#They're desperate and feral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chuluoyi · 2 months

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✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

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arminsumi · 1 year

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THE HORNIEST

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Summary : Horny!Gojo needs you so bad, he's insatiable. A menace.

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content, it's very horny lol, not proofread, c*mshots and creampies, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, implied drunk sex

Note : lmk if you want more horny gojo lol 👍 reqs open!! anyways lol the title cracks me up. he ain't the strongest he's the horniest :(

Horny!Gojo introduces himself to you in the flirtiest way possible, cooing a sweet and drunk "Who invited the goddess?" into your ear. He's sat on the couch with you, one night at a stupid frat party. Starstruck by you. And your reciprocation made his chest feel fluttery for the first time in years. It also made his dick stand up in his pants.

Horny!Gojo leans into you for the whole night, whispering flirty things and dirty jokes into your ear like his mind is a factory pumping them out. You match his playful energy so well, he says "I think we're made for each other."

Horny!Gojo has his sharp eyes wandering to your thighs, then your shoulders, then your lips as you speak — and he licks his lips to wet them.

Horny!Gojo showers you in compliment after compliment, relishing in your reactions and getting greedier; he needs to get you alone. "Wanna go someplace quieter?" he has to shout over the music to ask you.

Horny!Gojo assures you with cocky confidence, "Yeah, I could make you cum. Aw, don't give me that eyeroll, it's turning me on. I know for a fucking fact I could make you cum. I could make those eyes roll back. I could make your legs shake."

Horny!Gojo squeezes your hand tightly when he leads you upstairs, and giggles with you as the two of you escape into a quiet, empty bedroom. His heart is panging so hard in his chest. His body feels electric. He's so horny it's the only thing he can focus on.

Horny!Gojo whimpers when you crash your lips into his. He starts making out wildly with you like he's a sex-deprived loser. Because he is. A sex-deprived, touch-starved college boy.

Horny!Gojo hits those deep, hard strokes with no breaks just to destroy you. He never lets up. Never stops to have a breather or lets you catch your own breath. "Working up a sweat b—abyyy? Too much dick stuffing your little cunt? Yeah? Is it too much? Too big? Too deep? Fuck, you're gonna squeeze my dick off, haha, calm down. It's just a little dirty talk."

Horny!Gojo murmurs into your ear, "All I wanna do is make you finish over and over again." desperation and conviction in his voice. He really just wanted to fuck you into bliss, have you dumb on his fat cock, have you squirming and whimpering and going feral for him.

Horny!Gojo pins you down like a beast but also pounds into you like he's the bitch in heat. "Oh my god oh my god yes yes yes fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckkkk that pussy's so fuckin' gooooodddd" he's a mess, just swearing and moaning like a broken record.

Horny!Gojo almost sobs your name into your mouth when he cums, draining every drop of cum that he's worked up for you in the past hour.

Horny!Gojo turns his creampies into whipped cream with his thrusts, smacking his hips so hard into you that you feel his balls slap against your ass. They're so heavy and full, makes you think that if you weren't on birth control you'd definitely get knocked up with just one of his fat nuts.

Horny!Gojo goes round after round, becoming a melting sweaty mess of a man and feeling his muscles tire out. He pins you to the bed with his whole weight, and gives you his all just to show off a little.

Horny!Gojo has such a strained but enthusiastic voice after fucking you into next year with his dick. "Wow... that pussy's so fucking creamy." he grins toothily. A sweat drop beads off his cheek. His bangs are stuck messily to his forehead, some brushed to the side.

Horny!Gojo is insatiable, he calls you long after the party, over and over, shows up at your door and relishes in how his horniness rubs off on you. He's always a giggly mess in bed with you.

Horny!Gojo needs you so bad some days that he comes to you straight after his workout at the gym, no shower just sweaty gym boy abs, and fucks you as a way to "push his limits" for like three hours.

Horny!Gojo needs to cum everywhere he can. It's like he has a cumshot checklist. Thighs? Yes. Tummy? Yes. Ass? Yes. Chest? Yes. Face? Yes. Pussylips? Yes. Hands? Yes. In your panties? Yes.

