#bottoms smut

[murdrdocs]

… i think scissoring is hazels biggest fantasy.

minors dni.

like i can just see her, laid below you, legs spread to accommodate your pelvis against hers. her pretty pink lips parted and glistening from your chapstick, her cheeks flushed a similar color. her eyes wide and bright as she stares up at you, marveling at your frame as it rocks with the slide of your hips.

she hasn’t taken her eyes off you yet, and they’re watering excessively from her refusal to close them. she’s not aware of anything other than you. oblivious (or possibly uncaring) to her blatant staring. mouth unknowingly running a mile a minute as she babbles out praises and encouragement towards you.

(“you’re so pretty, babe. don’t know how you’re all mine. fuck, you feel so good. ‘should do this more often. please, can we? ‘s like my wet dream come to life.”)

it’s kinda cute, adorable even, the way she’s so enamored by you grinding your pussy against hers. she’s barely doing any work, yet her hair sticks to her forehead.

you brush it back for her, increasing the air flow along her heated skin as you coo softly. hazel melts into the touch, eyes closing as her head chases your hand, cheek resting in your palm when you cup the area.

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

loser!virgin!hazel headcannons*

loser!virgin!hazel who can't help but blush everytime you talk to her because having your attention on her never fails to make her flustered

loser!virgin!hazel who constantly stutters and stumbles over her words when talking to you because you're so pretty she just can't think straight

loser!virgin!hazel who always stares at you in class and daydreams about being with you

loser!virgin!hazel who thought you were joking when you told her you liked her because no one's ever felt like that about her before

loser!virgin!hazel who tenses up every time you touch her because she's still not used to the dizzying feeling of your skin against hers

loser!virgin!hazel who almost blacks out when you kiss her for the first time because she's feeling so many things at once and it was overwhelming in the best way possible

loser!virgin!hazel who accidentally lets it slip that she's a virgin and you just can't stop teasing her about it (not that she minds in the slightest)

loser!virgin!hazel who practically short circuits the first time she sees your tits

loser!virgin!hazel who is so whiny and squirmy the first time you go down on her because it feels so good that she just can't control herself

loser!virgin!hazel who begs you to let her eat you out because she's been fantasizing about it for so long (and how could you ever say no to that?)

loser!virgin!hazel who accidentally overstimulates you when she goes down on your for the first time because you taste so good and she loves how you sound and just can't bring herself to stop

loser!virign!hazel who whines so pathetically when you finally manage to pull her out from between your legs

loser!virgin!hazel who is so obsessed with you and making you feel good that she doesn't care about whether or not she cums too

loser!virgin!hazel who lets you use her like a fucktoy after you've had a stressful day

loser!virgin!hazel who practically worships the ground you walk on because you're so beautiful and she still can't believe you're actually hers

loser!virgin!hazel who would let you do anything you want to her because she's too whipped to ever say no

[oobbbear]

I want to post this here too because I’ve seen it happen a few times

Please understand that there are cultural differences and language differences, if you see this happening let the person clarify what they meant, that person might just not be familiar with words the western side of the internet use

[tyunniez]

golden retriver... bttm male reader

!!.. golden retriever bsf, yn is slightly tipsy but still fully aware, rough sex, creampie, grinding.

if your best friend is a dog type he would be a golden retriever.

he's quite literally the embodiment of it. everywhere you go he follows behind, a happy smile plastered on his face. he was almost like a lost puppy.

he also loves taking care of you and doing things for you every chance he gets, even things you could do yourself!

" yn, good morning! here, i got you your favorite drink. " he practically shoved said drink into your hand, your half-asleep state still trying to comprehend your surroundings.

" huh.. oh hey. thanks... " you groggily said, stepping away from the door and heading towards the bathroom to freshen yourself up. he let himself into your place, already familiar with it.

you came back to see him cooking your breakfast, humming a soft tune while placing your eggs on the plate. " yn, come sit down. "

you sighed while taking a sit on the stool of your island, your eyes boring into his back as you watched him lightly sway to the song he was humming.

" you know you don't need to cook me breakfast almost every day right? " you cracked open the drink he bought you and took a big gulp, already feeling rejuvenated by the drink.

he hummed and placed the breakfast in front of you, sliding his own portion next to yours. " eat up! "

after the delicious breakfast, came the time for you to do your house chores. you got up and grabbed both of his and yours plated, bringing it to the sink to clean it.

only for him to snatch it from you and wash it himself. along with the stacks of dirty dishes in your sink. you only rolled your eyes and walked away to do other stuff, knowing fighting against him would just be useless.

" so any plans today? " you asked him while folding your remaining laundry, him soon joining you. " ..mm nah. what's up? " he folded the last article of clothing and lay beside you, opting to place his head on your thigh.

your hand found its place in his hair almost immediately as if it was muscle memory. " well that one show that I've been wanting to watch finally dropped so.. beer and chicken tonight? "

he snickered below you, " you already know my answer, of course! "

and so, cans after cans of beer later and some delicious fried chicken, the both of you lay in each other embrace. the two of you weren't all that drunk because of your high alcohol tolerance yet you find yourself struggling to focus on the show.

were you actually drunk or is it because of the way your best friend is holding onto you right now?

you knew it was pretty common for best friends to cuddle but the way his big hand is cradling your waist right now along with his other hand right under your ass, his finger slightly touching it, is making your head spin.

not to mention his growing hard-on that you could literally feel since you were on top of him!

and you didn't know if there was something in the air last night or if tipsy you were just bolder but you decided to slowly grind against him causing him to have a full-on boner.

he on the other hand decided to ignore it and tried to focus on the movie in front of him.

you pouted at this and decided to continue grinding on him, trying to chase your own climax and also attempting to drive him over the edge.

but a firm hand grabbed onto both of your thighs, causing you to stop. " what do you think you're doing, yn? " he asked you, his voice way deeper than usual.

" i think you know what i'm doing. so stop playing dumb and give me what i want. " your voice is adamant, as your hands roam his chest.

he smirked and flipped the two of you, him now on top of you. both of his hands caged you in, making you more turned on than you already were.

" you better not regret saying that. "

" ahn! s-slow down! " you mewled out while gripping his biceps. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your dick twitched. your release finally comes soon after. the milky white substance staining your already cum stained stomach.

" again? we've barely just started, yn. " he chuckled above you. he loved seeing how overstimulated you look right now. he's been dreaming of making you a mess for a long time now.

when you first started grinding into him you didn't expect to get dicked down immediately by your own best friend and after experiencing just how rough he actually is, well, you're not complaining.

just seeing the desperate look on your face is making him go crazy. he's been dreaming about this moment for a long time.

he wondered just how you look like when he's on top of you, making a mess out of you. how do you look when you're overstimulated beyond your limit all because of him. just what type of sounds will pour out of you while he's deep inside of you.

and oh, this exceeds his expectations.

" mmh, yn. you look so pretty right now. " he sighed into your ear, his voice sending shivers up and down his spine. " i'm sure you can handle a few more rounds, yeah? " he gripped your hips again, getting ready to abuse your already puffy hole.

" no! i-i can't cum anymore-! " your whining was cut off by his harsh thrust, your tired voice seeming to be the cause.

you hooked your arms around his neck as a way to support yourself. loud moans escaped from your mouth, this only leading him to go faster. " fuck.. i-im cumming soon yn. "

your hole tightened as you heard his husky voice next to you, the hint of whining in his voice making you shake. " come inside me! p-please! need you in me so bad! "

he grunted out loud, his thrust soon stuttering and slowing down. " yn, fuck. you don't know how long i have been waiting for this.. "

with one last thrust, white soon painted your inside. his warm cum kept flowing more and more into your hole, making your own cum squirt out of your cock.

he immediately devoured you in a kiss, saliva dribbling everywhere. wet squelching sound enveloped the room accompanied by your heavy breathing. the movie that was long forgotten acting as white noise.

he separated himself from you to admire you and the mess he made of you. he smiles as he sees all the bite marks and hickeys littering around your body. the cum seeping out of your hole only made his dick hard again.

" shit.. i don't think i can let you go after this, yn. "

[s1ckh1mb0]

Every once in a while I remember that free use trope and how Gojo would be an absolute slut for it. Like just the idea of you being bent over by him whenever he wants is so fucking hot to him.

You’re busy trying to set the table, bending over making your shorts rise up over the curve of your ass, catching the attention of Satoru. You don’t even hear him come behind you but you definitely do feel him. Suddenly being pinned against the table, his bulge pressing against your ass. Next thing you know he has you screaming and crying his name out as he fucks you dumb. You think you’re being loud? Satoru is wayyy worse than you. He’s whimpering and telling you how fucking good you feel.

“Ngh! Fuck baby. God can’t get enough. Can I cum in you? Please I swear it’s just this one time. Feels too good, like I’m in fucking heaven. Love this shit s-so much baby. All mine. Tell me you’re all mine, please.”

@silas-222

[melonn-soda]

❝ PERSONAL STREAM (A Little Too Personal..) ❞

word count: 1.9k

warnings: subbot! cis male reader, domtop! cis male kamo choso, camboy! choso, slight dumbification?, praise kink, reader referred to as a size queen (term is used for a man), mention of edging (choso), mentions/descriptions of manhandling

prompt: congratulations! you just won a solo fan call with your favorite camboy! hope you have fun watching him getting off to you being just the goodest boy ever :)

notes: a gift for and and idea from @sooniebby I jus made it into a choso fic. I've been holding it off for a while now, I think. this isn't as good as had wanted it to be but it's fine regardless. not beta read, sorry not sorry

fem aligned dni

you can’t believe it.

you actually can’t believe what you’re reading right now.

in your email inbox, something you barely ever check unless needed to, had a message from the user of a porn website (not your proudest moment) that you signed up on just to watch his videos, telling you that you won this month’s drawing. you had to stand up, walk around, eat breakfast, and come back to your computer to see if it was still there. if it was still real. you swore you’ve never felt so excited yet so scared in your life.

to know that, somehow, you won that solo fan call, to know that he’ll be jerking off for you, to know that no one else can see him but you, talking to you, and- shit. you were getting hard. you looked back at your computer screen. the email is still there. you’re not crazy. you feel like you are though.

the roll of the cheap gaming chair you bought from amazon sounded muffled in your ears as you backed away from your computer, getting up to get ready for the day with that email still lingering like an itch on your scalp that you can’t seem to satisfy. you need to get to work.

your co-workers noticed the blank stare in your eyes as you slipped on your chef coat and pants, hands on autopilot as you tucked hair into your hat and tied the apron around your waist. it smelled of fresh detergent since they just washed your uniform. your friend had to even point out that you cut your finger when dicing onions because you were too out of it to even notice. or was it that working in the food industry made your fingers numb to the sensation since it happens so many times? ... huh.

when you got back home, you opened up the email again. it’s still there. it’s still real. did you want it to be fake? part of you says yes but the majority of you hoped not. i mean, you’ve been following this guy for.. what, months now? lord knows how much money you’ve sent to him. he wants to start the call at 7pm on discord.

you thought he might use something else other than that app but he was probably just using an alternative account and he most likely changes his user after every raffle. if you were him, you would do the same thing.

...

you should probably take a shower.

it was 6:40 and your hair was still damp with water, towel resting on your shoulders to catch any stray droplets from getting your shirt wet. you kind of wanted to back out. the fear of being one to one with the camboy you’ve been fantasizing about for a long while now was scaring you a bit.

fingers fidgeting with the paper stars littering your desk and your foot rapidly tapping against the floor, you watched the seconds go by on your desktop. your dominant hand reaches for your mouse and highlights his username to copy it and paste it onto the add user section, sending the friend request to see that he accepts it not even 2 minutes later. ...was he getting ready?

your webcam was sitting on your desk, not properly hooked onto the top of your computer. it was plugged in but you hardly ever use it so it just sits where it is. should you set it up? ..no, you didn’t feel like it. your mic was completely ready though, as always. you and your friends would always play together on call, so it was your most used piece of equipment.

4 minutes.

your stomach twisted in anxiety.

choso sighed as he applied lotion all over his torso, all too used to the way he prepared everything during streams and bonus videos locked behind an even bigger paywall. this sidegig he was doing felt like a chore sometimes but money was money, and by god did this account make him a lot of it.

lots of women flocked to his account, entranced by the way his voice stuttered whenever he close, his hips that instinctively jerked because his hand wasn’t able to move any faster, and the whimpers that teared into the mic when he came all over his hands and milked himself for all that he’s worth. they mostly talked about how perfect his dick looked but that was an average comment in his chat.

he saw the friend request notification pop up on his computer and figured he’d at least get his cock hard before the call even started. he put on some random porno in the background, stroking himself with little care and when he got half-hard, he figured that would’ve been enough. he accepted the friend request and close the tab with the video playing, looking over to see that he had 4 minutes until he would start the call.

fingers moving expertisley across the keyboard, he made sure to tell you that the first 30 minutes of this session was free, any longer and you would have to start paying up. you replied with a very short, “got it.” and left it at that. you seemed to type out something more before it quickly went away, causing choso to raise an eyebrow. were you scared?

