “and not in the good, ride-me-until-my-legs-don’t-work way. like… medically concerning.”

you manage a weak laugh, and he beams like you just handed him the moon. satoru brushes your hair back with trembling fingers, his usual smugness cracking under genuine concern.

“you didn’t even call me,” he murmurs, voice dipping low. “two days, angel. two days. i almost broke into your classes like a psycho sugar daddy with a god complex.”

you sniffle, leaning into his palm. “didn’t wanna make you worry…”

“i always worry about you,” he says, exasperated. “that’s, like, half my personality. haven’t you noticed?”

and then, of course, he softens — because he’s a menace, but he’s your menace. satoru stands, scooping you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you squirm, mumbling protests, but your limbs are too heavy, and his arms are warm.

“shut up. we’re doing this,” he says, already carrying you to your bed. “you’re sleeping somewhere with actual blankets and no tissue graveyard. jesus, babe, this whole place smells like menthol and heartbreak.”

he sets you down carefully, tucking the blankets around you like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. he presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then lingers near your lips, hesitant.

“can i…? or am i gonna get the plague?”

you pout. “you’ll get sick.”

“worth it,” he says immediately, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss — just enough pressure to make your heart ache, his thumb brushing your cheek like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

when he pulls back, he’s grinning again, wicked this time. “besides, i bet i’d look hot with a fever. you’d have to nurse me back to health in, like, a slutty little nurse outfit. win-win, right?”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re my favorite stupid little college girl who forgets to eat when she’s sick.” his hands are already sliding under the covers, slipping around your waist, pulling you close. “so now i’m gonna hold you like a clingy teddy bear, make you drink water, and maybe talk about how good you’d look drooling all over my shirt.”

you snort. “what happened to concern?”

“baby, i am concerned. but i’m also very horny, emotionally overwhelmed, and tragically in love with you. deal with it.”

you let him spoon you from behind, his breath warm on your neck, his body a furnace. his fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach, lips brushing your shoulder.

“next time you’re sick,” he mumbles, “you better call me. i swear to god, i’ll tattoo my number on your forehead if that’s what it takes.”

you nod sleepily, and satoru kisses the shell of your ear.

“good girl.”

GETO SUGURU

he doesn’t knock.

he doesn’t need to — your spare key has been hanging on his keyring for months now, worn from use. suguru opens your door slowly, shoulders tense under his tailored black coat, hair pulled into a lazy low bun like he didn’t even bother styling it this morning. he’s been in meetings all day, working too much, sleeping too little — and now, he’s standing in your apartment, greeted by silence and dim, static air.

“baby?”

his voice is low, velvety, laced with concern that makes your stomach twist. it’s the first time you’ve heard him in two days. you were too sick, too dizzy, too caught up in your own haze of shivers and aching limbs to call him, even though you wanted to. god, you wanted to.

you hear his steps grow closer, steady and measured, then stop right in front of your bedroom door. it creaks open. his tall frame fills the doorway.

and that’s all it takes.

your throat tightens immediately, and like a switch flipped, you burst into tears. snotty, pathetic, breathless sobs that hit you harder than you expected. your voice cracks as you try to speak, but nothing coherent comes out — just a whimper, an ugly sniffle, and a tremble in your bottom lip.

“suguru…” you croak, eyes watery as you sit up on the bed.

his expression falters for half a second — just a flicker of panic under the cool surface. he moves toward you so fast it’s like instinct, dropping his bag to the floor and shrugging off his coat in one motion.

but you beat him to it.

you swing your legs over the edge of the bed with all the theatrical effort of a dying victorian bride, forcing your shaky body upright. it makes your vision spin, but you don’t care — you throw your arms open dramatically, like some sad, flu-stricken princess summoning her knight.

“hold me,” you sniffle, hiccupping through the tears. “i’m sick and miserable and ugly, and i think i’m dying.”

he blinks. then huffs a breath — a soft, low laugh, like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or scold you.

“you’re the most dramatic little brat i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, but he’s already on his knees in front of you, pulling you into his chest. his arms wrap around you fully, palms spread over your back as he tucks your face into the crook of his neck.