Horny!Gojo is so fucking cute when he kisses you after sex, nuzzling your neck like a cat and telling you how good you treat him with that five star pussy.

Horny!Gojo jerks himself alone when you can't come over :( always to you, of course. Sexts like a menace. He's a bit too good at it.

Horny!Gojo gets so pussy drunk sometimes that he begs you to become his wife. His dick feels so raw and sensitive but he keeps squeezing it into that tight hole of yours.

Horny!Gojo is obsessed with you, mind body and soul. Just the sight of you and sound of you makes his dick stand up. And then he's whisking you off your feet and frantically throwing you onto the bed, and you're giggling at your horny boyfriend— oh... when did that happen? Hm. Well now he's your boyfriend.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

#smut #mdni #gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x fem reader smut #gojo x fem reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader

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hotpinkbones · 1 year

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I think, after sitting on my frustration from yesterday, that Tiff not being able to save everyone at Redcliffe despite doing everything she can to prepare may actually be the best option for her story. She spoke to Berwick last and I was already leaning towards her being broken up/very angry about a letter from Howe (I'm handwaving since I don't remember if he wrote it personally or not) but thematically? Letting that vengeful undercurrent actually cost lives in the field? Letting herself believe that these lives are on Howe's hands too instead of taking responsibility for losing focus?

#really ties in with the overall vengeance theme im running with her #desperate to prove herself to the ghosts of her family and constantly falling short #very chewable as the kids would say #warden cousland #dragon age #please talk to me about my blorbos #they're very cute and only slightly feral

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bbokicidal · 16 days

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Again & Again. | Hybrid!SKZ [B.C.]

╱|、 Pairing : Wolf Hybrid!Bangchan x Fem!Reader (˚ˎ 。7 Warnings : Aggressive Chan, Sexual Content (MDNI), biting, knotting, |、˜〵 choking/pinning, spit/drool, growling/snapping, borderline BDSM じしˍ,)ノ Notes : Day 3 of 4 from the BbokiDwae Collab with @dwaekkicidal!

ㅤ-`♡´- Hybrid!Chan likes to have his way - all of the time. But that's because he views himself as the Alpha in your household, so if you comply with him, it just makes everything easier. And of course, that slips over into the bedroom as well. -`♡´- Which means that he wants you to just sit still, look pretty, and let him abuse your holes until you're reduced to tears that stain the soft white sheets under your head.

-`♡´- Constant, hard, rough, bed-rocking, headboard-slamming-on-the-wall fucking ; whether that means he's got you bent over the side of the bed or he's mounting you from behind - maybe even letting you sit atop his hips while he pushes his cock up into you from below. -`♡´- He cannot do soft sex unless he absolutely has to. And there is a reason for that.

-`♡´- Primal urges are constant when it's mating season for him. He's growling under his breath at people who get too close to you, he always has to have his hands on your waist or in your back pocket, and if you're at home then he's stuck to your side like glue. -`♡´- And those primal urges also transfer into the bedroom as well. He'll snarl at you from behind when you squirm as your orgasm approaches, whispering out that you should stay still if you want it to take and that he's going to keep going until he knows you're full of his pups. -`♡´- If you're not listening and keep moving underneath him, he'll scruff you by biting at the side of your neck and sinking his teeth in just enough to hold you tight. It hurts, he knows it hurts, and he'll apologize for it later with a soft whimper in his voice - but for now he just needs your pretty body to lay still for him.

-`♡´- Speaking of urges - during mating season all they're telling him to do is breed. -`♡´- He's constantly in you - pinning you down with a hand on your neck on the sofa, bending you over in the bed, filling you to the brim against the kitchen counter; He's fucking up into you with heavy balls and a ruddy tip that is always, always leaking in desperation to be rubbing up on your gummy pink walls. -`♡´- And he's got so much cum to give. During mating season his body is constantly vibrating, jittery and aching for release. And one knot is never enough.