35 seconds.

choso was getting tired of waiting, so he began the call. unbeknownst to him, you freaked out when you heard the ringtone rumble through your speakers, hesitating to accept the call. in the end, you did anyway because you didn’t have to pay for this private session for 30 whole minutes.

the half-curse’s hand went back to his dick, stroking it with barely any passion behind his movements. however, he wasn’t expecting to see the face of the winner from the drawing within 5 minutes of the call, teeth biting into his fist as his other hand’s fingers worked himself open. choso swore he was no longer half-hard, dick twitching to life in his hands, pre already leaking from the tip of his cock.

he was used to mostly knowing that women were behind the screen and heavily suspected that you might’ve been one- but fuck, to know that another man was getting off to his voice, his cock, drove him wild.

maybe he’ll get rid of that 30 minute rule.

you didn’t mean to turn your webcam on.

you could feel your stomach sink when you could see yourself on full display for the camboy in the discord call. it was too late to turn it off now. whatever. you only live once.

“aren’t you just the cutest?” you aren’t sure why you flinched but the way his voice carried those words certainly got you feeling things, “how about you turn your mic on too, yeah? wanna hear your pretty voice.”

shakily, the hand you were biting on reaches for your mouse and you click unmute. your fingers that were inside you accidentally pressed against your prostate, causing a loud moan to fall from your lips, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. you don’t want to get a noise complaint from the neighbors... again. the first time having to explain that to an officer was embarrassing enough.

“good boy,” he grunts into the mic, bucking his hips up with a loud smack coming from his end of the call, “jus’ the sweetest little thing, aren’t ya? betcha’d be just absolutely adorable if i were to fuck you stupid. it hasn’t even been 15 minutes and you’re drooling all over your pretty fingers.”

you didn’t even notice that you’ve been panting so much that spit began to run down your chin, too absorbed in the way the camboy’s dick spilled even more pre over his massive hands. fuck, just how strong could he be? could he manhandle you? yank your head back using your hair as a handle while blowing your back out? shove you down on his cock because you simply weren’t riding him fast enough?

“you got a dildo on you, baby?” he asks you, his hand slowing down to a stop. his words pulled you out of your abundance of fantasies to shift your focus back into reality, vision a little blurry from the tears resting on your eyelids.

you managed to fumble out a small, “mhmm..” just loud enough for him to hear and he tells you to grab it. in a slight daze, you reach into one of your many desk drawers to pull out the toy that sat in its box, already cleaned from its prior use.

“do a favor for me, yeah? put it in nice and slow, imagine it’s my cock stuffing you full. how big ‘s your toy? five- six inches?” he sure likes to ask a lot of stuff, you notice.

“‘s seven..” you mutter, wincing when you push the toy inside your hole, stretching you full and your mind goes numb.

he chuckles, deep and breathy and shit- “so you’re a size queen? that’s what they call it, right?” he starts pumping his fist around his cock again, albeit slower than before. you would take a bet that he was edging himself, “that’s it. such a good boy f’me.”

legs quaking in place, you managed to get it all inside you. sitting on it was much harder on your chair than you anticipated, the current position you were holding getting uncomfortable. cautiously, you lifted your hips, wrapping your hand around your own dick and giving it a few strokes while breathy moans left your lips, slamming yourself back down on the dildo. your eyes widened in surprise as the tip of it pressed against your prostate, a loud whimper echoing throughout your room.

“fuck-! you’re so cute, mmph- k-keep going, baby. i’m getting close- ah!” you could see that his hand was moving much faster than when you last looked up at your camera, quick breaths and filthy pleas paired with the desperate thrusts of his hips.

 stumbled cries left your lips when you began to keep up with his pace, fingers getting sticky with pre as you continue to stimulate yourself. through blurred tears, you could see his hips rut one last time before a stifled moan left his throat and his fist was coated with his cum, dripping onto his pants.

he winces at the overstimulation from just shifting his hand to let go of his softening cock, grabbing a tissue to clean himself up while watching you bounce up and down your toy. you could even say he was jealous. even so, he could tell you were pathetically chasing your own orgasm, breathy sighs escaping from the confines of your lips. eyes closed in slight shame yet concentration, your thumb came up to the tip of your dick and rubbed, causing a yelp to slip through and your eyes opened once more.

however, you weren’t expecting to see the gorgeous face behind the creator of all those inappropriate streams you’ve watched the second your hips slammed back down on the dildo. 

“[name]..”

ropes of your own release spilling out of your dick, it finally registered in your head that the camboy was willingly letting you see this. your thighs quaked not only in nervousness but also in fear that you might get a boner again just from how handsome he was. his face was pale although dusted with a bright hue of red covering his cheeks, eyebags signaling a lack of sleep, he had some sort of black line going over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and slightly messy black hair tied up into short ponytails. if he wasn't attractive to anyone, he was at least attractive to you.

his pretty and slightly plump lips opened to speak once more, “do you.. wanna meet up in person..?”

“h-huh...?”

[sooniebby]

,,,,, reader (ftm) is Megumi's babysitter n when DILF Toji comes back he rails the reader (Megumi is asleep upstairs so he doesn't hear anything lmao),,,, yes i know this is one of THE cheesiest porn plots ever but I love it sm

ఌ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

꧁ 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙭 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 6.4k

Warnings › a broke man and a nasty ass house.Also age gap.. reader is around 20. Reader is trans masc. I went too far guys omfg… the plot took over. Slow-ish slow burn.. they kinda start fucking randomly.. also mamaguro didn’t die until Megumi was 6.

Kinks › use of pussy/cunt/feminine terms, breeding, manhandling, degradation, size kink. Reader is called housewife. Mention of getting pregnant.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“What… the fuck..?”

You were shocked. Baffled. Bewildered. What the fuck was this mess?! You weren’t even inside the house and could see what looked to be ants having a conga line as they stole crumbs off the floor.

The kid you were set to babysit didn’t look bothered by the mess. Megumi..? Was it?

Megumi hummed, noticing your shocked stare at the mess he was forced to call a home. “It’s… it’s not too bad if you ignore the kitchen.”

“Where’s…?” You whispered, slowly walking into the house. You didn’t even want to take off your shoes but it seemed Megumi was wearing his shoes.. so you kept yours on.

“He went to work.” Was all Megumi said as he shuffled over to the small living room. He plopped down onto the couch and began watching tv. You gently placed your bag down on the floor in the only clean-ish area of the house. Just.. how can it get this bad? Was he never home?

“Uhm.. well… I’m guessing you’re Megumi?” You asked, walking over to the couch. Megumi gave you a hum as he began shifting through channels with a remote that looked as if it was one press from combusting. As you sat down, Megumi quickly spoke.

“No! Not that—”

Crack!

You blinked in perplexity as you weren’t sitting on a comfy cushion of a couch. No.. you were sitting through the couch, your ass practically touching the floor. You grunted, your legs flailing as you tried to get out of this death trap masquerading as a couch.

“What… the… fawk?!” You screamed, already wishing you didn’t accept this gig.

“Dad broke that side of the couch.. he hasn’t replaced it yet.” Megumi muttered, getting up as he grabbed your hand and began pulling.

He was only around ten the most… there wasn’t much strength to his pulls. It took an embarrassingly long time until you finally got out. If Megumi wasn’t going to be alone in this devil trap, you would’ve ran out screaming. But you quickly took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Usually.. they all leave around this time.” Megumi whispered, seemingly waiting for you to just bolt out the door. “Can you… at least stay until I go to bed, Mister…?”

He looked up at you. The usual cute little kid puppy eyes and pouted lip. You sighed and simply nodded. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he had a lazy man as a father. You briefly wondered where the mother was but didn’t think it was right to ask Megumi such a question.

Instead… you glanced over at the clock.

9:30 a.m.

Okay.. the father should come home at around 6 p.m.? The latest? So you could stay for this kid. Might as well, you travelled a bit far. Because surprisingly, the pay was pretty good. But now you wondered if you weren’t getting any of that money when you glanced at the state of the home.

“Well. Have you eaten?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you eat?”

“….cookies.”

You groaned. You stormed over to the mess of a kitchen and began opening the cabinets to find nothing! You opened the pantry—zilch! You opened the fridge with a look of despair—nada!

You would’ve screamed and cried if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself more in front of a kid ten years younger than you. With a grunt, you looked back at Megumi who looked unconcerned with his poor excuse of a kitchen.

“Let’s go to the grocery store….” You muttered through your teeth. You were glad Megumi was already dressed. But it was confusing.. his clothes looked decent. Did the dad spend all money on Megumi’s clothes?

10:10 a.m.

You fucking hated the city! All this damn traffic. And you almost lost Megumi!! The two of you were now in the grocery store, you hand gripped tightly around Megumi’s as you stomped around with a look of anger. Your lips in a permanent snarl while your eyebrows furrowed.

This wasn’t even your kid but it certainly felt like it!

Megumi, despite a bit confused on why you seemed so worked up, had a small smile on his face. It was.. normal to just grocery shop—even if it was with a man he didn’t even know well.

Once you began to check out, you almost cried at the price. You slowly handed your credit card to the clerk, your grip tight as she had to wrestle it out of your hand. Silent tears streamed down your face as you spent money on someone who’s not even your kid..

Gosh.. why’d you have to care so much, (Name)?!

“What does your dad even do?” You asked as you two sat on the train back to Megumi’s house. The train was empty—the only two souls being you and Megumi. And this random guy towards the end but he doesn’t matter.

Megumi hummed, lost in thought. “Dunno.”

You groaned. Well, it didn’t matter anyway. You were just going to take care of this kid today and never come back. As you began checking your phone, the soft weight of someone resting on your arm jolted you. You glanced down and saw Megumi snuggled up against you, already deep in sleep.

Fuck…

Curse kids being cute.

11:50 a.m.

The sounds of harsh scrubbing filled the Fushiguro household. Clinking pots and sounds of labored breathing were one. Megumi was on the couch, the safe side, eating an omelette you made for him. It was an actual healthy meal—filled with protein and fiber. But you…

You were on your knees scrubbing what looked to be weeks old spill of pasta. Or.. something. It was red and smelled a bit. But you weren’t quite sure. As you scrubbed the spot away—you glanced around the kitchen with a frown. The only thing cleaned up.. was the sink and now the floor.

Everything else was still dirty.

So, for the next few hours, you began cleaning. Maybe it was for Megumi.. you felt terrible that he had to live in such a dirty home. Perhaps you saw yourself in him—being forced to live in a house that your parents didn’t care to make it feel like a home.

“Mister (Name), can we go to the park later?” Megumi suddenly asked. You glanced behind yourself to see him holding his now empty plate as he dropped it in the sink.

“Sure. Will your dad be okay with it?”

Megumi shrugged. “Maybe.” He walked away after that.

This kid didn’t seem to care that much on his father opinion. But you were just a babysitter, not some type of disciplinary parent. The smell of the fumes from the cleaning sprays was getting to you, so you grabbed a random candle and lit it.

The candle looked to be a lavender one. It’s case still brand new. Compared to most things in this house.. it looked taken care of. The smooth container was soft against your skin as you placed it on the newly cleaned kitchen counter. It smelled nice.

It was a lavender candle. You couldn’t go wrong with lavender.

“You lit it?” Megumi suddenly whispered, his eyes turned over to you.

You hummed. “Yeah. Is.. this not for lighting?” You muttered, realizing you should’ve asked first.

“No.. it’s fine. I doubt he even remembered it was there,” he muttered, his voice a bit angry before he turned his body back to the tv.

You wanted to ask.. why he wouldn’t remember it. But you thought back to the missing mother. Oh. Was this hers? You felt awful lighting it now. So grabbing the covering, you covered the candle, letting the flame die out. As you watched the light go out—it felt worst letting it die than letting it burn.

“Megumi, I’m going to check out the bedrooms, okay?”

“Ok.”

You walked up the stairs and opened the first door you saw.

The bigger bedroom.. wasn’t the father’s. It was Megumi’s. And it was perfect. A nice citrus smell filled the room from the fragrance plugs. A nicely painted blue colored walls. Toys packed neatly and a bed that looked cared for.

Even the floor was cleaned. It squeaked beneath your shoes.. you quickly took them off. As you left the room, closing the door with a soft smile on your lips, you walked to the spare bedroom. Opening the door, the bedroom was small. More like an office.

But it certainly was more fit for the child—not the father. You wondered why he gave Megumi the bigger room but it made sense in that, perhaps he just wanted to give Megumi more space. The room was dirty, just like the rest of the house. Wrappers crinkled beneath your feet as you shuffled around, trying to see what was in the room.

