hotwings0203

[hotwings0203]

[hotwings0203]

Loosely based on this

You didn’t even mean to snap at him like that, you were usually one with lots of patience but today—the day had been so fucking long, the kids were being wild and disobedient and you were already two hours behind on laundry. So when Kento walked in from work, loosened his tie, and asked if you’d remembered to call the plumber, the frustration spilled.

You fired back without thinking. Something about how maybe he should try keeping up with the house instead of pretending his job was the only hard one.

And now you’re here, bent over his lap with your ass perched up on his thighs in the quiet of your shared bedroom, skin bared and heart pounding while the barely audible chatter of cartoons drifts up from the living room below.

The contrast is dizzying—innocent voices downstairs, and you up here, your cheeks pressed to the duvet and panties tangled at your knees, the sharp bite of his disapproval thick in the air.

His hand rests on your lower back, warm and steady like he’s trying to prepare you and reminding you that you were not in control here.

“You want to repeat that tone back to me?”

His voice is low and maddeningly calm. The kind of calm that makes your stomach twist, because you know what comes next.

You glared at the wall, teeth clenched, breath shaky as you answered with a stubborn huff. “I said maybe if you helped out more instead of acting like you’re the only one working—”

Slap!

The crack of his heavy palm meeting your bare ass splits the air like a gunshot. You jolted forward against his lap, your hands gripping the comforter as the sting spread hot across your skin. The burn was instant, blooming under his hand as you let out a hiss from the shock.

“That’s one”.

His hand doesn’t leave you. Instead, it soothes over the fresh imprint he just left behind, like he’s both punishing and comforting you at once.

“Count”

Your pride sours in your throat, but the weight of his palm and the steady rise of his chest under your body hold you in place.

“…One,” you murmur, stubbornly.

“That’s a good girl”

His tone is cool, like he’s correcting a child—not cruel, just patient and deeply disappointed. And somehow, that hurts more than the slap.

“We don’t use that tone in this house. You know better”.

You squirm against him, the sting already making your thighs tremble, but not from pain alone. His words tighten something in your chest, and your voice breaks as you try to defend yourself.

“Kento, I—”

Slap.

The second blow landed harder, a little higher this time, striking close to the soft curve of your hips.

Your breath catches hard in your throat.

“Two,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk as his thumb gently pressed into the trembling flesh of your thigh. “Count”.

“Two,” you gasp, your voice tight and bearly holding it together.

“Keep going until I feel like you’ve remembered how to speak to your husband”.

And you do. You count for him with flushed cheeks and misty eyes, each swat met with a soft whimper and a whispered number. His hand is big and methodical, each strike calculated—not too harsh, never cruel, but just enough to make your ass ache and your pride fold inward with each sharp sting.

By six, your voice was trembling, tears pricking the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of it. The closeness, the way he’s handling you with such calm authority. How deeply he cares about how you treat him.

“Six…”

But this time, no slap came. Instead, you felt the glide of his palm tracing over your burning skin, lingering possessively over the curve of your ass before his fingers dipped lower, gently brushing against the tender inside of your soft thigh. Reminding you, wordlessly, who you belonged to.

“I work very hard to provide for this family,” he says, and you can feel it in his voice. “I won’t tolerate that disrespect, especially not in my home. Understood?”

You nodded quickly, the shame twisting with heat low in your belly. Your throat felt tight, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, sir”.

“Good”.

He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the small of your back—affectionate and loving in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut.

“Now pull those panties up and go set the table. I expect an apology during dinner”.

And you will. You’ll sit across from him with a freshly washed face, the kids giggling and chattering between bites of mashed potatoes, your foot brushing his under the table while your hand slips under to find his.

You’ll squeeze it gently. You’ll whisper, “I’m sorry,” with warm cheeks and shining eyes of regret.

And maybe, if you’re good for the rest of the night, he’ll let you ride him to relieve some stress after bedtime—but only if you ask nicely.