“i missed you,” you whimper into his skin, voice cracking. “i was too dizzy to text you and i tried to make soup but it just turned into sadness—”

“shh,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently. “breathe, baby. you’re okay now.”

you cling to him like a koala, fists bunching the back of his shirt. your body sags in his arms, and he holds you up without flinching, like he wants to carry your weight, all of it — your illness, your loneliness, your melodramatic sniffles.

“two days without you and i already look like a corpse,” you mumble. “my skin’s grey. i’m withering.”

he chuckles against your hair, then pulls back just enough to cup your flushed cheeks. “hm. dramatic. needy. sick. crying in my arms like a heartbroken soap opera wife.” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “you know that’s kind of hot, right?”

you blink. “i’m literally disgusting right now.”

“you’re my favorite disgusting little creature,” he says, and kisses your forehead. “now lie back. i’m going to order real food, give you meds, and make you drink water even if i have to hold your nose shut.”

you sniffle again, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzle into his chest.

“you’re gonna spoil me,” you mumble.

he smiles, kissing your hair.

“i already do, sweetheart.”

his hand trails lower under the blanket, slipping to your waist, possessive and warm.

“and after you stop looking like a dying victorian girl,” he murmurs by your ear, voice dipping low, “i’m gonna spoil you in other ways.”

you groan into his chest, heat blooming in your cheeks. “gross.”

“mm. you love it.”

and he’s right. because even at your worst — sick, crying, clingy — suguru geto looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made his life worth slowing down for.

NANAMI KENTO

he should’ve come sooner.

the thought pounds in his head, rhythmic and steady like the ticking of his watch as he pushes into your apartment with a key he made you give him months ago — “for emergencies,” you said, laughing. but this feels like one. you hadn’t texted him back in two days, and that’s unlike you. you were always eager to reply, dramatic even in your “i miss you” messages. so when the silence stretched into a second night, nanami ended his meeting mid-sentence, picked up his coat, and walked out without an ounce of hesitation.

the moment he steps inside, he knows something’s wrong.

your apartment smells off — like the sour tang of sickness masked under old lavender candles. he closes the door quietly, gaze sharp as he sets down his briefcase and calls your name once, calmly.

no answer.

the bathroom light is on.

and then he hears it — the retching.

nanami’s blood runs cold. he moves fast, faster than you’d ever expect from the man who lectures you about walking too quickly indoors. the bathroom door is cracked open. inside, you’re slumped on the cold tile, hugging the toilet bowl, trembling and feverish. your hoodie is sticking to your back with sweat, your knees red from the floor.

you don’t hear him. not until his calm, familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“sweetheart.”

your head jerks up weakly. your voice comes out hoarse, cracking. “kento…?”

he doesn’t say anything at first — just takes a slow breath and kneels beside you, sleeves rolled up in one fluid motion. his tie dangles over your shoulder as he brushes your damp hair back gently, then reaches for the towel nearby to wipe your mouth. his hand doesn’t shake, but his jaw clenches. tight.

“how long has this been happening?” he asks softly, but there’s steel under it. restrained panic. the kind that only surfaces when something he cares about is suffering — and you are the only one who makes him lose control like this.

you sniffle, dazed. “since last night… thought it would pass…”

“and you didn’t call me.”

“you were working,” you mumble. “didn’t wanna stress you out.”

nanami lets out a breath. a sharp one. he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, his frown deepening. you’re burning up.

“you’re shaking,” he mutters. “you’re not staying in here another second.”

“but i threw up—”

“exactly why you’re not staying in here,” he says firmly.

and that’s when your vision blurs again, but this time with hot tears. you cover your face with your hands, voice cracking like glass. “i feel gross, kento. i smell disgusting. my mouth tastes like death. i wanted to clean up before you came and now you’re seeing me like this—”

he doesn’t let you spiral.

his hands, large and warm, wrap around your wrists and gently pull them from your face. he leans in, forehead to yours, voice calm but low.

“you think any of that matters to me?” he whispers. “you’re sick. and you’re mine. i don’t care if you smell like hell. you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

you sniff, swallowing another sob. “i look like a wet rat.”

he presses a kiss to your damp forehead. “then you’re my wet rat.”

and despite everything, you laugh — a weak, wet, pitiful sound, but it makes him smile.

then he lifts you. no warning. one smooth motion, as if you weigh nothing. your arms cling to his neck, dizzy and lightheaded as he carries you out of the bathroom and down the hall.