When you turned on the light.. you noticed that this was also Megumi’s space. The wrappers were candy and there was more toys all over this room. But it didn’t make any sense. This was a two bedroom home..? Or.. you thought about the room downstairs that was locked when you were searching for cleaning supplies.

Ah, that must’ve been the true master bedroom.

You cleaned the spare bedroom and noticed that it was more like an office. You checked the closet and saw dresses, skirts, and heels. It was obviously the mom’s—but they haven’t been worn in awhile.

You closed the door, deciding you shouldn’t snoop too much in this family’s business. You whispered a quick soft apology for disbursing the room obviously left to the mother and walked out.

Downstairs, Megumi was still watching tv but he quickly stood up at the sight of you. He smiled a bit and sprinted over to you.

“Why’d you let it stop? You can burn it.” He said, pointing to the candle.

You glanced over at it. “I… I don’t know. Your father had it hidden between the cleaning supplies… I only found it by accident.”

“Please… I..” Megumi sighed. “I miss her smell.”

You felt guilty… but as there was no father to object, you started the candle once more. Megumi was considerably happy as he jumped back onto the couch and payed attention to the tv.

The gnawing feeling of guilt hurled in your guts but you pushed it back. The house still had spots to clean. Keeping yourself busy with that—you cleaned the living room and the front area of the home.

Lavender filled your nose as you moved about. It was comforting, swirling around as if it was livening up each corner of the home. Megumi was happy.

5:50 p.m.

Okay. Time for dinner. You felt a bit embarrassed forgetting to give Megumi lunch but he didn’t seem to mind. Probably has to do with the amount of snacks he was eating while you cleaned. You made the easiest thing ever, chicken Katsu curry. As you gave Megumi his portion, you noticed there was enough for at least two more people. So you placed them in the fridge. Despite having a bit of a grudge against the dad..

It wouldn’t hurt to leave him dinner.

It only took a near hour before Megumi was reminding you about the park. Your body was sore though, from slaving away in cleaning this damn house. And it was a job well done.. no more ants conga lining or the nasty smell of what could be assumed as blood.

“Okay, okay… Only for an hour the most—I don’t know if your dad will be okay with it.” You said, smiling softly.

9:00 p.m.

Okay, so it wasn’t an hour.. nearly four! But it was hard. Megumi was having so fun swinging and then you guys started playing tag.. and then hide and seek. And then—

Okay, you don’t have a backbone when it comes to cute kids.

You hummed softly as you walked back home—Fushiguro’s home! Megumi was in your arms, face nuzzled into your neck as he slept away. The sun was already down by now, the only light was the street lights shining down on you.

Even if the dad didn’t pay you much.. you would come back, just for Megumi. As you trudged up the slight hill to the house, you wondered how parents who carried their child did it so often. It felt like a workout.

Once you reached the house, you stopped in your tracks.

There was man standing at the door.

He was tall, certainly taller than you. Dressed in a long black t-shirt with baggy tan pants. You stepped back ready to start running when a gust of wind caused you to shriek.

The man was right in front of you. His eyes bore down on you with a look of pure bloodlust before his eyes flickered to the body in your arms. He calmed down, noting.. Megumi was in your arms.

So you must’ve been the babysitter. Huh, he never expected a man.

Well, he certainly scared you off with how he just acted.

“I,” his voice was deep. “I lost my keys.”

You blinked. Anger. Frustration.

“What the fuck?!” You screamed.

The man backed away a bit, raising his hand up in confusion. He obviously looked confused at your sudden burst of anger… did it anger you that much that he lost his keys?

You pulled out the spare keys you had in your pocket and opened the front door, storming inside with the dad right behind you.

“Put him to bed!” You yelled, pointing at Megumi.

He took Megumi from your arms and went upstairs. You took that as your chance to grab your bag. Well, you did what Megumi wanted, stayed until he fell asleep.

Just as you were about to leave, the dad was downstairs already. Okay, that wasn’t possible or normal but you didn’t know if you were just sleep deprived.

“The trains are closed for the night. Are you going to walk home?” He asked.

“Maybe! Why do you care?”

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s not safe to leave trash all over the house.”

He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow, as if waiting to see if you’d continue with your disrespect. But you pursed your lips shut. Yeah, it wasn’t safe going home this late. Especially when you lived so far away from here.

“Fine. I cleaned the spare bedroom anyway, it’ll be fine to sleep in.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. That room is off limits.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. The couch will do.” You whispered, storming over to the couch. But of course… you forgot which side was the broken one.

And once again, you were stuck in the broken couch. You didn’t even flail this time. Only a whine of disappointment as you decided to accept your faith. The dad was busy doing something as he didn’t come over to you until you heard the microwave turn on.

“That side is broken.”

“I noticed.” You grunted.

The man grabbed your arm and easily pulled you out, causing you to shriek.

“You shriek a lot.. are you a mouse?”

“A mouse?!”

“You’re so loud, mouse.”

“It’s (Name), oaf!”

“Toji.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to go sit down but his grip on your arm didn’t waiver. It wasn’t like he was putting much force into it, it was a light easy grip. But it still held you in place.

He leaned down a bit, his nose sniffing you. You gagged at him being so close but could only pull away a bit from him.

“You stink.” He simply stated.

“Stink?!” You screeched. “I busted my ass cleaning your dirty house for Megumi!”

“Huh? I didn’t hire you as a maid. You’re Megumi’s babysitter.”

“Well,” you muttered, trying to explain yourself. “It’s.. not good for Megumi to live in such a dirty space. Kids get sick easily!”

Which was technically true.

Toji hummed. “Okay, Housewife—you still stink.”

“Housewife—?!”

“—so go bathe before going to bed.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“I’ll give you something.”

With that, Toji walked away to the kitchen and grabbed the plate of microwaved curry. You glared at him but walked over to the bathroom.

It was recently cleaned as the acidic scent attacked your nostrils. You started the bath, letting it fill in as you got undressed. Toji was right though—you certainly didn’t smell as nice as you did when you first got here.

“Hey, Housewife.”

You screamed out, covering your chest as the bathroom door opened. Toji kept his eyes closed as he tossed a towel inside.

“Stop screaming, you’ll wake up Megumi.”

The door closed after that. Your face was flushed red as your lips curled into a pout. Shit. You were so loud. You stopped the water and got inside, ready to just take a long relaxing bath.

9:50 p.m.

You hummed, feeling yourself being wrapped in a nice fluffy blanket. You only giggled, snuggling into the warm embrace. Strong arms held you up and suddenly you were moving.

It felt so nice being cuddled by warmth, especially after that cold bath. But you didn’t know why the bath was cold. It was hot when you started it.

You shook awake when you felt your body drop onto a bed. Toji had carried you from the bathtub. You quickly fixed your towel to make sure you were properly covered as you watched him walk to his closet.

“Be careful next time, Housewife. You were about to drown if I didn’t check on you.”

“Huh? Drown? And it’s (Name)! I’m a guy, damn it!”

“Your head was underwater.”

“Oh.. how long was I in there?”

“Almost an hour.”

You shivered. Well, thank god you didn’t even attempt to walk home. You would’ve passed out mid walk. Toji looked busy, moving clothes around in his closet as he hyper focused on them.

“Here.”

You flinched as a large t-shirt was thrown at your face. It was a black one that would certainly cover your body fully. But.. there was no underwear. You took the chance to slip the shirt on when Toji’s back was still facing you.

The t-shirt practically engulfed you, way too big for your body. As you examined the big shirt, Toji closed the closet door. You glanced up when you felt his eyes on you.

“You can watch Megumi for another day, yeah?”

“Wha? Why?”

“I got another job.” Was all he said as he left the bedroom.

With a grunt you shot out of bed and followed after. You watched as he slipped back into his shoes and was standing by the front door, ready to just leave! Who does that?

“Hey!” You yelled, before quickly quieting down when you remembered Megumi was asleep. “What type of job do you have to be leaving so late?!”

“You’re the babysitter.. Focus on Megumi. I’ll pay you extra.”

“The pay doesn’t matter, asshole! Megumi needs a parent that is actually here. It’s better for him,” you said, stomping over to Toji.

You opened your mouth to speak once more but was muffled when Toji grabbed your face. He stared down at you, a look of disinterest on his face. You could feel his eyes just taking you in, looking at your features. Your lips, eyes, nose.

His hand was so large against your face, so easily holding your jaw still and squishing your chubby cheeks. Your lips were pursed together as you tried to make a sound. He leaned down towards you, his lips right near your ears as he whispered to you.

“You should be careful when moving your arms up so high, especially without underwear.” Was all he said before leaving.

The door slammed shut when you finally realized what he meant. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. Fuck!

This guy…

12:30 p.m.

It was the next day and no sign of Mister Fushiguro “Toji”. You stabbed angrily at your salad. Megumi was unfazed but certainly happy that you hadn’t left last night. You had to stay in Toji’s shirt and just grab the smallest pants there.

Still no underwear.

Even the smallest pants kept falling a bit if you didn’t hold it while walking. You had pulled up the shirt and used a rubber band to tighten it so it wasn’t knee length anymore.

If Megumi noticed you were wearing his father’s clothes, he didn’t say anything.

“What time does your dad get home?”

Megumi hummed. “Dunno. Depends.”

“On what?”

Megumi seemed to hesitate so you didn’t push it.

Didn’t matter, as soon as Toji got home, you’d give him a piece of your mind.

11:20 p.m.

The door opened. You were right there in front of it, ready to yell when you froze. Toji had a gash on his arm, bleeding all onto the floor. But he didn’t seem fazed by it. On the contrary, it was as if it was another Tuesday to him. Your lips parted, only sounds that could out being a soft ‘huh?’

Toji looked at you, seeming to be a bit shocked you were still there. His eyes flickered down.

“You love flashing me, huh?”

You blinked in confusion and looked down to see the pants pooling around your legs. For fuck sakes! You quickly pulled up the pants and blushed heavily, thoughts rushing in your mind.

“W—Where were you?! Why are you bleeding?!” You whispered yelled. Megumi was upstairs sleeping.

Toji hummed nonchalantly as he walked to the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets, pulling out some napkins and bandages. The gash was still bleeding as blood began pooling around his feet.

Was.. that how…? You pushed the thought away and trudged over to him. With quick hands, you grabbed the materials from him and began cleaning the wound. You had so many questions—wanting to know just what type of job could do this to him.

But you were the babysitter. And that’s all you were.

When you finished, the makeshift bandages that were wrapped hazardously around his arm. It wasn’t properly secured as it slipped a bit when Toji moved his arm but he still thanked you and fixed it to be tighter.

Silence filled the room as you grabbed some paper towels to clean up the blood on the ground.

Toji didn’t say anything, just watching you clean. Were you just this weird? He didn’t know a boy like you would be interested in babysitting, much less cleaning the entire house.

He knew he should’ve thanked you yesterday for cleaning it—but he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure why.

“What job do you have?” You suddenly asked, standing up as you threw away the dirty paper towels. Toji glanced at you. You expected him to just answer but instead he said..

“Cook somethin’ for me, Housewife. I’m starving.” He said, walking over to the living room. He plopped down onto the couch and grabbed the remote, turning the tv on.

You stared at the back of his head in shock. And pure rage but since you didn’t want to wake up Megumi, you silently cursed him out as you made him the laziest dinner ever.

It was fucking 12:00 a.m. by now! No way were you going to go all out for this broke lazy man.

You gave him a bowl of leftover salad and store bought sushi you and Megumi had left over. You could tell Toji looked a bit disappointed but still took the bowl from you.

As he ate, you still wanted to know more.

“Why do you keep calling me housewife? I’m a man, y’know!”

“So?” He simply said. “You embody the housewife… so I’ll call you housewife.”

You glared at him. “How?! Just by cleaning?”

“Cleaning. Taking care of Megumi. Restocking the kitchen. Making me dinner.”

“I made the dinner for Megumi.” You muttered bitterly.

“Oh, right.” Toji muttered, fishing something out from his dirty pants. There were stains you knew weren’t water… you told yourself it was his blood—not someone else’s. He pulled out a wad of cash and placed it into your hands.

“Paycheck.”

You counted the money. “It’s more than promised.”

“You stayed longer than necessary.”

“Right.” You whispered. You walked over and placed the cash into your bag. No one payed with cash as much anymore but you didn’t want to know why he wasn’t sending it electronically.

You glanced over at Toji, getting a better look of him. He was as good looking as a man who obviously hasn’t been grooming himself often. His eyes flickered to yours, a raised eyebrow as he waited for you to say something.

“Oh.. uh.. will you be going out for work again..?”

“No. I have enough money for at least a week.”

“Will you.. at least spend time with Megumi?”

Toji hummed. “It’s only been two days but you’re already caring a lot for Megumi.” He looked over at you. “You enjoy being with kids?”

“Do you?”

Toji stood up suddenly, causing you to flinch in shock. He placed the empty bowl on the small wooden coffee table and walked past you to the front door.