———

A/n - I promise you guys that after this, he started helping out more around the house—all that was needed was some communication but reader ended up snapping which is why they end up in that situation. It’s not a toxic marriage guys I promise🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 🫩

[hotwings0203]

kissing the duct tape that’s over her mouth so she knows i still care about her

[hotwings0203]

When am I gonna get groped in public by someone I love and trust

[hotwings0203]

fuckkkkk

♡ TW: nsfw, rough noncon, scratches and bruises, manipulation, misogyny, slut-shaming...

♡ FEM reader

He can’t believe you… 

From what he can tell, you only eat takeout, candy, and booze. Someone didn’t do their job raising you, that’s for sure. You go about life like you’re still a teenager—the worst type of teenager, at that—the type who’s given up on life and romanticizes nihilism and drugs.

College dropout, working at a bar, out all night, straggling home early in the morning looking like a whore in broad daylight—short party dress, smokey eyes, messy hair, smelling like cheap perfume mixed with sweat. 

It’s such a shame… You’re such a pretty girl.

He’s seen you when you’re all cleaned up. Newly washed hair, still damp, face a little flushed from the heat, dewy and natural, wearing comfy clothes as you go to get the mail in a pair of bunny slippers. You look like such a good girl, then—someone he could make his girlfriend. 

But every time you leave the building, it’s in a top that’s basically just a bra, a skirt that only barely reaches passed the crease of your ass, and a pair of heals that look as if you bought them in a sex shop. All in all, your entire body screams out for any man to come and fuck you hard and as roughly as they want.

He bets he could fix that about you. Teach you to respect yourself. Make you wear nicer, cuter things that would hide you away from prying eyes—keep you for himself, and only him.

That’s why he’s doing it. In his ski mask, black t-shirt, cargos, and combat boots. He’s going to show you the dangers women like you face in the world—make you see reasons as he jumps you in the alleyway and fucks you with reckless abondon against the harsh brick wall, one hand muffling all your sounds while the other fully subdues you.

He feels you weaker body’s struggle devolve to quivering while he pistons his hips against your ass, pounding your cunt until he’s filling the condom wrapper up with all the lust he’s been wanting to pour inside you ever since he moved in next door.

He just leaves you there like discarded trash afterwards, then goes home. He takes a shower, washes the evidence away, and puts on clean, inconspicuous clothes. He wonders if you’ll go to the police, but knowing what type of girl you are, he doubts it. And true enough, watching through the peephole, he sees you coming up the stairs—ripped top, bruised skin, mascara tears down your sorry face.

He acts like he’s just going downstairs with the trash, but stops upon seeing you, making it seem as if fate wanted him to discover you.

You break down at once when he asks if you’re okay, but you don’t go into any detail about anything, even when he invites you in for a cup of tea. 

No matter, he already knows everything that happened. He’s just happy to see you’ve finally learned, watching the lesson sink in on your pretty face as he helps you wash away all your ruined makeup. Sitting there, like such a saintly knight in shining armour, gently dabbing all your scratches with alcohol on cotton, offering you one of his sweaters afterwards.

You hug him as if you’ve found the one, crying into him like he’s the only person in the world you trust, falling in love with him on the spot.

You can’t see his face, but he returns it with a knowing smile, thinking about what a good girl he’s going to make of you now that he’s made you his own.

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hotwings0203]

[hotwings0203]

HOLY HELL YES

i um i um uh umm uhhh uuuum (grim belongs to @hakusins)

[hotwings0203]

YUMMM

୨୧ You tried to sneak out after a one-night stand. Gojo wakes up — calm, shirtless, and not okay with being left behind. What follows is possessive touches, quiet threats, and a reminder of who you belong to.

I wanted to write something that felt like a slow unravel — soft words, sharp intentions, and Gojo being terrifyingly calm in the way only he can be. just a lil treat for the yandere girlies ♡ hope it ruins you in the best way. mlist

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you tiptoed across the suite.