-`♡´- He's flooding you with cum so much so that even his knot can't contain it. He'll fuck into you, growl out as soon as his knot inflates and huff as it locks him into you - and even then he won't stop, rutting his hips desperately for more friction until he's grinding his cock deeper against your walls, kissing your cervix with a tip that spurts thick ropes of white to fill you up. -`♡´- And as soon as his knot deflates, it comes leaking out the moment he moves away. So he plugs you up again, cock still hard and eyes rolling back at the way you're so slick now. And how is he supposed to stop then, hm?

-`♡´- There is a lot of biting involved. You're constantly covered in marks of his dominance and adoration by being littered with imprints of his canines - though he knows better and will leave them in less obvious places - both from holding you down/frustration and pent up feelings and from needing to mark you up so others know that his territory includes you. -`♡´- And the man is feral. He's absolutely going to be drooling when he fucks you, tongue sliding over his lips over and over at the sight of how delicious your body looks rocking underneath his as he fucks into you for the fourth time that evening - if you ask nicely, and if you're into it, he may just spit on your pussy too. (He probably will anyway.)

-`♡´- He is determined to breed you. Even if you're on birth control or simply don't want kids (and he knows it), he'll still attempt to fill you up as much as he possibly can. Even though there's just so much cum that it all ends up leaking out in the end.

-`♡´-

"Gonna fill you up. You want that, yeah? You want me to fill you up?" He'll whine to mock your moans, brows crinkling when you choke on your sounds. "Say it." He'll growl, "Say you want it."

"Sit still. Sit still," He huffs, hand landing a harsh slap to your ass before squeezing the tender flesh in an attempt to keep you from moving. "Don't you want my pups, baby? Then quit moving."

"Oh my God, you're so fucking tight. So warm. God, don't ever wanna pull outta this pretty pussy."

"Where are you going?" He'll chuckle, grabbing onto your hips to drag you back to him when you try to crawl away for a small break between fuckings. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Fuck, might break you open. Split your pussy apart with my knot. Think you can take it? Yeah? Well you're gonna."

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagine #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan fic #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #stray kids headcanons #bangchan headcanons #bbokidwae collab #bbokicidal

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wolviensabes · 2 months

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Logan has a massive breeding kink. 18+ Minors DNI.

I wrote something kinda similar with the whole 'rut' thing, but this will focus more on the 'breeding' aspect. Possibly will write a deep fic about this at a later date, for now this is just a short little drabble. Wrote with both afab and amab, as an afab I am not super familiar with reactions for those born as amab, so I tried my best!

Warnings: Uh filthy breeding sex thoughts?? Don't read if it's not for you. I did not edit this I typed all of this in like ten minutes.

I don't care if you are afab or amab, or capable of actually being biologically 'bred' or not...and neither does Logan.

He is going to fuck you full of his seed, no matter what hole he is stretching.

A lot of my followers have come to me and said they are amab, and I want to give you guys some love too. Logan will throw you on the bed...or couch...or floor. He will tear your clothes off while leaving all those lovely bites on your neck and shoulder, trailing down your chest and abdomen, his rough and calloused hands feeling you as he finally reaches your pants. I hope you didn't pay much for them because they're in tatters as he grows too frustrated to unbutton them.

"Look at you, rock hard from the thought of my cock in your ass?" He teases you, watching you throb and twitch, your own sex felt swollen and leaked like crazy. This man knew just how to get you going. He likes to stoke you until you squirm, spitting on your dick as his hand works you. His thumb trails teasingly on the tip and he grins down at you as you whine for him. "Ah, gotta lube up my fingers to stretch ya...don't want me goin' in dry do you?" he teases, using your precum as lube on his fingers and circling your tight hole.

He leans down, spreading you and licks over you, his tongue prying and greedy. Once you seem wet enough, he will push one finger in. Two, maybe three. Curling them against that pretty little spot that makes pleasure jolt up your spine and make you a moaning mess. So desperate for an orgasm you try reaching for anything to grab onto.

When Logan does penetrate you, it is so intense and you feel like he splits you in half. It stings and burns, but it also feels so damn good you don't want him to stop. Ever. "Logan! Oh my god, please, move...please." Your voice wavers with begging pleasure, just as he likes to hear. It gets him going, so riled up and ready to fuck you until you can't take it.