“Where are you going?” You asked, watching as he grabbed a jacket from the small closet. He didn’t even struggle pulling the jacket on—it was as if his wound didn’t hurt him. He was leaving? Again? With no work to do?!

It wasn’t on purpose. Really, you just acted so fast. Your hands were gripped tightly on his. You were staring right at his hand. The rough feeling of his palms—certainly of one that has held… his hand was large against yours. Even two of your hands were small compared to one of his. Toji glanced down at you, noticing that your—his, really—pants fell down again. He was about to comment on it again, ready for you to jump in embarrassment.

But when he saw your face, he paused.

Your eyes were a bit puffy, watery as you looked up at him. You.. This random guy he hired two days ago to watch Megumi was going to cry over him?

His dick twitched in his pants.

“Just… stay tonight. You might not notice it.. but Megumi was so happy when he woke up to me still here.” You whispered, leaning in closer to Toji. “I know I’m just a stranger and I’m not supposed to be bothering you like this… but I—uh, for Megumi… it’d be nice.”

The soft hums of the tv from the random show Toji was watching continued on. Even if it had been almost two days, the soft lavender smell still danced around the house. Just breathing it in brought you a sense of peace. Your grip loosened on Toji’s hand as you realized that this was a bit much. Maybe you did care a bit too much about Megumi.

But you weren’t even sure why.

A low deep laugh caught your attention as you looked up. Toji’s lips were pulled into a smirk as he used his free hand to grab your face harshly. Panic filled you as you reached up and grabbed at his arm, believing he was about to hurt you.

“You’re really embodying this housewife role, (Name). I guess I need to let you do your other job as well.” He said. “I was going to have some fun with a prostitute but.. I should’ve just went to my housewife.”

“Let’s take a bath first, can’t smell bad during your first time.”

12:20 a.m.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t say shit. Toji was relaxed in the bathtub that was not made for two people. Especially not someone as large as Toji.

The water was warm against your skin as you stared at your knees brought up to your chest. You were between Toji’s muscular thighs, making sure your back didn’t rest against his chest. Toji’s soft hums began to sound like light snoring. And, weirdly enough, you liked hearing it. You began getting comfortable but still curled up into yourself. A large hand gripped your waist and pulled you back, forcing your back to lay on his chest.

You meeped in shock, face flushed. But Toji didn’t say anything. His hand continued to rest on the curve of your waist, his thumb slowly tracing little circles all over it. The feeling of the warm water and comfortable touching on your body, you felt your eyes flutter close.

It wasn’t until you felt the subtle touch of something on your ass was when you shook awake.

It was a dick.

A.. uh, big one at that.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing Toji mostly asleep. His head was resting against the wall while his chest rose and fell slowly. You gently turned around to fully face him. He was hot. Sexy maybe.

But definitely older than you.

You reached out and rest your hands on his chest, leaning close to Toji. You didn’t know what exactly you were doing but you wanted to kiss him. Maybe constantly being called a housewife was getting to you.

Your body was fully pressed against his—lips close to his when a hand was squeezing your hips. You whimpered and pulled away, looking down to see Toji looking up at you with a lazy smirk.

“You’re not just a housewife, huh? Also a slut too.”

“No… ‘m not..” you muttered, blushing heavily as Toji’s hand trailed down to your ass and began to harshly knead it.

“You’re not? But what were you trying to do just now?”

You pursed your lips and looked away. Yeah, you were trying to kiss him. It felt embarrassing to be caught red handed like that. Toji hummed as he watched you squirm. His hands rose up and gripped your waist. You looked back at him and wondered if he was going to push you away.

But instead of pushing you away, he pulled you against your chest as he stood up. You gasped and quickly wrap your arms around his neck as a way to stay upright as he walked out of the tub. He didn’t even bother grabbing a towel—simply walked nude and wet to the bedroom with you in his arms. He was only even using one arm to keep you up.

He unceremoniously dropped you onto the bed. You let out a huff, glaring at him. The bed was now wet from the water on your body. It seeped into the blankets and when you tried to move off the bed, Toji grabbed your foot and pulled you towards the edge of the bed. You shrieked at his strength.

He had no problem just dragging or picking you up like a rag doll.

With your legs dangling off the bed, Toji lifted them up, causing your body to uncomfortably arch.

“Toji! This is uncomfortable,” you whined.

“I know.”

You watched with a bated breath as Toji kneeled at the edge of the bed, placing your legs on either side of his shoulder. The position was odd. You were resting on your shoulders and upper back with your lower half raised up by Toji’s grip. His large hands had a harsh grip on your thighs. You were sure there would be bruising in the morning.

“Usually, I don’t reward sluts.. but because you’re my housewife, I’ll be nice.”

With that, you suddenly felt a tongue graze right against your cunt. You shivered, gripping the bedsheets beneath you. The droplets from both of your bodies dripped onto the ground and bed.

“T…Toji..!” You whined, your legs squeezing his head as you felt his tongue lick between your folds. He was slow and sharp, one of his hands going down to flick your clit. Your toes curled and soft whimpers left your lips as his tongue reached deep between your folds.

You had to be control your voice—no matter how loud you wanted to be.

You cried out when his lips left your heat. His grip on your legs moved down to your waist and next thing you knew it, you were manhandled onto the bed. You were on your back, legs pushed up to where your knees reached your chin. The position was more comfortable than the one before.

Toji got between your legs and leaned over you, a sly smirk on his lips. “I never thought I’d ever be fucking Megumi’s babysitter. Most don’t make it after an hour.”

“Cause the house was awful..” You muttered.

You gasped when you felt a sharp tug at your hair. Toji smirked at you, obviously enjoying your cry of pain. He released your hair and you decided to keep your mouth shut.

“I was getting sick of having to hire a new babysitter every day—it’s good to know I won’t have to anymore.” You felt something rub against your pussy, slowly inching between your wet folds. “It’s a bonus you ended up being a good housewife.”

Crack!

Your mouth pulled open in a silent scream—back arched as Toji’s cock slammed right inside of you. It was painful, no doubt because he didn’t stretch you out for a cock that was so thick! It was stretching you, your cunt clamping down on it as you tried to get used to it.

The look on Toji’s face was of pure satisfaction. He was happy to be fucking such a tight wet cunt. Even more so it was yours. He didn’t wait long to start fucking into you, watching you come undone beneath him.

Your smaller body compared to his bigger form. Hands reaching up to claw at his back for some type of stability. The bed had broke one of its legs when he thrusted inside of you. You were sure it wouldn’t survive by how harsh his hips slapped against your ass, sending you up towards the headboard each time.

“I can’t really call you a slut if this is how your cunt feels. Were you one of those boys saving this,” he tugs lightly at your clit, earning a cry, “for someone special?”

You shook your head, moans and gasps leaving your lips as you tried to speak. It was so hard to speak that you didn’t even try, solely focusing on the cock stretching you full.

“Sorry to disappoint but this cunt belongs to me now.”

You didn’t tell him no. Because for some reason, you liked the sound of that.

As he continued fucking you, his hand rested down on your stomach as the other gripped your waist. You watched with hooded eyes as your continued crying and whimpering, your pussy clinching around his cock as you felt yourself reach your limit.

“You never answered me that time.” He leaned down close to you. “Do you like kids?”

You wanted to punch him for asking such a question during such a time but you simply nodded. “Yes…! Kids… ngh… cute…” you pitifully whimpered.

“Then Megumi deserves a sibling. Think you can give it to him?” He simply said. You blushed heavily at his words, mouth opening to ask what the fuck did he mean by that but he was now focused solely on fucking you.

Your hands scratched at his back as you arched yours, crying and moaning as his hips slammed into your ass. You weren’t sure if you really wanted to go through the whole ordeal of birth but just technically being claimed by Toji made your brain feel mushy.

It didn’t take long for you to cum. Your toes curled and your nails clawed at Toji’s back for purchase as your body shook with your orgasm. Toji didn’t let up, however, somehow going even faster. It was like he was using you like a toy, fucking your hole with reckless abandon as he chased his own release now.

He slammed his hips harsh, pushing his cock deep inside you before cumming. You whimpered, feeling the warm cum coat your insides. Cum seeped into the bedsheets as he pulled out, leaving your cunt to faintly clench around the missing feeling.

“You’re helping me save money. Don’t need to spend it on women when I got my housewife right here.” He patted your sore pussy. “If I knew fucking men would feel this good I would’ve done it earlier.”

You blushed. “I feel dirty..”

Toji simply laughed. “You are.” He grabbed your face, but much more gently than the times before and pressed a sloppy kiss onto your lips. “Now be a good boy and take a shower. I’ll join you soon.”

You bit your lip and mutely nodded as he got up from bed. With shaky legs, you slowly walked to the bathroom, feeling cum drip down your legs. You were sure some fell into the floor. God, you’d need to clean that layer. When you reached the bathroom and turned on the tub, you suddenly felt giddy.

Wow. You came here to babysit and suddenly you have a “boyfriend?”

Luck was on your side. You just wondered what it would be like dating someone like Toji.

6:30 a.m.

“T..Toji..!” You whispered, gripping the bedsheets beneath you. Toji was fucking into your already sore cunt. You were on your side with Toji behind you, his hand holding your leg up as his cock pumped into your pussy.

It’s been maybe four weeks since you got here. You haven’t gone home. Well, just once to get clothes since you couldn’t just stay in Toji’s clothes. Megumi was so happy that you were staying. Finally, something constant.

But you soon learned that Toji was a very horny man—he would constantly fuck you in the bathtub, living room, kitchen, and bedroom. It was always before he left for work and when he came back. You had gotten used to having your hole stuffed full of cum. It was getting tiring of cleaning it out.

You mentioned condoms… but that only resulted in him giving you continuous creampies until you apologized.

Toji finally cummed, once again coating your insides. He pulled and pressed a kiss onto your neck as he got up from the bed. He got dressed and turned to you.

“I’m going now. I want curry for dinner.”

That was all he said before leaving. It felt a little degrading, to be used and then told to make him dinner before he got back. But you still did it, no question asked.

You truly were a male housewife.

Definitely not what child you dreamed of being as an adult, but hey, things change.

At least the dick was good.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

First time writing deadbeatguro… how’d I do? Feel like I didn’t do him justice smh. But it was fun writing this, made it way too long but hey, plot just happened..

tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @remdayz @chill-guy-but-cooler @tehyunnie @smellwell @rhetorical-conscience @nakedtoasterr @mello-life69 @iwishtobeacrow @kiiyoooo @tomoeroi @ofclyde @kaedezu

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟔 — 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

kinktober day 006 | roommate!natasha x werewolf!reader

despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast and be right by your side during your transformation. she gets a lot more than what she bargained for.

cont. reader has a cock, (very) rough sex, breeding, creampie

word count. 2063

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Natasha, you can’t stay here during my transformation,” you plead, grasping your roommate’s hand in yours.

The brunette is adamant, looking up at you with a stubbornly steely gaze. “I’m staying, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

You wring your hands in exasperation, somewhere near tearing your hair out in frustration or crying in anger. “You’re not listening to me, Nat. It’s not just the pain. I become a different being altogether, and you just can’t see me like that.”

“I can, and I will,” she stubbornly says, folding her arms over her chest and mistakably pushing her cleavage up, too.

The tips of your ears burn at seeing Natasha so utterly bratty.

You bite your tongue, refusing to argue with Natasha even more. Keeping you safe was one thing, but the real reason to steer Natasha away from you during the full moon was to keep her safe.

Because when you’re in your werewolf form, your true desires get heightened by a thousandfold, and from the way you already feel about Natasha, you’re worried it might implode when it comes to your inner beast.

As the Gods of Fate have it out for you, the full moon comes earlier than expected.

Your first agonized cry comes when Natasha’s still in the shower.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out your name, once, haphazardly scrambling to wrap a towel around herself and sprint to the room where your cries are coming from.

The sight that greets her is absolutely horrific.

You’re bent over, on the floor of your room, on all fours and spitting out blood. Your back is bent at an inhuman angle, your spine broken.

“......Y/N?” Natasha’s voice shook, rooted to the spot in sheer terror.

You don’t respond. You’re in a state of little awareness, or so it seems, a low grunt of pain and fury escaping from you as your transformation continues. 

Natasha takes in a deep breath and steps into the room.

She wants to reach out, hold your hand, tell you that it’s going to be fine but she knows it’s not. The sounds of excruciating pain, broken bones, and surpassed limits make Natasha weep for you on the inside, knowing that you have to go through this painstaking process every month.

The transformation seems to be slowing down, now. Your human blood is splattered across the walls of your room, but your werewolf form seems to be perfectly healthy. You’re still more human than wolf, though: your muscles had thickened and were iron-hard, and you were taller than before. 

However, your wolfish eyes that survey the room are bloodshot red and absolutely inhuman.

That gaze is a chilling scene, narrowed eyes and steady puffs of air surveying the room. Your slow yet calculated mannerisms are reminiscent of your human form.