“where—?”

“bed? no,” he says, striding straight past it. “you’re burning up and soaked through.”

he stops in front of your closet and kicks it open gently. “clean clothes,” he mutters. “then i’m drawing you a bath.”

you blink. “aren’t you going to let me change myself?”

he looks at you, unimpressed. “do you really think i’m letting you stand on your own right now?”

you pout. “you’re bossy when i’m sick.”

“i’m bossy because you’re reckless and dramatic and refuse to call me when you need help,” he says, setting you down on the edge of your bed. his hands reach up, unzipping your hoodie with such care it makes your breath catch. “and if you ever do this again, i swear to god—”

you reach out weakly, tugging at his tie. “you’ll what?”

he leans in, gaze dark and heavy.

“i’ll handcuff you to my bed and monitor your temperature every hour until you learn your lesson.”

your eyes go wide. “…is that a threat or a promise?”

his lips curl into the barest smirk.

“both.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you were crying. again.

but not soft, delicate tears — oh no. it was messy, snotty, full-volume dramatic sobbing, the kind you’d only let out in the privacy of your kitchen, hunched over like some tragic figure in a bad medical drama.

the bottle of meds sat in front of you. sealed. stupid. evil.

and your fingers? useless. trembling. too weak to twist it open. your body had already betrayed you all day — shivering under five blankets, sweating through them an hour later, barely able to sit up without seeing stars. and this goddamn childproof bottle was the final straw.

“open,” you whispered hoarsely, turning it with your palms, your arms shaking.

“open, please… i’m not strong enough, oh my god. i’m a weak pathetic little victorian widow.”

you tried again. failed again.

your bottom lip quivered.

you dropped your head onto the counter with a dramatic thunk.

“this is it,” you wailed to no one. “this is how i die. taken out by a five-dollar bottle of generic tylenol.”

and that was, of course, the exact moment the front door opened with a heavy thud.

of course it was toji.

he was supposed to be out — working, training, maybe casually intimidating someone. but no. your hot mess of a dramatic arc just had to intersect with him at the peak of your suffering.

“you better not be on the floor again,” his voice called out dryly.

you gasped. “toji—!”

and in he walked, black shirt clinging to his chest, hair still slightly wet from the shower he probably took at the gym, eyebrow cocked in that way — the one that said he knew he was walking into bullshit.

he paused at the kitchen doorway.

you were curled in front of the counter, shaking like a leaf in your hoodie and fuzzy socks, cradling the bottle of meds in your hands like it was your last hope.

your eyes, glossy with fever and tears, locked on him like he was salvation.

“babe,” you croaked, dramatic hand on your heart. “i’m too weak. i need you.”

his face was unreadable.

then he sighed.

“you can’t open your meds bottle?”

“no,” you sobbed. “i tried. i begged. i even yelled at it. and it laughed at me, toji.”

he walked over slowly. “the bottle laughed at you?”

“with its silence.”

“you’re outta your damn mind.”

you whimpered as he took the bottle from your hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. he twisted it open with one hand. one hand.

your mouth dropped open in betrayal.

“don’t gloat,” you muttered.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you were thinking it. i can hear your thoughts. they’re all smug and condescending.”

toji plucked two pills out, popped them in your hand. “yeah? what else are my thoughts saying?”

“they’re saying, ‘wow, my girlfriend’s so weak and small and pitiful, i could crush her with one hand.’”

he snorted, pushing the water bottle toward you.

“i’d rather use the one hand to spank you next time you act like an idiot instead of calling me.”

your eyes widened. “i was preserving your peace!”

“and i’m preserving your life, you dramatic little shit.”

you downed the meds, still sniffling. “i want chicken soup and cuddles.”

“yeah? say please.”

you glared at him.

he leaned down, grabbed you by the back of the thighs, and lifted you up with zero warning, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

you squealed. “toji—!”

“you want cuddles? you get ‘em after soup. and no more dying alone in the kitchen, dumbass.”

you whined into his back, but your fingers were already gripping the hem of his shirt, safe and secure.

he set you on the couch, tucked you in aggressively, and went back to the kitchen to slam pots around. the bottle of meds still sat on the counter, now open. completely defeated.

you glared at it from your blanket cocoon.