His balls are so heavy and his stockpile of cum is huge. It doesn't matter if you're a dude, he will breed you. It was funny the first time it came up during sex, he rolled his eyes at your genuine concern telling him you can't get pregnant. He deadpans at you and scoffed, "Ya, I know that, bub...it's called fantasy for a reason. Just let me have this." he grumbled, though your concern to his words was pretty cute...and funny.

"Damn it...fuck." he snarled as his cock buried as far as it could in your ass, watching himself disappear inside you. "Takin' me so well aren't ya, pup...watchin' you squirm with my dick inside you 'bout makes me unload." he groaned and teased you, enjoying how your face blushed darkly and you mewl under your breath, biting your lip to keep yourself from sounding like you're in a fucking heat.

"M'gonna fill your tight little hole with all my seed, you're gonna be drooling it outta your greedy ass, swallowing and milkin' me already..." he spoke filthy words while he thrusted hard and fast, you felt so dizzy and lightheaded in the best way. It was incredible, such pleasure overtook your body and you felt yourself spasm as he teased your tip, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train.

You sputtered cum onto your belly and chest, he laughs lowly, grunting like a feral animal in your ear. "Messy boy. Look what you did..." He leaned down and licked a stripe through the mess and kissed you, your own cum on his tongue and you tasted yourself on the messy kiss. His hips stutter into you and he grabs you tightly, curling around your body and pressing you until he exploded inside your ass. That delicious snarling cry from him, a guttural roar, and his repetitive thrusts fill you up with his spunk.

He goes until every last drop is inside you, and he settles with his hips against you. "You're gonna keep me in ya...even if I have to keep my dick inside you."

With your pleading whine and groan, you pressed back against his cock, still hard in your ass. It makes Logan give a small thrust back, chuckling at you. You were so needy, it made him so fucking happy seeing how much you needed him. "That's my good boy, ya need it...? Fine. I'll give ya another load."

Logan talks a bit more if there's a possibility of getting you pregnant, or if he's with an afab. He's a little more filthy with his words since he knows the risks involved.

"Yeah...you want me to cum inside ya? You wanna get pregnant with my babies? Nngh....I'm gonna fill that womb. I'm gonna make sure you are leakin'..." he snarls at you while he's completely buried in your stretched, swollen cunt.

Can you barely register his words? Yes. But you don't care. You want his cum, you want him to fuck you senseless...which he has been. You were no better than a bitch in heat for him and he fucking loved it.

"Gonna be so damn full, gonna get you pregnant," he groaned and grunted hard, his instincts flaring with the possibility of actually impregnating and breeding you. It drove his hips faster and harder into you, like he couldn't control himself or stop.

His hips thrust so hard into you, the impact on your plush ass began to grow sore, you knew that your backside would be bruised and it wasn't even from spanking. He continued to pound into you, he bent you in all sorts of ways, positions you didn't think you could bend in.

Your body was covered in love bites and dark bruises, your nipples swollen from his teasing and they had a sting that enhanced all your pleasure with every thrust.

"Damn, look at you writhing. Such a good thing for me, sweet girl," he laughed as his dick kissed your cervix over and over, precum coating your inner walls. "I'm gonna fill you, princess...make that pretty little womb full." his hips continued to snap into you, biting your neck as he let out muffled growls against your skin.

You feel yourself crying with nothing but the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm, what number is this? You don't know. All you know is the pad of his finger is playing with your precious bundle of nerves and you can barely feel anything besides the raging fire of your climax shooting through you.

When he does cum, it is so much it overflows out of you, the sheer amount of it is insane. Your eyes widen, feeling the hot seed filling your precious fertile womb. If you're ovulating don't even think about running. Logan will literally hunt you down and bend you over until he is completely empty.

Thanks for reading my filthy thoughts lol. Maybe I'll turn this into an actual fic one day.