Natasha hasn’t quite yet caught your eye,  but when she does, it’s like a predator has found its prey.

Your red eyes are like lit coals and smoking silver, surveying Natasha with every ounce of authority and a near possesiveness.

“Natasha.”

Time stills, and the sound of your haunting voice reverberates around the four walls of your room.

Natasha truly can’t help but let out the tiniest whimper of fear. And perhaps a little something more.

“Y/N,” Natasha says your name again, because it seems to be the only thing capable of falling from her lips, and she swallows harshly at your predatory behaviour. She presses into the wall, one hand clutching the top of her towel, the other finding purchase in the edge of your cupboard. 

When you begin to move closer, Natasha screws her eyes shut, anticipating what was to come. Your presence looms over her, metaphorically and physically, and Natasha waits for her inevitable demise.

The ‘inevitable demise’ never happens.

Instead, Natasha’s eyes flutter open slowly to your huge hands gently wrapping around her torso, a sharp nose burying itself into the crook of her neck.

The whine she lets slip is involuntary. Your close proximity undermines her calm composure, regardless of your way, shape, or form. If that was telling of her feelings towards you, Natasha would choose to play oblivious.

You’re supposed to be scary, and Natasha’s supposed to be terrified, but with the way you’re dragging your nose up and down the column of Natasha’s slender neck, inhaling her sweet scent, she hardly considers her heart to be beating steadily.

She’s intoxicated by you, even more so with your unabashed exploration of Natasha’s neck. The redhead might be grasping at straws, but it’s almost like you’re seeking something. Something from Natasha. Comfort, perhaps?

“You’re okay,” the redhead whispers, fingers combing through your fur in comforting motions. She hears something that sounds suspiciously like a purr of satisfaction, so she repeats that motion.

Your head moves from her pale neck to her pretty collarbones and down her cleavage until your nose hits the obstruction of Natasha's towel.

A low rumble of disgruntlement sounds from somewhere deep in your chest. Natasha lets a full-body shudder take its hold of her body, under the vibrations of your low decibels.

Not comfort, then. What was it?

Almost like you could read Natasha’s inner thoughts, your werewolf form decides to say capre diem and let a huge hand slither up the inside of your roommate’s bare thigh.

Natasha squeals and swats your hand away, instinctively, then she catches herself and her eyes go wide. 

Oh. 

The fire that dances in your eyes is nothing short of a human-like mischief, playful and oh so dangerous. The incarnadine flush that adorns Natasha’s cheeks like a flower blossoming in the spring is one that your werewolf greedily soaks up, pulling her body flush against yours.

You can see the moment realization hits Natasha, the moment she realizes your desires are nothing short of sinful. 

“Want,” you enunciate slowly, stately and unyielding. Your eyes are locked onto hers, gleaming. 

Expectant. Possessive. Knowing.

The grasp of your hand on her inner thigh once again has Natasha letting out a breathy moan, one of pleasure and a startling realisation.

It wasn’t comfort. It was sex.

-----

If Natasha knew that werewolves were this fucking astronomical at sex, she would’ve introduced supernatural creatures into her bed a long time ago.

The position she’s in is nothing short of embarrassing, on all fours, grasping at the headboard like it was her lifeline. 

Perhaps it was, truthfully, because with the ferocity of the thrusts of your Herculean-sized werewolf cock into her pussy from behind was worthy of being sent to the afterlife. Not like Natasha would complain, though.

“Oh- mhmmm, n’more, s’too much,” Natasha slurs, her breasts shaking rhythmically with each time your jerk that massive thing into her, velvet walls squeezing tight around your pulsing cock. Her eyes are threatening to roll back, drool already spilling from the sides of her lips, arousal already leaking from her thighs and on to the bed.

You don’t seem to give a damn about the messiness of it, though, and that could perhaps be linked to the scientific nature of more barbaric animals. But Natasha could ponder over animal studies at a later point in time, for now she was being treated like a fuckdoll, and it was midblowingly gratifying.

“All– the way,” you grunt, trying to shove the entirety of your huge cock into Natasha’s pussy, clearly displeased by the fact that you were struggling to be sealed inside the redhead completely and inescapably. 

It shouldn’t have been a problem because she was already so wet, so pliant, so perfect for the taking. You’d make do with what you had, though.

“It’s too big,” Natasha had whined earlier, gasping as your tip stretched her opening out, the biggest thing she’d ever taken in her life. Her grasp on the headboard tightened as you slid in with a cruel impatience, big hands digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

“I’ll… make it fit,” you reply, somewhat slowly, your speech clearly deterred by your transformation into part-animal. The results of it are undeniably effective, nonetheless, the cockiness of your brash words making arousal pool in Natasha’s hips.

You’ve reached a sweet spot of Natasha’s, and her walls clench around your big cock tightly, mewling as you push its head against her sponginess. 

“Right there, please, please, plea-” Natasha is cut off by one of her own moans when you jerk inside her, spurred on by the sheer tightness she’s providing you. 

When you lean down to entrap Natasha in a breeding press, your bigger body engulfing her smaller one, slick and sweat converging in an unholy sacrament, it’s all over for her.

Going weak in the knees, Natasha moans as her arms give out and her front flops into the bed. The results of this lie in the fact that her back becomes beautifully arched, her ass rising towards the ceiling; your wolfish eyes drink the sight in with a lick of your lips, cock twitching at the prospect of all the new angles you’d be able to reach.

An animalistic prowess takes mighty hold over your sentience, triggering a feral craze to wash over your werewolf form, and it takes mere seconds before you ram your cock back inside Natasha’s wrecked cunt with undying fervour.

The warbled sounds the girl lets out beneath goes unheard, muffled by the pillow, but the sheer slickness of her pretty pussy gives a certain confirmation that she was enjoying it as much as you did. 

Not that your werewolf would care much, anyways: What it was chasing was pleasure, seeking relief in the completely sexual sense, a carnal desire to take and to breed and to claim. 

You push yourself in hilt-deep inside Natasha, fully lodged in, skin against skin.

Instinctively, your hands fly to Natasha’s belly. You can feel your cock bulge there, spreading her out, filling her up.

The next series of your thrusts cause Natasha to make noises she’s never made before, her body moving like clay under your touch. 

You pull out and make her sob, then thrust all the way back in with an unbridled strength that leaves Natasha breathless. Then again, and again, until she cums helplessly around your cock, pulsing and throbbing and alight with nerves.

This is not the side of you Natasha’s grown to know and love. There are no gentle smiles, no soft hugs and whispered words of admiration. It’s completely animalistic, entirely pleasure-chasing, undeniably one-sided.

You’re thrusting into her like she’s your personal fuckdoll, bringing her to high after high, but you don’t even seem to register that fact. You’re using her for your pleasure, and it should be wrong, but…

“More! More, please, please, need another,” Natasha sobs into the pillow, every fibre of her body screaming at her to stop but her brain unable to put it into action. She hardly registers what she’s saying, only begging pathetically and dripping endlessly.

“Inside,” you growl, right next to her ear, sharp teeth grazing her earlobe. Natasha babbles her acknowledgement, even more turned on at the prospect of being filled, fuck it, and the orgasm that crashes over the both of you is heaven-like.

Natasha’s scream of your name reverberates for miles to come.

With that, you’re cumming, finally, and the seed that spills out from you is endless. Natasha drools into the pillow as you unload your cum inside her, gripping fistfuls of her ass pressed flush against your hips. 

“Mine,” you hear yourself say. The helplessly, pathetically aroused tone of your voice nearly makes Natasha weep again — she’s rendered a damn werewolf near speechless.

Streams of white fluid spray onto Natasha’s back once you’re done with her cunt. You manhandle her around to face the front, to find her pretty eyes rolled to the back of her head, drool coating her lips.

Your werewolf heaves as you watch as your seed overflows from her pretty pussy and on to her thick thighs. A perfect creampie.

Your werewolf, however, has different plans, feeling your cock stiffen again at the sight of her ruined pussy. 

-----

The next morning, you wake up with a throbbing feeling between your legs.

Shit. Was it my transformation?

You leap out of bed, yanking the covers off—

To reveal a very naked Natasha Romanoff, your best friend and your roommate.

She awakes with a start, blinking at the light, and then wincing as if her body was aching all over.

“.......Nat?” you ask hesitantly, eyes trailing over her marked thighs and tits. “What happened last night?”

“Okay. Don’t panic, but you’re fathering my children.”

finally catching up on fics!! i did spend significantly longer on this fic, so it would be highly appreciated if you could reblog

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[murdrdocs]

hazel fucking you in doggy w/the strap while her hand is clamped over your mouth to keep you from moaning out loudly like the whore you are, bc you’re actually supposed to be studying. 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

yall r sooooo 😵‍💫

its not even like her efforts to silence you are doing much, and not just because your sounds are slipping through the cracks between her fingers. the squelch of the strap, lubed up, slipping in and out of your walls, equally as lubed up from a more organic source, is nearly as loud as your moans were.

hazel swears under her breath, commenting on the way both of your lips can't stay shut, and she's cockily laughing about her crude (and slightly lame) joke.

you shift a little, and your hand brushes against the papers hazel was supposed to be helping you work through. she thoroughly explained two problems, and then suddenly she's fucking you doggy style, short nails digging into the skin of your hips as she pounds into you like it's the last time she'll get the chance to.

her phone dings off to the side of you, both of you looking over at the message.

mother

going to get groceries. let me know if you need anything for you studying ❤️

hazel peels her hand away from your mouth, your sounds instantly multiplying in volume. she uses her now free hand to spank you, the clap ringing throughout her room.

"let it out, baby. lemme hear you."

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Pervert // Hazel Callahan*

request: Fem!reader catches hazel masterbating with her underwear that she stole

prompts: none!

summary: hazel was running late and wasn’t answering your texts, so you went up to her room to get her. but when you find her touching herself, you have trouble controlling your desires.

warnings: smut, language, perv!hazel, sub!hazel, dom!reader, kinda perv!reader, masturbating, voyeurism, cunnilingus, squirting, hair pulling

word count: 1.6k

a/n: reader has female anatomy, no gendered pronouns are used

join my taglist!

You grumbled in annoyance as you glanced down at your phone yet again, waiting to see if Hazel was finally ready to go. The two of you were supposed to head to the library to work on some feminism project Mr. G assigned, and now you were waiting in front of her house to pick her up but Hazel wasn’t answering. You groaned in frustration as you slumped forward, resting your head against the steering wheel, before giving up and deciding to go get her yourself.

You walked up to Hazel’s front door, suddenly feeling very intimidated by the sheer size of her house. You had to check the address she has texted you three times after you arrived, assuming you were at the wrong place. Hazel didn’t act like any rich person you had ever known, and you certainly didn’t expect her to live in a place like this.

Knocking on the door, you fiddled with your necklace while you waited for someone to answer. A few moments later, Mrs. Callahan opened the door with a bright smile on her face.

“Ah, you must be y/n, right? Hazel said you were heading to the library to work on some project?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m supposed to pick her up, but she isn’t answering so I just wanted to see if she was ready.”

Mrs. Callahan stepped aside to let you in before pointing towards the stairs. “Third door on the right.”

You smiled, albeit awkwardly, before heading for the stairs, muttering a quick thanks under your breath as you went. You walked up the stairs and towards the door Mrs. Callahan had told you to go to, hoping you had the right room. As you neared, you heard a strange sound coming from what you assumed to be Hazel’s room.

Was she crying? You quickened your pace, feeling a tad worried at the thought, before stopping in your tracks when you finally reached her door. It didn’t sound like crying anymore. It was almost like… oh. OH.

You felt your face heat up as Hazel’s soft moans filtered through from the other side of the door. You couldn’t help but press your ear up to the door, wanting to hear more, even though you felt disgusting for doing it. And in doing so, you heard another sound. This one being a soft buzzing. Your eyes widened as your thoughts ran wild, conjuring pictures of what she could look like just on the other side of the door.

Eventually, your curiosity got the best of you, and you twisted the doorknob, slowly pushing the door open a crack. Peeking in, you felt your knees grow weak at just the sight of her. She was writhing around on her bed in nothing but her bra, holding a small vibrator directly onto her clit. And her other hand was holding something up to her face, almost as if she was trying to breathe in whatever she was holding.

You carefully pushed the door open just a little more, wanting to get a better look. You fought to hold back a gasp when you finally recognized what she was holding in her other hand. It was a pair of your panties, the black lacy ones that had disappeared in the locker room when you went to take a shower after fight club.

You could barely keep yourself together as you felt a throbbing in between your legs begin to grow. She was touching herself while smelling your dirty panties. It was so gross, you should’ve been disgusted, but somehow, you only found it hot.

With a sudden burst of unexpected confidence, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, before closing it behind you and finally alerting Hazel of your presence. Her eyes widened in shock, moving the vibrator away from her clit and desperately trying to conceal your panties in her fist.