“i hope you fall off the counter and roll under the fridge, you little bitch.”

“what was that?” toji called.

“nothing, babe! love you!”

“that’s what i thought.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

he knew something was off the second he walked through the door.

your apartment was dark. quiet. no sounds of you stomping around, no dramatic voice echoing from the bedroom about how he never refills the snacks or always leaves his rings on the counter like you’re his damn butler.

nothing.

just silence.

and sukuna?

he doesn’t do silence when it comes to you.

so his voice comes loud, sharp. “oi. where the fuck are you?”

no answer.

he’s already heading down the hall, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s ready to rip the universe in half if it’s taken you from him. he calls for you again—louder this time. still nothing. until—

a soft, pathetic sound.

gagging.

choking.

then… sniffling.

he throws open the bathroom door and freezes.

you’re on the cold tile, curled up dramatically beside the toilet like a tragic heroine in some bad romance movie. your hair is a mess, face flushed with fever, nose red, eyes glassy with tears. you’re shivering in one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked up like a child. and you’re talking to yourself.

rambling.

like you’re saying goodbye.

“tell… tell my mom i loved her,” you whisper hoarsely to no one. “and you can have my manga… just not the signed ones. bury me with those. and don’t let that bitch from the office come to my funeral—”

sukuna blinks. hard.

“what. the fuck,” he growls, stepping in. “are you doing?”

you gasp, like he’s a ghost. “sukuna? is that you? i can’t see, i’m so cold—”

he crouches beside you instantly, hands grabbing your face. your skin is clammy. lips dry. eyes dramatic as hell.

you’re not dying.

you’ve just been throwing up for hours and working yourself into a spiral.

“are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” he hisses, brushing your hair back, eyes scanning every inch of you. “you didn’t call. didn’t text. didn’t scream at me for buying the wrong brand of tea. i thought someone killed you.”

you sniffle, grabbing his wrist with trembling fingers. “i tried to crawl to the kitchen… to get water… but then i thought, what’s the point? i’m dying anyway—”

he looks like he’s two seconds from slamming his fist into the wall.

“you’ve got a stomach bug. not the plague. stop acting like you’re in a fuckin’ soap opera.”

“easy for you to say,” you croak. “you’re not the one rotting from the inside out.”

sukuna lets out a sound that’s half-growl, half-laugh, and scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you cling to him instantly, arms locking around his neck like a koala.

“don’t cremate me,” you mumble into his throat. “i wanna be dramatic even in death. open casket. fake lashes. maybe some light fog and music—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your thigh. “shut up.”

you gasp, offended. “did you just spank me on my deathbed?!”

“you’re not dying,” he growls, carrying you to the bed. “but if you keep talking, i’ll kill you myself.”

you whimper pitifully in his arms. “then… will you at least keep my diary? the one hidden in the closet behind the shoe box? don’t read it—”

“i’ve already read it.”

“what?!”

he lays you down gently, brushing his thumb across your damp cheek.

“you wrote about me in it,” he says, voice low and dangerous now, “every page. even the ones where you were mad. you love me so much it’s pathetic.”

you sniff, cheeks heating up. “i’m allowed to be obsessed with you. it’s your fault.”

he leans down, face inches from yours. “and i’m gonna baby you so hard after this that you’re gonna wish you died, brat.”

“you promise?” you whisper.

his eyes flash with something possessive, raw, feral.

“yeah,” he says, dragging his thumb along your bottom lip, “but only after i get some fluids in you. and not the kind you’re thinking, you filthy little goblin.”

you smile weakly.

and sukuna — your unhinged, dangerous, older boyfriend — tucks you into bed, curses the germs under his breath, and spends the entire night at your side.

because dramatic or not… you’re his.

and he’s not letting you go.

SHIU KONG

he had a key.

of course he had a key. he demanded it after you once locked yourself out at 3 a.m. wearing nothing but a t-shirt and one sock, sobbing over forgotten dumplings. "never again," he’d muttered, shoving the key into his wallet with the same reverence he gave blackmail material.

he wasn’t expecting the door to be unlocked today.

or to hear… whimpering.

low, pitiful, echoing from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

“babe?” he calls out, already slipping off his shoes. his voice carries a lazy calm, the kind he always uses when he’s preparing for bullshit. “you better not be doing something stupid again.”

he turns the corner and freezes.

you’re on the floor.

literally on the floor, crawling toward the kitchen like a Victorian orphan in the final act. your blanket is trailing behind you like a cape, your hair a mess, eyes glassy with tears as you stretch your trembling hand toward the counter like it’s the promised land.

you pause, mid-drag, and look up at him with the most heartbroken face he’s ever seen.