Byee 🧡

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine xmen #x men #x men 97 #xmen #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader smut #logan howlett x reader smut #🎠my works

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violentcouchpotato · 1 year

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finding screenshots of tumblr posts on pinterest is like looking at prehistoric drawings on the walls of caves

#you can feel the artists desperate need and feral efforts to express their love for the things they're passionate about #yeah #the target audience is a niche and even amongst them there are some that dont understand the art but appreciate it anyway #love this hellsite #this is affectionate

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

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Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface.

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust.

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body.

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck.

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against.

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade.

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more.

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting.

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior.

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name.

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release.

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.”

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard.

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses.

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock.

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours.

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure.

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight.

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown.

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump.

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip.

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion.

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip.

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain.

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours.

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his.

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm.

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you.

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface.

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain.

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words.

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew.

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it.

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him.

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks.

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him.

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully.

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes.

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest.

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion.

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion.

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock.

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response.

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.”

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss.

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in.

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated.

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock.

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet.

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless.

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room.

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face.

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection.

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully.

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies.

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you.

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming.

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious.

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours.

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer.

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.”

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers.

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness.

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit.

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks.

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze.

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip.

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption.

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature.

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water.

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord.

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild.

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern.

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him.

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins.

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders.

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin.

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated.

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task.

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin.

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface.

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk.

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you.

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.”

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited.

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now.

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality.

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anantaru · 1 year

Text

DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, zhongli, thoma, ayato

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, breeding, hitting it raw, established relationship, lots of cum & making a mess, taking about starting a family, a little baby fever, praise kink, petnames used: princess, baby, cute boys & feral boys, love sick genshin men

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley's trace was slow on you, on the other hand it was also precise, as if he was wholly sure on where he was supposed to touch you.

at the end of the day, it was him and he was aware on what would please you— certainly it's over his logical thoughts and his body moves on its own when he digs his fingertips into your hips to push into you strongly, a hazy grin brilliantly touching up his soft lips when you curve one hand around his neck, forcing your eyes to meet. his arms hold your legs apart consistently, sending charged shivers hastening from your quivering thighs to your sloppy sex.

how utterly perfect you were to him and how unbelievably well he could snug himself inside your dripping pussy— you're driving wriothesley insane, you better keep that in mind, and the way your walls were narrowing down on his thick shaft, almost tasting just like a warm peck of your soft lips worshipping his skin.

and with no punches pulled, wriothesley wonders if you're real sometimes, it's truly frightening that he cannot resist you. mainly when he ghosts his thumb over your perspiring skin, idly contouring the outlines of your curves and smiling when you puff out a needful whimper because of him. other than that, he doesn't move slowly when it came to his hips, and his hands? well, they're ruthless, way beyond recovering, exploring your body when his painfully hard cock snaps forward— you're almost there and so was he, feeling it wide in your belly, pulling the coil in your stomach and soon after he chases more of his relief, unable to keep his hips still, he tastes the shivers of an impending orgasm like a vibrating, electric current weighting around the hardened outline of his length.

"—wanted this for so long." his way of wording was slurred despite his clear intention to confess his desperation, and you're clearly unsure on what exactly wriothesley meant by that— needless to say there were conversations in the past that revolved around dodging the condom for a while, so he could penetrate you raw and reach the warmest, most delicious sweet spots on your walls without the thin plastic ultimately separating you two.

but instead of asking him for a better explanation, you reach out to touch him and mouth wet kisses over his neck before whining when he spreads your thighs further apart to watch how the filthy blend of your arousal and his milky whites dribble out of your hole, your used slit drawing more of it out each flutter— so, wriothesley does what he believes was the most proper way to handle such situation and immediately shuts his dripping dick back into your core, your mouth going dry by the unexpected intrusion as he kisses your forehead with a soft laugh, sending a ripple of heat to your stuffed cunt while tracing the patterns of your walls with his pink cock head.