“So that’s where my panties went,” you said, a teasing smile on your face as you walked closer to her, not missing the way she shivered under your intense gaze.

“I- I’m sorry,” Hazel said, her cheeks flushing bright red as she stared down at her sheets in embarrassment.

You continued to walk closer before sitting down in front of her on her bed. “You’re disgusting, Hazel. You’re a dirty little pervert. But I’m sure you know that already, don’t you?”

She nodded hesitantly, a bit unnerved from how close you had gotten to her. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at you, embarrassed at having been caught.

You smiled again, shifting forward slightly when your attention was drawn back to her legs. Her thighs were desperately rubbing together, the ache in her core building from having been denied her orgasm. You pouted teasingly and placed a hand on her thigh. Hazel jumped slightly at the contact but didn’t try to push you away.

“Oh, you poor thing. You didn’t get to finish, did you?”

Hazel shook her head, the blush on her cheeks darkening even more. “No…”

“Maybe I should help you with that. I mean, afterall, it was my fault you didn’t get to cum…”

Hazel’s head whipped up, her eyes wide as she looked at you in shock. “W-what? You- you want to…” she trailed off, too flustered by your sudden advances to finish her sentence.

“I want to make you cum. If you’ll let me, that is.”

Hazel still looked a bit shocked by your words, but nodded eagerly nonetheless. You smiled seductively and slowly pulled her legs open, feeling your head spin at the sight of her dripping pussy. You couldn’t help but reach forward and drag a finger up her folds, causing Hazel’s hips to buck up when you brushed over her clit.

“Oh, poor baby. You must need to cum so badly,” you said, moving to lay on your stomach in between her legs.

Hazel’s breath hitched as she watched your movements, suddenly becoming aware of what you intended to do. She let her legs spread a little wider, giving you more room, and she tangled her hands in your hair, gripping tightly to ground herself.

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of Hazel tugging at your hair. You usually didn’t like it when someone pulled your hair, but with Hazel, it was like you couldn’t get enough. You brought a hand forward and spread her folds, strings of arousal connecting your fingers. You leaned down and spit on her pussy, eliciting a moan from Hazel at the feeling.

And then your mouth was on her, your lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently, causing Hazel to let out the most pornographic moan she’d ever made as her hips bucked up into your face.

You placed your hands on her hips to stop her from squirming so much and then began licking up and down her folds, your nose bumping against her clit. Hazel whimpered and tightened her grip in your hair as she tried to pull you closer.

“F-fuck! I- I’m gonna…” Hazel trailed off, struggling to speak due to the constant moans and whimpers falling from her lips.

You moved back up to her clit, sucking harder than before. You felt a sense of pride build up in you as Hazel practically screamed and her back arched off of the bed. Her thighs shook as she approached her high, her words nothing but a slurred mess as she ground her hips against your face.

And then you finally pushed her over the edge, and she squirted on your face. Her taste was intoxicating as you lapped up her cum, caught in such a daze from the feeling that you didn’t realize you were overstimulating her.

Hazel whined softly as she tried to pull you away. “Y/n, please… ‘s too much.”

Reluctantly, you pulled your mouth away from her pussy and sat up to face her again. Your face was practically drenched in her arousal, your mouth and chin covered in her slick. You licked your lips clean while still looking at her, not missing the way her cheeks lit up in embarrassment.

“Aw, you really were close before I walked in,” you pouted teasingly. “How was that, baby?” you asked with a slightly cocky smile on your face.

Hazel was still out of breath and dazed from the pleasure you gave her, a blissed out smile on her face. “Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before.”

You smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss on her lips. Hazel felt her head spin from tasting herself on your lips, it was dizzying in the best way possible.

“I think we should probably work on that project another day.”

Hazel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I don’t think I’d be able to focus on anything right now.”

You hummed in agreement and shifted up the bed to lay down next to her. “Oh, by the way, you can keep my panties, since you seemed to want them so bad.”

Hazel’s face turned even redder as she felt a sense of embarrassment building inside of her. “Sorry about that. They were just right there and I couldn’t help myself.”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. You’re a perv, you can’t help it.”

Hazel smiled awkwardly, feeling more embarrassed by your words. You smiled back at her and kissed her again.

“Lucky for you, you’re a cute perv.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, Hazel laying on your chest. She gazed up at you, the look on her face seeming like she wanted to ask you something.

“What is it?”

She smiled shyly as she looked away from you. “I was just wondering if maybe… I could make you feel good too?”

You grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “As if I would ever say no to that.”

tags: @fictionalgap

[mysicklove]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃

DAY 16: PILLOW HUMPING + PHONE SEX

With: Tamaki Amajiki

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sub! Top! Tamaki, bottom! gn! reader, praise kink, slight breeding kink, reader is a slight tease and tamaki is trying not to pass out from embaressment, fantasies, creampie in fantasy Y/N? does that need a tag?

A/N: another fic i STRUGGLED with. idk whyyyy.

Tamaki knows he shouldn't be doing this. He knows that if anyone ever saw him, he would be deemed a weirdo, a pervert, really. But it was just so hard. 

It's not fair that you left him alone. Its not fair that you made him miss you until his heart ached. It's not fair that you havent touched him in longer than three weeks. Its not fair that he is here, straddling a pillow, while you probably aren't even thinking of him at all.

The whole thing makes him fume red. Humping a pillow was as desperate as it gets. His hand wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needs to move his hips, pretend he is fucking something. It was bound to give him more satisfaction. Or he hoped it did, but it doesnt change the fact that it was embarrassing.

The pillow was soft, but sturdy, and held a bit of stability. It wouldn't crumble against the sheets with each thrust, nor be too feathery to really feel anything. A good pillow – it will work fine.

He wears one of your shirts. An oversized one, that seems to drown him with the fabric. It smelled like you, and he has to refrain from pressing the collar of it against his nose. It would only turn him on more, and thats not what he needed right now.

Tamaki's hands tremble as he adjusts himself. He flips the hem of your shirt upward to give himself a view of his thin cock. Its red, and pulsing, ready for him to begin moving. He brings his hands up to his face, covering it with the back of his palm. “So embarrassing,” He whines into the empty room, but not moving from his position on top of the pillow.

He stables himself, and then very hesitantly drags his hips forward. The bottom of his dick grazes against the pillow and he takes a deep breath. Its soft, slightly cold from the lack of human contact with it, but he doesnt mind warming it up. He grinds himself forward again, his two hands gripping at the front of the pillow to slightly pull it up, giving him more area to brush himself on.

He whimpers, closing his eyes and falling into a steady pace. It's not as pleasurable as he wanted it to be, and it was driving him insane. But he liked the feeling of riding something, and he pretended the pillow was you. The thought spurs him on, and his pace begins to pick up. The movements of his hips are short, quick, and he slightly bounces on it. Tamakis breath becomes short, and he sighs into the open air, throwing his head back and humping whatever surface of the soft fabric he could. 

A couple minutes go by and he was on the verge of crying from frustration. It barely made him feel any better, and he was going to have to be here for awhile if he wanted to cum. He grabs onto your shirt and brings it up to his nose, inhaling your scent and groaning into the fabric. It made him feel a bit better.

Suddenly, he hears the familiar vibrations from his phone. He was getting a call, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk to someone. But, he wasn't one to ignore something that could be important. So, he leans forward and flips over the phone. When he sees your name with an abundance of heart emojis that you typed in for your own contant info, his eyes light up.

He inches toward the answer button, but pauses for a second, realizing the position he is in. It was definitely not appropriate to talk to you like this, but he wanted desperately to hear your voice. It was gross and pathetic, but didnt you say you like when he acts pathetic? Besides, you could definitely fix his problem. You know exactly what to do to make him feel good.

So he answers the phone, and waits for you to speak. 

“Hey love,” You hum through his phone, and he almost whines out from that alone. He glances back down at his cock, a glob of precum dripping down pathetically onto the pillow. He covers his face in embarrassment.

“Hi Y/N,” He mumbles into the mic, staring at his fingers, and doing anything he can to ignore his cock. He wants to ask you for help, but how? Even after all this time of being together, he has never voiced his sexual wants and needs. It was just too hard to, and besides you always seemed to find out his desires one way or another.

“Whatcha up to?”

Tamaki pauses. Lying was definitely not one of his specialties, and to you? He was a goner for sure. He goes silent for longer than 30 seconds. “Tamaki?”

“Something I shouldn't be doing,” He whispers, falling forward to rest his cheek on the mattress. He still lays straddling the pillow, but now his cock was trapped between his stomach, and the pillow. 

A slight giggle comes from the phone, and he gulps, ignoring the way his dick twitches. “Are you doing something naughty?”

Naughty. Such a childish word, but it was the perfect adjective to describe his situation. It made him feel small, and strangely it brought comfort to him. He nods into the mattress, his hips moving without his permission, and continuing their grinding movements.

“You've gotta speak up for me, love.”

He may be shy, but he would never dare to not listen to a command. “Yes. Sorry.” 

“Yes what?”

He lets out a small whimper, barely audible over the phone. “‘m doing something…naughty.”

The dark haired boy squirms on the bed, listening to the way you inhale sharply. His hands begin to travel downward, but he stops himself before he could start stroking himself off. “What are you doing, love?”

He goes silent for a couple seconds, and he continues to shift around the bed. He gulps and looks down at his leaking cock, and then away. “I’m….I’m humping a…pillow?”

You let out a dramatic, slightly teasing gasp. “So dirty, Tamaki!”

He wants to curl up into a ball and die from embarrassment. He knows you are just poking fun at him, but truly everything about this was so humiliating. “I-I know! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just miss you so much!” He warbles into the mic, wiping away a stray tear before it could fall.

He was so unbelievably cute, and his plea made your heart throb. “S’alright, relax, love. I miss you so much. So so much,” You reassure, closing your eyes to listen to his breathing. ‘

You hear a sniffle on the other end of the phone. “Why are you crying?”

You expected to hear a response declaring how much he missed seeing you, or having you around. Or maybe how lonely he felt. What you didn't expect was for him to say, “‘m not crying! Im frustrated because I cant cum!”

Tamaki being blunt about his needs was unheard of, and the shock of it made you bark a laugh. He shakes his head into the mattress, but begins his humping again. You already knew at this point what he was doing, and he was already as embarrassed as it gets, so he rather search for more pleasure than wither is his own misery. 

“Well are you doing it right?”

He pauses his movements. Was there a right or wrong way to do it? His horny brain was screaming at him to just get any sort of friction from the white item, but was there a better way to do it? To feel more pleasurable? “I-I dont know…”

“Aren't you pretending that I'm the pillow?” Your words make him yelp, and you hold back a snicker. You were right of course, but the fact that you knew about it made him want to dig himself a hole to hide in.

But nevertheless, his hips havent stopped their movements. Its a slow pace, just enough to make his breaths heavier. “Yeah,” He breathes into the mic, so quite that you almost missed it.

You hum to yourself, hand traveling over your own body to get yourself in the mood. “Then you need a hole to fuck, dont you, pretty boy?”

The statement causes him to lose his breath and he can't think quick enough to find a response. You continue on, “Put two pillows together so that you can get friction on both sides of your pretty little cock. It will feel so much better,” You encourage, and his eyes instantly travel to the extra pillow just inches away from him. He gulps, but grabs onto it, and places it under his lower stomach and on top of his dick.

“N-Now what?”

“It's not rocket science, silly. Fuck it now. But make sure to keep the pillow beneath your stomach, so that the hole is tighter.”

He blushes at his stupid words, but instead focuses on your advice. He pulls out, and then pushes himself back into the two soft cushions. He groans out, and sets the phone on speaker and places it next to his face. This was way better, and he needed to focus.

You hear his breaths get quicker and you smile. “There ya are. Does it feel better, Tamaki?”

He uses his hands to push the pillows together, creating a even smaller hole. But he nods at your words, staring at your profile picture with tears in his eyes. “W-Wish it was you. Not as tight…Warm.”

You hands travel toward your pants at the words. “Yeah? Use your imagination, love. Pretend that's me, what do you want to do with me?”

His whole body caves over on himself, and he bucks his hips frantically. His face is a bright shade of pink, and he wears a wobbly, but content smile. “Wanna—Wanna….You to tell me what to do,” He whines out, fingers dragging along the beds sheets, wishing it was your back.

You snicker at him, not surprised by his words. “You are hopeless, Tamaki. So submissive, its so cute, you know that? You know how cute you are?”

He covers his face with his arm, moaning and whining into the soft skin. “Stop it…” He mumbles half heartedly, loving every drop of praise from your mouth.

“You love it,” You tease, and he secretly nods into the bedsheets, but not daring to tell you. “Alright, let's have you cum, hmm? Can you close your eyes for me?”

His eyes flutter shut before you could even finish your sentence. “‘kay.” 