“i dropped… my toast…”

shiu blinks.

you sniffle. “it fell jelly-side down.”

his lips twitch. “oh no.”

“and then i got dizzy.”

“mhm.”

“and i think the floor is sucking the life out of me, shiu.”

he’s walking toward you now, casually, like he’s not biting back a laugh. “you’re telling me… you belly-crawled like a war hero because you dropped toast?”

“i’m starving. i haven’t eaten in days.”

he bends down, squats beside you, one elbow resting on his knee as he watches you dramatically paw at the floor like you’re about to fade into the afterlife.

“you had broth.”

“broth isn’t food. it’s liquid regret.”

shiu snorts. actually snorts. “you’re outta your mind.”

but his voice is gentler now, and without warning, he slips an arm under your waist and another beneath your knees, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you yelp, clinging to his shirt.

“shiu! put me down! i was making progress!”

“toward what? an oscar?”

“toward the toaster!”

he carries you to the couch instead, ignoring your weak little kicks as he deposits you like a fragile treasure, tucks your blanket around you like he hasn’t seen you cry over expired yogurt before, then leans in close.

his voice drops, soft and dangerous.

“next time you wanna reenact your dramatic death, text me first, sweetheart.”

“i didn’t wanna bother you.”

“you’re my favorite kind of bother.”

you blink up at him, pout trembling.

“you’re such an asshole.”

he grins, brushes your hair back gently with a sigh. “but i’m your asshole.”

and then he disappears into the kitchen, mumbling something about how he’s going to make toast the size of your face and spoon-feed you if you try to crawl again.

he does.

he even cuts it into heart shapes.

he just won’t admit it.

HIROMI HIGURUMA

he knew something was off the second he called and you didn’t answer.

you always answered. even if it was just a groggy voice telling him you hated his ringtone and to never call you again. so when he’d finished his meeting, walked out of the courthouse with his tie loosened and a coffee he didn’t even want, and still hadn’t heard from you?

his stomach turned.

fifteen minutes later, he was at your apartment door, unlocking it with the key you gave him the night you first got sick and told him he was your emergency contact “because you look like you’d yell at doctors for me.”

he pushes the door open.

“...hello?”

silence.

and then—

soft sniffles. pen scratching paper. a dramatic sigh.

he follows the sound to the living room and—

freezes.

there you are. wrapped in a blanket like a sad little lump, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your head resting against the coffee table. a whole stack of napkins laid out in front of you like legal documents, each one written in your slightly-shaky, overly-loopy script.

he walks closer, blinking at the one closest to him.

“to my beloved hiromi: you can have my succulents, even though you always forget to water them. i forgive you. i love you. tell my cat i said bye.”

his brow twitches. “...what the hell is this?”

you jump, head snapping up like a child caught drawing on the walls. your eyes are watery and dramatic, red from crying, your nose a little stuffy and your cheeks flushed from fever. you clutch a pen like it’s a quill and you’re writing your last will before war.

“you came,” you whisper.

“yeah. what the hell is going on.”

you sniffle, voice soft and shaking. “i think i’m dying.”

he looks at the box of tissues, the half-empty bottle of cough syrup, and the room-temperature cup of tea on the table.

“you have a cold.”

“a terminal one.”

he sighs, long-suffering but fond, dropping the briefcase onto the floor with a soft thud.

“you sent me twelve napkin letters. in one of them you said i can have your pinterest password when you die.”

“you should know what i liked. to mourn properly.”

“you also left the air fryer to nanami.”

“he said he liked it once!”

he crouches down in front of you, long legs folding easily, eyes scanning your flushed face. he lifts a hand to press it gently to your forehead.

“jesus,” he mutters. “you’re burning up.”

you gaze at him with tear-filled devotion. “if i go, you have to be the one to eulogize me. make it sound like i was sexy and mysterious.”

“you’re congested and covered in napkins.”