Gojo’s apartment was too clean — pristine white walls, muted city lights pouring through wide windows, and expensive silence that made your breath feel too loud. Your dress from the night before was clutched in one hand, wrinkled and still smelling faintly like sweat and cologne. You hadn’t even put your shoes back on yet.

He was still in bed, you were sure of it. He’d been wrapped in those dark gray sheets when you slid out, dead silent. You hadn’t dared to glance back.

Until now.

“Y’know,” a voice drawled behind you — slow, amused, terrifyingly awake. “If you really wanted to leave quietly, you probably shouldn’t have stolen my shirt.”

You froze mid-step, breath caught like prey in a trap.

He was sitting up now. Hair messier than before. One long arm braced behind him, the other pushing the sheets off his bare torso. His blindfold was gone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, and his icy blue eyes caught the dim light like sharpened crystal.

You swallowed.

“It was cold,” you offered, lamely.

“Oh, totally,” he said, voice light and sarcastic. “That’s why you’re sneaking out like you killed somebody.”

You turned slowly. “I didn’t think you'd care—”

Gojo laughed. Not loud — just sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” he repeated. “Sweetheart… I’ve had your name circling my brain since the second you touched me.”

He stood, bare feet whispering across the hardwood as he stalked toward you — tall, loose-limbed, terrifyingly calm.

You backed up.

Bad idea.

He moved faster, one hand pressing against the wall just beside your head, caging you without even touching you.

“That’s mine,” he said softly, flicking the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt — white, oversized, the one that hung just a little too low on you and hit just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane.

“You mean the shirt?”

His head tilted. “I mean you.”

You went quiet, breath shaky. “We hooked up once.”

“So?” Gojo smiled, slow and bright — but his eyes didn’t match. They burned. “You don’t do that with someone like me and leave. That’s not how this works.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue. But the words died on your tongue the second his fingers hooked under the shirt’s hem and pushed up — slow, deliberate, warm palms skating along the skin of your thighs.

“W-Wait—” You shifted, but he just stepped closer, pressing the full heat of his body into yours.

“Don’t run,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “You’ll only make me chase you. And you won’t like how that ends.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers kept moving — slipping higher, thumbs brushing over the crease of your hips, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I liked seeing you in my shirt,” he said softly. “But I like you better out of it.”

You shivered.

Then he tugged — not gently. The shirt lifted over your head, arms caught for a moment before he pulled it free and tossed it aside. You were bare beneath, breathless and pressed against the wall like you didn’t know what to say.

“Pretty little thing,” Gojo murmured, fingers trailing over your bare stomach. “You really thought you could disappear from me? After the way you moaned my name last night?”

You blushed — visibly. It made his eyes darken.

He kissed you. Rough, breath-stealing, like he was trying to taste every sound you’d ever made. You clutched at his shoulders — and it hit you all over again just how strong he was. How fast he could crush you. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

He didn’t yell — didn’t need to. You obeyed without thinking, legs shaky as you moved. He followed like a storm.

The sheets were still warm when he pushed you down, straddling you easily. His hands roamed — over your breasts, down your sides, fingers memorizing every inch like he’d been given a test on it.

“You looked so cute sneaking out,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin as he moved lower. “But you’re not going anywhere now. You hear me?”

You nodded — breathless, wrecked, unsure if it was fear or desire curling low in your stomach.

Maybe both.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, before glancing up with those impossible blue eyes.

“I’m gonna remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And when he finally lowered his mouth to you — all heat, tongue, and expert cruelty — you forgot your own name.

But you remembered his.

Over and over and over again.

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[hotwings0203]

wrestling moves mmmmmfff

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, kinky, panty fetish...

♡ FEM reader

Weird, weird, weird pervert who’s got you pinned like in some strange wrestling move. Skirt lifted over your belly with your cunt tipped up to his face.

He’s got his tongue poking into the fabric of your panties. Spitting on the pink fabric, making it turn dark. Eyes big and steal-gazing to how it starts to cling to the outline of your cunt—making his cheeks rouge. 