“Good job,” You murmur, and he gulps, nuzzling his face into the bed, pretending it’s your chest. “Now move your hips for me. In and out, yeah?.”

He doesn’t have to do much, considering that he has been doing this exact same movement for the past couple minutes now. He doesn’t say anything, afraid you may poke fun at him again. “Tamakiiiii,” You purr, “I need to hear a response.”

“Sorry. Yes, yes, I‘m doing it. Promise!” He splutters, trying to maintain a steady pace of breathing. It was feeling so much better with both sides hugging him, but your voice was definitely helping as well.

You let out a breath, and smile. “Good boy. Now, tell me, what are you imagining. Wanna hear the specifics, love.”

He whines at this. He didnt want to expose his thoughts; you would definitely think he was weird. A pervert who cant go a couple weeks without cumming. “Nooooo,” He whimpers, eyes still shut. “So embarrassing.”

Your voice turns commanding in an instant. “Oh? Stop moving then.”

Unwillingly he listens, his body so used to listening to your commands, that he doesn't even process what you said until he stopped his hips. He groans into the sheets, and feels his cock twitch within the pillows. It doesn't want to stop. “Noooo,” He complains once more, hating the way tears begin to build up, and threaten to spill over his closed eyes.

Your heart throbs at the small whimpers he lets out, and your strict tone seems to melt away. “You have to listen if you want to cum, baby. I know its embarrassing, but I want you to feel good. Dont be shy, I won't judge you.”

You hear a sniffle from the other end of the phone. “Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. C-Can I move now? I'll tell you my…my fantasy.” 

You hum encouragingly at him, and he takes it as a yes, slowly beginning to move his hips again. He sighs at the softness, nodding his head to himself. But, he doesn't get too lost in his pleasure, he has to hold up the end of the bargain. “I-Im pretended the pillow is you.”

You roll your eyes slightly, a grin on your face. He was obviously nervous if he was stating the obvious. “Yeah? Are you fucking me nice and hard?”

Your words are so lewd and he fumes red at them. “U-Um…Yeah. Y-You feel so good.” Referring to the makeshift hole as you, makes him feel slightly bad. He knows you are may more than that to him. But it was obvious that you were trying to initiate some sort of phone sex, and he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Your fingers travel down to your pants, and you finally get comfortable. You begin to touch yourself, trying to imagine yourself into his fantasy. “So deep Tamaki,” You purr, sighing into the mic.

His eyes widen for a split second, but he quickly shuts them again. At your words, he finds himself thrusting himself deeper into the hole, mewling out as pre covers the soft fabric. He finds himself imagining you beneath him, grinning up at him with a flushed out, but cocky grin. 

“Fuck,” He whispers gently to the image of you. “I missed you so much. So so much.”

“Missed you too,” You murmur, throwing your head back slightly. “Doing so well for me.”

His hips stutters at the praise, and he gulps. Whenever you praise him, it sends his head spinning, and he loves it more than anything. “F-For you. Only for you!”

The position he was in was so lewd. His mouth slightly gnawing on his hand, his hips thrusting into two pillows, and his body a bright shade of pink. The bed was even creaking from his intense movements, but he didnt seem to care. “P-Praise me…More, please?”

“You're doing so good. Making me feel so good, Tamaki. Are you going to make me cum?”

He nods his head frantically, loving the idea more than anything. To make himself cum was one thing, but making you feel good enough to cum was a whole other thing. It made the service sub in him preen, and his thrusts are more desperate now. He imagines you shivering, and moaning into his neck, maybe even leaving scratch marks down his back. “Yes. Yes, I'll make you cum. I'll make you feel so good, please!”

You smile lazily at the wall. “Such a good boy. I'm so lucky to have such a pretty and obedient boyfriend.”

A wobbly smile is tugging at his face, and he feels like a schoolgirl. Giddy, and nervous around you and your voice. He swears the fantasy becomes more surreal. The pillow seems to be hugging him just how you would, and in the back of his mind he can hear the slapping of skin upon skin. “I love you. I love you so much, you feel so good. I can't hold it much longer!”

“Aw are you going to cum already?” You tease, feeling your own high approaching rapidly.

At the words he lets out a dramatic whine, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Y-You just…oh god. Feel so good!” He warbles, shaking hands gripping onto the phone. He spreads his legs out wider, finding a new position to thrust his hips. His hair begins to stick to his head, and with every breath, a moan slips past his lips.

You are on the same page, hands moving quicker to hopefully match his high. “Its alright. Im going to cum to. Are you going to cum inside me? Wanna fill me up?”

He heaves at your words, hearts in his eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. He did desperately. It was way better than pulling out, or cumming into the condom. “Please! Please!”

His moans are high in pitch now, and his pace is sporatic. They are frantic though, and the entire bed shakes with his fierce movements. 

“Good boy. Cum inside me then,” You purr directly into the mic, and his eyes fly open when he cums. He lets out a high pitched scream, and bites his hand to try and stay quite. The boys hips ram into the pillow, and his thoughts are cloudy, thinking about how deep he must be cumming in you. His whole body is shivering in pleasure, and he wears a small smile.

You cum a moment later, shaking and sighing, but not making as much noise as your beloved. You didnt mind, his high pitched moans and screams were cute, you just wished he got over that stupid need to bite his hand whenever he cums. It muffles them way too much for your liking.

Post nut clarity hits Tamaki like a truck and his face turns a bright shade of red. Asking you to praise him, and even begging to cum “inside” you? Humiliating.

“I know what you are thinking, love. Dont be embarrassed. It was fun. Good. What lovers do,” You reassure, knowing his anxiety gets the better of him. 

He takes comfort in your words immediately, slightly nodding to himself and trying to think of something else to hopefully die down the embaressment. He feels exhausted, and instead focuses on that. He pulls out of the pillows with a sigh and brings the phone to his face to begin wishing you goodnight.

His eyes widen when he realizes something, and he lets out a dramatic gasp.

The sound makes you perk up, and you are on immediate alert. “Whats wrong?”

“Oh no. This is bad. What do I do now?” He begins to mumble, eyes scanning across the bed.

“What? What happened?” You question more frantically now, pulling the phone closer to your ear.

It goes silent on the other end for about thirty seconds. He pulls away the two pillows and gulps as his stares at his own product. This was bad. Truly a problem.

“What am I supposed to sleep on tonight?”

It takes everything in you to not hang up on him.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[tyunniez]

look at yourself, pretty... bottom male reader

!!.. amab reader, reader wears makeup, reader has a high ego, his bestfriend knocks that ego down lol, mirror sex, top likes to tease...

you stared at yourself in front of the mirror for the hundredth time today, admiring yourself and your choice of outfit for the day.

you twirled around a little checking how your shirt perfectly accentuated your waist and just how nicely your pants hugged your ass.

" i just picked the perfect outfit for today! " you yelled out while still checking yourself out in the mirror while your best friend eyed you.

" you done yet? " he asked, his voice unamused as he's already used to your behavior. you hummed while grabbing your things, already out of the room while yelling at him to hurry up.

he rolled his eyes, " i really don't get your obsession with mirrors.. " he murmured while catching up to you.

the both of you arrived at the cafe and finally managed to get a spot to sit at.

" i can't believe how crowded this place actually is.. the food better be good! " your best friend nodded while looking through the menu, already confused at some of the menu names.

while waiting for him to finish with the menu, you use the mini mirror you always bring with you to fix your hair and look at yourself.

after getting your fill and taking lots of insta worthy photos, you dragged him towards a nearby clothing store, already excited to try on new clothes.

you unlocked the door and showed yourself off to him, " so, how about this one? " you asked while twirling around to show it to him.

he looked you up and down before lazily replying. " yeah sure it looks great. can you hurry up? im getting bored. "

you tsked and closed the door again, opting to judge your outfit yourself. " ugh, you've been saying that for the past three outfits! honestly, why do i even bother asking you! " he rolled his eyes at you, even if you couldn't see it.

" though this other top might look cuter with these jeans... "

" hurry up and stop being so picky! "

after that whole fashion fiesta, you ended up buying all of it anyway, you started dragging him back and forth from place to place.

a satisfied hum escaped your lips as you suck on the spoon that contained gumball-flavored ice cream. you feel refreshed as the cold treat goes down your throat.

" ah.. this place is the best, isn't it? " you said while scooping up another spoon, already missing the taste of the sweet treat.

he hummed while licking up his strawberry ice cream, some of it already dripping down his fingers.

he watched as you set the ice cream down and pulled out your phone camera to look at yourself. " why do you keep looking at yourself on every reflective surface around you? no offense or anything.. " he suddenly asked.

you shut your phone and pick your ice cream up again while shrugging him off. " sometimes when you're just that pretty— "

a groan interrupted you, your best friend obviously annoyed at your response. you laughed at him, satisfied at annoying him again.

" i swear yn, i'm going to knock down that ego of yours. "

" i'd like to see you try. "

you shut your eyes as you tilt your head to the side. " oh no no no, don't you dare look away. " he says while forcing your head to the giant mirror in front of you. " open your fucking eyes, yn. "

you whine while forcing your eyes open to look at him, refusing to look at yourself getting dicked down in the mirror.

" come on, look at yourself pretty. don't you just love doing that? " you look down and shake your head, denying him even if he's actually right.

" i said look at yourself. it's really not that hard of a request right? " he whispered in your ear all while spreading your legs wider for you to see in the mirror.

you finally look at yourself and your dazed expression in the mirror. you glance down to look at how his dick is entering your hole, drool seeping out of your mouth.

he then slides his way onto your cock, rubbing and playing with the tip to tease you.

he laughs in your ear and lets go of your red cock, hoisting your legs up making his cock reach deeper in you and hitting that one spot.

your own best friend had you seated on him with his cock deep inside you. his two hands holding both of your legs up by grabbing under your knees.

he begins slowly, sliding you up and down his cock while enjoying your moans. he watches as your own cock twitch, begging for release already.

" hah look at you, drool down your face just because of this cock. " he taunts you causing you to shoot a glare at him using the mirror.

" s-shut up! if my makeup isn't ruined then are you even fucking me good? honestly, if you— " before your sentence could even finish, he slams you down on his dick making a loud moan escape your mouth.

" not fucking you good? oh, i'll make sure you're fucking crying after this, pretty. "

you whined out loud while trying to bury your face into the sheets, your makeup already long gone, smeared into said sheets.

he pulls your hair up to make you look up into the mirror, not even bothering to stop thrusting into you. " look at yourself pretty. see how your makeup is ruined now? " he mocks you.

you tried to look at yourself, trying to see how your mascara runs down your face because of your nonstop tears, your tears almost wiping the mascara clean. your lipstick smears itself all over your lips with drool and moans escaping from it.

but your eyes keep rolling up from the pleasure, your tears making your vision blurry.

he laughs as he watches your attempt at focusing on yourself, loving the way your eyes kept rolling upwards from how good he's fucking you.

" come on pretty, just look at yourself. don't you love to do that? " he forces your head back down into the sheets, muffling your moans and whines all while cumming into you for the third time already.

he then starts rubbing your cock, your previous release acting as lube for it.

you moan out loud into the sheets as you shoot your load for the fifth time already. "mmh.. no more! " you beg him, your voice muffled.

" ehh..? but im just starting to have fun! "

[l1tw1ck]

stumbling into a cave coincidentally on the day the local beast is in heat...

top male reader x bottom male monster

cw: size difference, first time bottoming, breeding kink

The beast's saliva drips down onto your body in globs, it's strong hands holding you down onto the cool cave floor. It ruts against you, frotting against your cock desperately. Obviously this beast thinks it's going to fuck and breed you but you don't have any intentions of letting that happen. You've dealt with monsters before, ones bigger and stronger than this one. You can overpower it easily and you'll do just that.

The beast whimpers as your positions are reversed, his world being opened up to a new perspective as he soon finds out he doesn't have to be the one on top. He howls in pleasure as your fingers skillfully stretch open his ass. It's just your fingers inside him and he's already losing it. To think it was blind to such pleasure all this time, it makes it so much more eager to take your cock. He's so much bigger than you, he could crush you at any moment and yet here he is. Completely subdued. At your mercy and begging for more. Turns out that this big, scary, and powerful monster is really just a slut.

A great beast like this should never be in a position like this, with it's legs high in the air and it's monstrous cock flopping uselessly against it's stomach, but there's no way it can bother to uphold that principle now. Not when your cock is making him feel so fucking good. He should be ashamed for letting such a small human do this but he's not. How could he when you're giving him so much pleasure? Maybe it's the elders who are wrong, clearly this monster was meant to be bred like the good little whore he is.