it's cute, when he kisses your forehead again before continuing his sentence from earlier, "i dream about this constantly." a low, rumbling heave breaks into your ear all hotly and wet, "to feel you, baby, fuck— for real this time." as you peer up at him— he looks like your cunt just sent him to heaven, his thrusts sloppier than before but imbedded with more passion.

they're purposeful, tensed and slobbering all over your cum-stricken walls— he's giving you his all, holding you still while pushing his cock deeper only for you to clench down again, almost bringing him to tears by how eagerly you were responding and how desperate you fluttered around his shaft, almost strong enough to push him out again, your sensitive pussy so responsive, and deliberately letting his cock feel the warmness of your insides.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

under the homely protection of zhongli's weight on top of you, he greedily pumps his thick shaft in and out of your cunt, attempting to shift his hips a little so he could trace his cock head even better, more so finer into your walls that the intense precision of it stole the air off your lungs.

the passionate noises expelled by your bodies graze against the shell of your ears, the wet, smacking plunges burgeoning at every following thrust as zhongli twists his large palms around your knees with the force of his bodily strength before pressing them towards your chest, your complete frame now folded in half, your dripping cunt on full display and fuck, you're so damn tighter this way— and your precious husbands eyes edged on to the brink of swelling with translucent crystallines due to how unbelievably constricted your tiny hole got just when he sunk back inside, seeking out more.

pushing his tip through your pussy, he roams over your silken walls lingering on his shaft, the small oozes of your arousal and his cum spitting and drooling all over his dick as he rams it back into you, so he could claim you, dwell on top of the correct spot, so he could scatter his load all over your insides, his balls slapping against your flesh. zhongli doesn't give you time to breathe, leisurely fucking you through your helpless whines, puffed out hiccups of zhongli, zhongli, touching the depths of his heart as you coax a breathy chuckle from his throat— you're so fucking adorable when he gets you to that point of wobbly trembles taking over your frame, your half-broken sobs sealing the cracks of his soul.

zhongli likes to dwell on the thought of starting a family with you, his cute darling loving him and yearning for his body— it had always persisted through his consciousness whilst playing small fantasies on repeat. truly, it was difficult to hold himself back in bed, taken into consideration just how strong zhongli was, and he genuinely does try his best to not go beyond feral on you, holding himself back when he lastly drips his creamy cum down to your battered walls, your head lolling back and digging into the disheveled pillows as your mind breaks in shambles.

in spite of that, he gives you what your body shamelessly yearned for, his bangs sticking on his wet forehead as zhongli continues to paint your sloppy pussy and plaster his cum all over you, dragging his hard shaft over a sensitive patch on your responsive flesh. suddenly— you make a mistake and cry into his neck, whilst unbeknownst to you, you're turning him on again immediately, his cheeks inked in redness, his lips curved up, his eyes widening with a light bead of sweat forming just above his brow bone.

𖧡 — THOMA

this was, without a doubt, the furthest you have ever gone with thoma this eventful night— and you cannot help the perpetual twitches of your body before you pant out a passionate cry, so blissful that it brought you to tears when he cums inside of you again— with a low, deep rumble of your name coming undone, a feral noise coruscating through your delicate shape with how impossibly intense and hot it was.

his white, creamy seed sowed a blistering hot spot on your inflamed cunt as his sticky load easily slips into you and overflows the deepest depths of your pussy, messily bubbling out instantly before thoma swiftly crowds it back into you— your fists trembling against your body when his cock messily slaps at your cunt.

but do not be mistaken, because his muscled arms won't move away from you, even after cumming large and hot, he keeps his hips steady at all times whilst slowly rutting in and out, in and out before lifting up one of your leg to settle it on top of his shoulder, coaxing minuscule effects of overstimulation on your throbbing pussy.