He doesn’t peel it to the side, put traces your slit with his fingers, rubbing you through the wet layer, soaking it with more of his tongue until it’s drenched all over and all the way through, making your own self get sticky beneath it. 

Finding your hole, he pokes the lace inside it. Fucking it into you, breath shuddering while watching it disappear, getting swallowd and sucked inside. 

When he pulls it out again, he puts his mouth back on you—sucking the fabric dry of his spit and your taste. 

He keeps it up until you cum. 

The crotch of your panties stretched out and thin, looking like a frayed rope, barely covering anything anymore. 

That’s when he grips it and pulls it, elastic strings snapping until it rips apart at both your hips. 

He then bags them and runs off like a thief in the night.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shigaraki, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ WB – Sakura

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hotwings0203]

idk what to caption these things anymore man,,

[hotwings0203]

mannneeee

[hotwings0203]

GAWWWWW DAYUM

johannposting again

[hotwings0203]

[hotwings0203]

Thinking about being the bitchy queen/princess of a small but valuable province, your kingdom miniscule enough to be forgotten on a map but virtually inaccessible from its geographical location. Your land prides itself in its natural resources, and the production of various textiles and sustainable weaponry that comes with the stones etched along the perimeters of your walls.

Tw: noncon

Your subjects love you, love your fierce protectiveness over them as if they were your own flesh and blood, the way you take the time to sincerely listen to the local feudal lords' complaints against the minor skirmishes your occasional militants and them encounter, love the way you stroll through the paved cobblestones among them, ignoring the way your political advisors hiss at you to show some decorum and have some pride in your royal lineage.

You're one of them, yes, but none would be so bold and disrespectful as to think you were weak.

Your back bends to greet children and elderly who can't straighten to bow to you, but you stand tall at the same height as kings and queens whose kingdoms make yours look like a grease stain on the map.

Your pride and confidence in your subjects and kingdom inspire your military to train until callouses replace soft skin, to fight until they bleed from the inside out. The defenses on the perimeter stay low, but alert as to not draw attention to any outsider who wants a taste of the paradise you've created within.

So then why do you tremble against your throne while the walls of this very kingdom come crashing down before you?

Even if half of your land wasn't covered in wildfires set by the foreigners, even if your people didn't scream his name in terror before they were slain in front of their own children, you wouldn't have believed he'd found you.

But he did, decades later, intent on fulfilling a promise he'd uttered when you both bowed to each other in your last time ever meeting.

Until now, it seems.

You lay sprawled on the grand chair in the same position you did when his militia blasted flaming catapault ammunition at your castle walls, knocking you and your advisors backwards. It took near everyone out, if not knocked down on death's doors, but it merely kept you pinned in fear to your throne with a few cuts and burns.

Outside the windows you can see your subjects being slaughtered like animals, more blood than stone splattered on the streets. Women and children scream as the raiders chase after them with glee, their husbands and brothers watching in cuffs as violation after violation occurs before them.

The trees teeming with apples which you always loved to gaze at during particularly boring meetings are now all burnt or on fire, slashed away at for no reason except to ensure that your demise is all the more uneccessary and humiliating.

You sense him before you see him.

It's not the way your blood freezes in your veins, nor the slow sounds of his steps echoing in the corridor gaining proximity to you that screams danger to you.

It's his smile, soft and serene looking at you all the while everything you've ever loved and nurturned falls to ashes at your feet.

But he takes his time with his kill, he's done his worst and now it's time to relish his victory.

You wish you could scramble backwards even further as he leisurely treads one blood and mud-caked boot in front of the other, but the falling stone around you provides more discomfort than safety. All you can do is tremble and tense up as he reaches a few feet from you.

Standing over your crumpled body, simply watching you with a cocked head.

You can hear the blood pounding in your head, the tension palpable to be cut with a knife when he finally breaks the excruciating silence.