He won't get pregnant but he's more than happy to be fucked like he will

[sensivs]

Consider yourself lucky

heian era sukuna x male reader

A/n: I love glazing sukuna idc what anyone says sukuna is literally so fine and he has done nothing wrong, also i js wanna say ty to @ — mmonikurr for helping me w this :)

Cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT : dub-con , belly distortion , two cocks (sukuna) , manhandling , fear play , forced eye contact , begging , reader is stated to have a “feminine figure” but u don’t have to have one if u don’t want one 👍🏽 , praise kink (if u squint hard enough) , mentions of mpreg

Y/n’s eyes fixated on his once beloved clan ‘s home, his breathing came out raggedy and rushed, as if he just ran a marathon.

Who could’ve done such destruction on this big village?

Through the smoke y/n saw a large figure emerge, along with a slightly smaller figure walking beside it. The both of them bared no wounds and actually looked cleaner than ever.

Y/n slowly raised himself from his knees and began steadily walking backwards, keeping his eyes on the two figures who chatted away in front of his burning clan.

Y/n descended into the forest slowly but surely, occasionally making sure his footing was in the correct position. CRACK! Y/n’s face went pale as he realized what he had done.

A stick had perfectly positioned itself below y/n’s foot and snapped in half, causing the big sound. The man wasted no time in running as fast as he could, using the bases of the trees as small boosts as he booked it.

But tonight was not y/n’s night, as he then tripped and fell over an uprooted branch. Fear and adrenaline coursed through y/n’s veins but there was no time to get up, as both the large figure and smaller figure steadily made their way towards the fallen man.

Y/n did nothing but close his eyes and pray to himself that he would be able to survive this night and be able to see another day. The footsteps gradually became closer until they finally stopped by his feet.

“Uraume, check this boy for any injuries” a deep and menacing voice spoke, y/n heard “uraume” hum before being forced onto his knees and having to look into uruame’s red eyes.

Y/n stared into their eyes as they thoroughly checked his face, uruame’s fingers gracefully floated over y/n’s face, taking their time to touch and probe at the man’s face, occasionally rubbing some dirt off of y/n’s face.

“He’s all clear sir” uraume spoke before back to where they once stood. “Good to hear, I don’t want my playthings to be ugly with a face full of scars” the large figure walked towards y/n, their extremely buff and big figure making the smaller male on the ground cower more into the dirt in fear.

“Get up” the bigger male’s voice commanded. Y/n basically jumped to his feet, looking up at the other man’s face with tears in his eyes. “Hm, what a precious boy we have, truly much better looking than all the others” y/n’s cheeks became a sweet pink color as the compliment sunk into his skin.

A pair of large and course hands wrapped themselves around y/n’s waist, causing the male to gasp from the sudden touch. Another pair of hands caressed y/n’s face, “my name is sukuna ryomen , but to you, it ‘s master, got it?” Y/n nodded as soon as sukuna finished his introduction.

“What a feminine body you have.. are you sure you’re not a girl?” Y/n tensed up, “no master.. im no girl..” the smaller male said through trembling lips and in a tiny voice.

Sukuna hummed, “what a shame, I would’ve impregnated you the moment you said you were” y/n ‘s face grew hot with the thought of someone more huger than him rearranging his insides.

“Guess you’ll have to do for now” y/n let out a surprised gasp as he then felt his robe being undone and being swept off his shoulders. The cold air of the night breezed over y/n ‘s exposed skin, making him shiver.

“Aw, want me to warm you up sweet boy?” Sukuna ‘s words were laced with lust and desire, y/n opened his mouth to respond but was then cut off as sukuna ‘s bottom pair of arms lifting him off the ground as if he were nothing.

Y/n and sukuna were now at eye level with each other. Sukuna ‘s four eyes staring deep within the naked man ‘s soul, y/n couldn’t help but avert his gaze away from sukuna ‘s deformed face.

Causing sukuna to get irritated and grab y/n ‘s face with one of his many hands, “look at me, boy, I am your savior, I am your god, so you will treat me as so”.

Y/n could do nothing but whimper and force himself to once again look into sukuna ‘s eyes. “Good boy” ryomen purred, his already cocky smirk growing even more cockier by the second as he looked at y/n’s fearful face.

And just like a god, sukuna dropped y/n back on the forest floor because “mortals have no business being on par with their gods”.

The “god” placed a hand on y/n ‘s head, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging him more close to his upper inner thigh. “As a servant, you must do everything I say, alright?” Y/n nodded eagerly.

“Hm, that’s what I like to see, now, as your first task for me, you will suck my cock. Got it?” Sukuna watched as y/n shakily nod and reach up to untie his pants lace.

Y/n then grabbed the hem of sukuna’s pants and slowly pulled them down, revealing not only one, but two extremely long and thick cocks. Drool dripped out the corners of y/n ‘s mouth as he stared intently at the two cocks.

Sukuna chuckled, “hasn’t anyone taught you staring is rude?” Y/n blushed and bowed his head, “m-my apologies.. master..” , sukuna chuckled and pulled on y/n ‘s hair. Causing the man to yelp and grab onto sukuna ‘s strong thighs.

Y/n looked up into ryomen ‘s demanding eyes, “well? Get to it slut” , y/n let out a quick ‘yes master!’ Before wrapping his lips around the tip of one of sukuna ‘s cocks while groping the base of the other.

Sukuna groaned as he then moved his hands that were in y/n ‘s hair down to the base of his neck. Y/n licked and slurped on sukuna ‘s big and girthy tip, coating it entirely in saliva.

“Fuck.. go down that shaft, I need to feel my head hit the back of that whorish mouth” y/n did what was asked of him and began to slowly deepthroat sukuna ‘s cock. Gaining a loud and drawn out groan out of sukuna.

Soft and whispered curses leaked out of sukuna ‘s mouth as y/n began to bob his head on sukuna’s cock, making his way down the base.

While y/n worked on sukuna’s top cock, he began to stroke the bottom one at a slow pace, making sure to fondle the balls as well.

“Fuck.. I’m c-cumming.. don’t even try to pull back now, you’re going to take my entire load deep in that slutty throat of yours” and just like that, sukuna came in y/n ‘s mouth, coating his once pink insides a creamy white.

Sukuna ‘s second cock spurted it’s essence onto y/n ‘s bare chest, some dripping down to his abdomen and down his own cock.

Y/n ‘s pushed himself off sukuna ‘s cock with a gasp, coughing up some left over cum that got stuck in his throat. “We’re not done yet boy, get up”.

The cum-covered man got up, his legs trembling as if he were a newly born fawn. Sukuna ‘s bottom arms wrapped themselves around y/n ‘s waist, hoisting him up to where his head laid comfortably between sukuna ‘s pecs.

Sukuna’s hands then slowly slid down towards y/n ‘s ass, taking the two cheeks into his palms. Spreading them out enough to where y/n ‘s hole was visible. Sukuna then took one of his hands off of y/n ‘s ass to perfectly position one of his cocks directly below y/n ‘s hole.

The sound of the combination of a wet cock and a dry hole filled the quiet forest, along with a surprised moan from y/n. Sukuna smirked at y/n ‘s response, but he wanted a more extreme reaction.

A light went off above sukuna ‘s head as an idea popped into his malicious mind. Ryomen thrusted his hips up, making contact with y/n ‘s plush cheeks. Y/n through his head back as he let out a much more pleasurable and loud moan than before, along with that, a string of a certain warm and creamy white substance squirted out of the tip of y/n ‘s cock.

“Cant even handle a single thrust? This isn’t looking good for you boy” sukuna said with a snicker, y/n was about to argue with him but decided to kept his mouth shut. Ryomen slid y/n back up, earning a groan out of him. Sukuna then grabbed his other cock and positioned beside his other cock.

He slid the tip in, causing y/n to dig his face into the crevasse of sukuna ‘s pecs. And with another thrust, ryomen ‘s other cock had successfully entered y/n ‘s already filled hole.

Y/n clawed at sukuna ‘s arms, drawing a bit of blood. The pain that sukuna was suppose to be feeling was replaced with ecstasy and the desire for more. MORE pain, MORE pleasure.

“Ready?” Sukuna asked, but didn’t wait for y/n ‘s response. Sukuna slid y/n up one last time before delivering a powerful thrust into his hole. Y/n cried out, tears forming in his eyes from the thrust of sukuna ‘s hips.

Ryomen continued to deliver harsh and heavy thrusts into y/n ‘s already recked hole, y/n begged for sukuna to stop, but he was already too far gone in pleasure to be able to hear y/n ‘s pleads.

Y/n felt the many veins that drove along sukuna ‘s long and hard cocks, the veins were enough to drive y/n insane as they rubbed against the tight and gummy walls of his insides.

Sukuna ‘s cocks twitched, signaling that he was close to his release. Y/n sobbed as he realized that he would be downgraded to nothing but a cumslut and a cocksleeve for a curse that was way more stronger than him in every way.

“Take my kids into that precious hole of yours slut, maybe then you could actually gain a purpose for something” y/n knew what “purpose” he would gain, he would become a mother to children he could not bare.

With a couple more thrusts, y/n felt sukuna ‘s cocks unload their last gallon of cum into his once pure hole.

Sukuna breathed heavily, trying to catch an ounce of fresh air in the steamy and hot ecosystem him and his new slut had made.

“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t kill you, but now, you must work for me, you’ll worship me and my existence altogether, your nothing without me, your only purpose for me is to be a hole I can put my two cocks in and bare my kids in that stomach of yours” sukuna whispered delicately into y/n ‘s ear. Causing the poor man to shiver and shakily nod.

“Uraume, mind cleaning me and my new toy?”

[dex0s]

—♡DOUMA X MALE READER WARNING: smut, non-con, cannibalism?, douma, reader having a huge chest, thoracic area called boobs/tits, daddy kink, face sitting, breeding kink, semi-public?, incest?, cliffhanger ending (only because I’m lazy), not proof read

A/N— okay I know I was gone for like 2 months but um— yeah

You were a member of his cult and your older sister got sick to the point she had to stay in bed instead of praying to your demon lord. For the past couple days you had been asking your lord to heal your sister. And at first DOUMA was uninterested or just ignored you but then he got a full look at you. (H/c) hair, beautiful bright (e/c) eyes, nice face, well shaped body, and lastly YOUR CHEST. Oh and how he was so in love.

“Oh look a new play thing. Just. For. Me~ and ONLY me~”

After that you notice changes. One, Douma would ONLY look at you if you in the room but the moment you leave his face becomes disinterested (even if he doesn’t have emotions he feels like his life just decrease by a life time). Two, you ALWAYS feel like you’re being watched no matter what you doing or where you are, there are always RAINBOW EYES watching. And three, when you go and pray to your lord you can notice the lust in his eyes like a predator eyeing their next meal.

“I can’t believe I haven’t noticed you sooner… I wonder if that man will let me keep you~ who know maybe I will quit bugging him~”

Knowing damn well that man can hear him

One time you went to douma and asked for his blessing so your sister could get better and by pure coincidence your sister gotten better and could move around better then before. You thanked douma for the blessing but even tho it was a complete coincidence douma wanted more than just a thanks. He gave you his blessing and healed your sister. He wants more and he will get want he wants whether you want it or not .

HaAh~ Oh you tastes Sooo~ good~ Your so good—Fuck! for daddy~

Grinding your hips into the pillow while Douma is thrusting in and out your ass. “Ahh~ you look like dog when you do that~” Douma said, moving his hand up your body and stopping at your chest. “W-wait~AH!” Slamming his cock back in he starts to grope your chest. “Hmm! What a— good boy you are, so good— for daddy” you start to feel yourself about to release and you try to warn your lord but all that came out was babbles. Douma seem to notice this and started to go even harder on you hearing your gummy walls take him in and out and all the noise you were making made him even more hard then white sticky cum came out your dick but that didn’t stop Douma in fact he decided to switch it up a lot bit.

He lifts you over his face, your legs are shaking then slams you down on his face. Taking his long slimy tongue starting with kitty licks, suddenly roughly gripping your thighs and full on eating your ass like there’s no tomorrow. When the door opens (you didn’t even notice at first) it reveals your sister. Your sister was in shock, she didn’t know you had a side like this. Hearing your moans and the licks your sister can feel a wet spot in her undergarment. While your sister was standing there Douma could smell her wetness and started to get upset.

“Why is she here.”

“She needs to leave can’t she see I’m playing with my plaything.”

“It’s her fault he’s in this situation”

“She shouldn’t be so selfish and get sick”

“You know what… It’s show time”

Taking out his tongue from your ass, he moves you to his lap. Picking you up with your legs wrapped around his waist Douma starts to walk to your sister. “You know it’s rude to stare” using one of his free hands and roughly grabbing your sister’s chin forcing her to look at his rainbow eyes. “W-what are you doing to my brother!” Yelled out your sister that was trying to force Douma’s hand off of her and trying to reach for you, when Douma grabs the hand that was reaching for you and pulling it off her body. Finally snapping out the trance you hear a bloody cuddling scream. Turning your head around to see your sister on the ground clutching her shoulder but before you can say anything you were placed on the ground on all fours in front of your sister.

“Why don’t we put a show on for your sister~ hmm dear~”