“so was marilyn monroe probably.”

hiromi lets out a soft breath. then he leans forward, gathering you into his arms with a slow, practiced motion, your blanket and all, lifting you gently until you’re in his lap, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

you melt into him instantly, mumbling, “i left you my lip balm too. don’t let another girl use it.”

he hums. presses a kiss to your forehead.

“don’t worry, angel. you’re not dying.”

“you sound like a lawyer.”

“i am one. and i can legally promise you’re going to be fine.”

you grumble something about rewriting your will just in case, and he lets you. even picks up a fresh napkin for you and hands you your glitter pen with a quiet, indulgent smile.

“just let me make you some soup after,” he murmurs. “and then i’ll read every one of your dramatic goodbyes.”

“even the one where i left you my collection of embarrassing texts?”

“especially that one.”

he holds you tighter. his voice soft, but his touch firm. grounding. safe.

because for all your chaos, he wouldn’t be anywhere else.

[honeyyhivee]

so weird so my writing account @blkkizzat has for some reason been completely deleted. haven't got an email or an explanation as to why yet but im submitting a ticket. might be a glitch? might be cause hatin ass bitches keep reporting? idk I just made a post from the app (I usually make them from my laptop) but as soon as I posted it like instantly deleted. I just made a test post on this account with the image and it didn't flag so idk what's going on.

[honeyyhivee]

Gojo is a virgin. part 1

Black Fem! Reader in Mind

Bad Summary: are you a virgin because you’re gojo satoru or are you gojo satoru and that’s why you’re a virgin?

CW: PWP, Mentions of Past Relationship with Toji, Trying so hard to make this as close to CANON Gojo as I can, Reader is not a virgin, making out, fingering

Not by choice either and he knows it.

Does it bother him?

It didn’t until you pointed it out to him one day.

“Why y’teasing me, huh? It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

“It isn’t, I just assumed you were a man whore.”

He doesn’t know whether to be insulted by you calling him out on his sexless life or you assuming he’d fuck anything with a pulse.

It’s not like he WANTED to be 29 and a virgin he just never found anybody that peaked his interested and if he did he wouldn’t have time for her. He’s a busy man living a dangerous life, he doesn’t have much time anymore to go out and meet people to form a close enough bond because one night stands with a stranger is completely out the question.

You could almost feel his eyes burn a hole in your head as you watched a movie with him that evening, your smile crept into his field a vision with made his jaw clench.

“Looooook at the movie, big boy.” You direct his chin with your fingers to watch the TV, but he snaps his head back at you.

“You think you know everything huh…”

“Whatchu mean.” You shrug, popping another popcorn into your mouth, eyes still on the television.

“I’ll have you know if I wanted to have sex right now I can…WITH ANYBODY.”

“Like Suguru.”

“NO NOT HIM.”

“Good because he is so out your league.”

“You—-“

Without thought you straddle him, it’s not really anything you haven’t done before. As teens he always would grab your waist to make you sit on his lap and then tease you for getting shy about it, because you swore up and down he couldn’t hold your thick ass up so the contact wasn’t something necessarily new to him. Especially with how his hands automatically flew to your hips.

Gojo never was really the type to be flustered nor be at lost of words, but feeling your plush, soft body against his as you adjust your body on his lap to face him, deemed difficult to mask.

“Y’know if you stopped being so annoying and acting like you are the shit I’d probably would have taken your virginity myself.”

“Oh?” You raise one eyebrow, almost amused with his little smart mouth despite clearly having pink toned cheeks, “Well you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t since you let that piece of shit Toji take it.”

You can hear in his voice it was more than sarcasm, it was genuine animosity and maybe even jealously. When Gojo found out you slept with Toji a year ago he nearly didn’t talk to you for a week.

If only you DID let him take it. It wouldnt have been taken from just some guy you were going to dump 2 months later.

You wanted to thread lightly with him, seeing as you can feel Satoru’s hands around your waist about to lift you up, you sit firmly back on his lap.

Just as you were about to apologize Gojo instead looks away. Pouting like a child while crossing his arms, “You pissed me off again.”

“HELLO? Look Satoru—I am sorry. If I would’ve known you wanted me I—“

“Who said i WANTED you?”