"Did I not warn you I'd be back for you, princess?" He speaks as soft as his gaze, and you almost can't hear him over the syncophany of buildings crumbling and screams tearing through the dusk.

"Its queen," you surprise yourself equally as much as him with the lack of warble in your voice, but you still don't meet his eyes fully.

Interest piqued at your misplaced rebellion, he crouches down to your eye level and squints at you in mock disbelief.

"That's funny. Last I heard, a queen has a kingdom. And well, this one..." he trails off, biting back a snicker but it's still a stab to the heart.

You bite your lip and will yourself not to cry, but he sees it anyways through the smoke curling around your destroyed throneroom.

"Look at me."

He places a gloved hand under your chin, firm yet gentle, and forces your head up to look up at him.

Covered in soot and ash, hair falling out of its intricate up-do, nose red and twitching in an attempt not to break down, silky robes now cut with rubble.

He's hard, and you blanch at the realization.

"God, you look just as good as you did years back. I wanted to ravage you then too, but your father-"

"Dont you dare talk about him-" Your head snaps up to snarl at him but his voice doesn't even waver as he cooly overrides you.

"-screamed like a pig when he died, yes, but trust I enjoyed pissing over his grave almost as much as I'll enjoy defiling his little girl and making her my cumslut."

Your previous rage is replaced by fear again, because you know if he's come this far, it's not just to taunt.

He chuckles a bit at your gaping mouth, and playfully sticks a finger inside before you gag and swat him away. He doesn't allow you to move farther back though, because he locks his hand behind your head and shakes it a bit for good measure to ensure you're listening.

When he leans in to croon more filth at you, you see his eyes take on a strange glint that wasn't readable before from the smoke coating your vision. His eyes aren't soft anymore, theyre wild with triumph as his lips curl into a salacious grin.

"I watched you for years," he breathes in right next to your ear, and you can't help but whimper and curl in yourself more. "You stayed here, naive and pure only because I let you have your safety. You belonged to me from the start, whether you wanted it or not."

His hand dips to your stomach, and just as fast as you flinch away he snakes it up to grab your tits and knead them like dough.

"These tits," he moans as he begins to lick and bite at your ear, inhaling the cinders along with the perfume of your hair.

"This neck."

His mouth moves down to suck on your unmarred throat, creating blossoms of blue and purple hues on the expanse of your skin. He pays no mind to your shrieks at him to let you go, at his audacity to touch royalty in such a perverse manner-

"This fucking cunt, and all of you belong to me."

And he finally seals the nail in the coffin by shifting his boot until it nudges up against your clothed mound. You gasp and writhe under his iron grip, but it only agitates his adrenaline further and he quells the fire in you by pressing the toe of his show down hard against you.

He sighs as if a great relief has been lifted from his shoulders as he leans back and watches you arch your back under him, breaking finally and letting your choked cries escape you as he slowly grinds his boot in circles over your cunt, enjoying the way you look up at him with nothing but hate and despair all the while you buck under his ministrations.

"I wonder how your peasants would feel if they saw their beloved queen getting fucked on all fours like an animal right on this very throne," He muses conversationally, as if your writhings meant nothing.

"D-don't you dare," you gasp as he moves his boot up so that his heel catches a particularly delicious cruel stimulation of your abused clit. "This has nothing to do with them, you've done enough-"

"On the contrary, my little princess, you're not getting fucked in every hole by the sword handles from the men in my army, so, no, I haven't done nearly enough yet."

You dare to open your eyes to catch his bluff, but your heart drops when his lock on yours and reflect nothing but cool indifference.

He retreats his foot and lets go of your hair, standing up to his full height now.

"Wait!" You squeak desperately, for you know by now his promises mean nothing but the worst for not only you, but everyone in your proximity.

Silence permeates the air again as you quickly try to catch your breath, your doubled form heaving and fingers curling in the gritty floor at the humiliation of your unbecoming.