"fuck— i can't wait." thoma suddenly whispers at you, his lips leaving wet manifestations on your cheek before grabbing onto the swell of your breast with his palm, all the while forcing his thudding cock back into your poor cunt, your clit twitching in anticipation to climax once again. "i really can't want to start a family with you."

in a way, you could state that thoma meant it in a literal sense, because the split moment after spelling his words out for you to hear, he does not waste a single, more second before ramming you into a feverish daze— and he thinks it's adorable when all you can do is whine in response, your hips steadily moving up to receive his blows as you corner his neck with your trembling arms, your lips mouthing hasty please, please, please, and more, more, more, as a pearl of sweat forms on your forehead.

you clench so tight around him now, thoma thought he's about to break under the pressure you put him through— despite that being utterly determined to make this work flawlessly, prolonging your lust when he reaches down to your clit and flicks one calloused finger over the bristling bundle of pleasure, pending between rubbing rough circles over your inflamed nerves and nudging his fat cockhead inside your cunt walls, his balls straining from the heaviness of his milky whites when he once again— nuzzles his face inside your neck and noses over the familiar scent of your wet skin before shooting his full load into your tight pussy, his abs hot and red, flexing with the ridges imbedded in sweat.

thoma just loves his little sweetheart so much, and he'd never deny any requests you'd throw at him— and the moment he comes back from his strong high that made his heart almost burst out of his chest, he nips at your bottom lip all sweetly, his hands a little shaky, closing around your frame;

"i just love you so much, ‘can't wait to start a family with you."

𖧡 — AYATO

your husband ayato was, in his untouched eminence, a kind man— compassionate and affectionate, and he works hard at his job to provide for his family, adores spoiling you and treasures your precious frame, as if it's the most delicate, most exquisite diamond in the world.

most importantly and beyond anybodys imagination, the yashiro commissioner likes to reveal a side of him, that he believes needs to devour you entirely;

"so tight, fuck!" he curses through a tensed jaw when he fucks you, and your ayato always made it his duty to tell you just how he was feeling because of you— what kind of pleasure he was experiences, how his soft, kissable lips touched up into a hazy smirk when you peer up at him, "i crave you, princess." he whispers again, your moans energizing him to hit all inside you, splitting you effortlessly with the thickness of his shaft reaches places.

it's quite easy for him, and he fills every last inch of your pussy that it overcrowds you and you start to believe that if you were to push down on your stomach right now, that you could actually feel him brush in and out.

another experimental thrust and you greedily squeeze up around him as he makes you swallow around his cock, gaping down before admiring just how fucking sinful it looked disappearing in your sloppy pussy— a ring of pearly whites presented around his shaft, almost like you're claiming him that particular way, the film of your arousal sticky and spilling all over his stiffened erection.

"w-where do you want me?" ayato leans over to mouth a kiss on your cheek before whispering wetly into your ear, hoping you are still able to respond despite looking like a hot mess by now— your legs quivering and on the brink of giving up on you if it wasn't for him strictly keeping them apart;

"inside..." you babble incoherently, inside, inside, inside, gasping, when he observes you struggling to properly take the fullness of his cock even though he had prepared you properly beforehand, his muscled arms looked against you before he drums his erection back and forth, your cunt creamed up and ready to take another one of his load.

"fuck— you don't even know how much i wanted you to say this." he confesses, the soft sounds of your cunt suckling him in appear like the finest music to his ears— and your body arches up into his chest, twisting slightly under him as you listen to a deep groan fall from his lips.

you whine, overstimulated, and squirm under the towering touch of his body when he obliges to your pleas, your bedroom feeling oppressively hot as he fills you at last, the trace alone, fuck, the warm feeling of ayato filling you with his seed made your head spin and rewire— he was so big, so hard and he just felt so good throbbing angrily inside of you.

his balls drip with your arousal and his cum, there was just so much of it that it made you dizzy, an aching pulse on your wet sex pawing its way through your sensitive places, your body jolting heavy while grinding on his hips, his dick sinking and bulging constricted around your insides, mouth agape and whining out a silent scream.

it took your breath away, truly, and now it’s silent and everything else stood still, only your foreheads pressed against one another, the room humid and smelling of lewdness and filth— but it's comforting in a way, and ayato’s hand drums up to your bare side, inches his way all up to your soft cheek before pushing you against his mouth with the same intensity as he was handling your pussy earlier, squeezing the air from your lungs, suffocating you with sweet nothings and praises, new confessions and small fantasies of breeding you once more.

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