He knew the second your face dropped he fucked up. That wasn’t even the truth he was just upset and was tired of being reminded of your past with Toji. Even though he brought it up.

“Alright.” You begin to rise up from his lap, a bit of pride he had left left his body, and he takes a breath and manages to ignore it for a moment to grab your arm.

“Wait…my bad.”

“Uh huh. Move, Satoru.” You wave him off trying to get up so you don’t bust your ass hopping off his lap. “Go ahead and have sex with anybody you want like you said—“

“Then let’s go.”

His eyes locked on yours, You never really felt as uncertain with Satoru as you do right now. One of his long strong arms still thrown across the couch, staring you down.

Satoru knew exactly what he meant and got dammit he will repeat it if needed be.

“What?”

Gojo huffed in annoyance, picking you up by the butt with one hand. You shrieked a little causing him to squeeze one cheek firmly.

“Your ass is so soft.” He mumbled against your ear, you could almost feel a smirk growing against your skin while he walked you both to your bedroom.

“SATORU?…what are you doing? Where are we going? You clearly said you don’t want me so obviously—oh!”

You sink into the soft mattress and Gojo comes in seconds later to fill the gap between your legs, he somehow looked even bigger when on top.

Gojo really had no initial plan, he did know he hurt your feelings about a clear lie so instead of apologizing with words he’d rather do it with action.

His lips were so soft on your neck, he peppered the entire area of it before finding a spot right below your ear to suckle, earning a choked out whimper from you.

“Sat….Satoru, but you said—“

“I lied.” Was all he could muster up, his voice was lower than usual, “I fucking want you is that so wrong?”

His tone was filled with sarcasm, but you could see it in his eyes he wasn’t joking. He always had a weird way of expressing his feelings to you.

“I mean…that’s only if you want me too. Which obviously you do I mean look at me. You are probably wet—“

“Wanna find out?”

You wanted to chuckle hearing the small choke in Gojo’s voice mid sentence, you give him no room to try and talk back, instead grabbing his left hand and guiding it to the tiny damp spot on your shorts you apply pressure on the tips of his fingers on your clothes clit.

“Shit..” He exhales gritting his teeth, looking down at the lewd sight below him you nip at your bottom lip in satisfaction. It was a new feeling to his finger tips even though he was only feeling the outline of your little clit.

“Well aren’t you a little pervert.” He punctuates his sentence with him taking control of his fingers and doing some temporary small tight circles against you. You hum against his ear trying to tighten your thighs closed, but obviously his hips were in the way of that.

The gap between you both began to slowly close with how much your best friend was leaning into you. Whatever space was left was filled with each others breath. You could almost taste the sweet candy that gojo was previously eating.

“You ganna kiss me now or what?”

Gojo’s fingers didn’t falter. Although you could tell this was his first time rubbing a clit the pressure and speed he had was so painfully good you felt your back arch unto him.

“Oh..” You held your strained moans to come up with a quick witted comeback by chuckling, “So ladies first huh?”

Your mouth softly pressed against his. Damn, he had soft lips. The kiss was timid at first, more on Gojo’s side than yours. You took charge, holding yourself up by the elbows and tilting your head a bit for more access as you spread your legs to give him more access.

Gojo’s fingers slowed down , too excited to finally touch more of you he furrowed him eyebrows while kissing, wanting to rid of the shorts and panties you wore from blocking him to what he really wanted to touch.

He felt impatient but he didn’t want to pull away, you smelled so good, your soft moans being swallowed by him made his SWEATS feel tight, for the first time his mind was all jumbled up and couldn’t figure out a solution.

But since you’re his best friend. A good one that can understand body language you caught on pretty quickly.

You push him back gently with one hand in his chest. A small smack noise pop from his lower lips, “You really want me to take your virginity…?”

You were absolutely prepared to hear him make a snarky line or even roll you over to take charge, but when you cupped his pink cheeks he looked up at you with a unreadable face, “Of course i do.”

It’s like Gojo read your mind, seeing that you almost went “AAWWWWEEE” and eloped him into a wet smooch on the cheek he scoffed to kiss you instead. This time his little experience improved, he held you by the back of the head and licked at your tongue.

His lips became hungrier, lapping you up, and even groaning in between breathes, he’s been waiting for a long time for this.

Gojo trusted you to take his virginity, you were the only one he could see taking it.