He allows you a minute or two, but the longer the silence treads the less patience he has to get to what he'd been waiting years for.

"Speak, or you'll be screaming instead."

Where his voice was lilting and dangerously soft before, it now drops to an octave and holds no room for bullshit.

You shake and squint up at him through the tears cascading down the soot on your cheeks.

"P-please tell your men to retreat. My people have done nothing to warrant this."

"P-p-please suck my dick princess and maybe theyll warrant some mercy instead!" He mocks in a perverse high pitched whine, and all pretenses of you treading carefully are dropped.

He can't be serious, you think.

But he anticipates it, and tries to hide back his smile by masking it with the same low tone he used before

"I'm serious."

"Fuck you," you growl, unable to bite your tongue.

"Oh, I plan to. But not until every remiaining subject of yours is watching you get split apart by me. I imagine my army will want some reward for the very fine damage theyve done to your little hovel, but don't worry- I'm sure keeping you drugged will save part of your sanity when everyone's had a turn with you."

He enjoys the stricken look on your face as he bites his lip ever so slightly and adjusts his slacks as they grow tight from his growing erection, and turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

It takes every fiber of you to kill your ego and swallow down your pride at what you must do to appease him before a new level of wrath befalls you and your people. You call his name out one more time with a new tone of hesitation and softness, trying to make up for your bitchy attitude before.

He hums in question, but hes still not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and watches you crawl a few paces over to him with your head down, your jewelry ringing like tiny bells across the stone floor.

You wince when you hear him whistle low at your state, but you keep your head down all the same.

"I'll listen to you," you utter quielty.

"What was that, slut?" Your arms shake a bit more, but you will yourself to continue for the sake of your kingdom.

He places the same boot that had fucked you earlier under your chin and lifts you up to meet his lecherous gaze. Loving, victorious, knowing, and satisfied.

Bile rises to the back of your throat.

"I'll l-listen to you," and your heart settles ever so slightly when you see his eyebrows relax, and his posture soften.

But it does nothing to quell the goosebumps erupting on your skin as he speaks his turn now.

"Damn straight you are. You're gonna bow to me, I'm gonna be your fucking god if you don't want every last one of your subjects to strung up by their intestines, and your land burned so that your little legacy here will be nothing but a myth for centuries to come."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whisper as the last tears are blinked out of your burning eyes.

"Yes, what?"

you desperatley search his dark, lust-filled hues for a shred of mercy.

But he lifts his chin and you know you won't get off so easy.

"Yes...sir?"

"Yes, my king," he corrects.

"Yes, my king," you parrot back, and your nails bite your palm as you mutter the poisonous words on your tongue.

He finally pulls back and turns around, letting your head fall down to look at the cracked floor and granting you a moment to collect yourself. You furiously wipe away your tears with shaky wrists when he calls over his shoulder,

"Try not to cry too hard like a bitch. Its either king, or master."

[hotwings0203]

last line mmmffmfmfm

thinking of a yandere! ex who blames you for his undoing.

he’s always been mentally unstable. you just happened to be the one he set his sights on, the one he shifted his obsession towards and decided that he wanted to be his.

the way he sees it, you made him worst. you turned him into a version of himself he could barely process, you held him in your palm and caressed him until you got bored and threw him off. you never truly cared for him but it’s okay. he’ll be fine with hearing you lie.

he doesn’t care if you’re feeding him tales. he wants to see your lips curling up into a pretty smile, all for him as you tell him his much you adore him. he doesn’t care if it feels like nails in your throat, or if it makes you cringe out of disgust. so long as he gets to hear those words trailing to meet his ears, it’s okay. it’ll always be okay.

he’s clawing at your door now, leaving scratches on the door. you’re shaking from the other side, clutching your phone and thinking of who to call. it’s fine to him though, they won’t reach you in time.

[hotwings0203]

life imitates art

BTW when you encounter a character and think "What's this guy's fucking problem?" that's your body trying to give you an out before you fall into obsession.

[hotwings0203]