#his eyelids weigh down from pleasure he wants to close them but he wants to keep seeing you too

[kamesama]

domesticity with ryōmen sukuna

— note + warnings: my lil' head is full of him; headcanons but not rlly formatted like them idk; modern! au; disgusting domestic fluff; spicy moments here and there ( feat. brief mentions of nudity, pet names, degradation, praise, just some basic intimacy yo ); mentions of food; brief mentions of alcohol and tobacco; fem! ( wife! ) reader; long post ( almost 1.5k and i still wanted to write more but i need to get ready for class ).

every now and then, he comes home with burdened hands; a thickly arranged bouquet, your favourite pastry from that bakery standing a pesky distance away from your home, little bag with lace and frills and silk neatly folded at its bottom. he adores your reaction — the way your eyes are rendered overwhelmed with shimmer the moment you see him and whatever saccharine little thing he decided to please your wits with that day. the way you cling onto him, your muscles nearly aching from a sense of gratitude and excitement, or merely tenderness on the days you are fatigued and just quietly thankful. it's so fun to see you pleased with such a gesture; so silly, so endearing.

his armchair is his throne, and your throne is his lap. at times, he settles for the spot on the sofa; the one that has his name engraved on it with an ink of memory and habit. lounging there provides a proper view of the space around him, so when you walk in, showing off whatever delicacy he's bought to hug your curves, he sees the entire picture, perfectly framed. he cocks his head to the side, his knuckles pressing into his cheek as he tells you to twirl around for him, princess, so that the skirt of your dress may flutter or so he could have a good look at the way that lace-edged hem of your brand new knickers lightly sinks into the soft flesh of your buttocks. he pats his lap for you to come and take a seat like a good girl, and he may just show his appreciation for how ravishing you look.

yet, on the drearier days, when time seems to drip painfully slowly and when the invisible frost seems to linger in the corners of your home and bodies, he leans back into his mighty armchair and pulls you close — bare or modest, it matters not, as long as you are against him and he can trail incoherent patterns across your hip or run his fingers through your hair. something weighs on his vision and his eyelids threaten to falter underneath the dull pressure — he yawns and closes his eyes, aware that you, too, have given in. his thick glass of whiskey sits empty, sweating cold droplets of water; the cigarette butt squished in the ashtray.

meals are greatly indulged in; homemade, takeout, eating out. after all, sukuna's a connoisseur of gastronomy. wrinkled widows and middle-aged housewives did not utter a single word of lie whilst making the statement that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, for sukuna indeed shows immense pleasure if you decide to treat him to a little something, whether it be some quick morsel or a sightly dinner sprinkled with the grandiose. his tastes are peculiar, however, so your outings in the evening either start or end up at a pricy spot with mouth-watering dishes.

when either one — or both — of you demand a rest from the confinements of your home, thoughts or chores, cruising through the highway and city roads is a welcome option. whether it be in a car or sukuna's motorcycle, a ride is a ride. underneath the streetlights after dark, or in the minutes just before the sun starts to sink into the horizon, or right after the rush hour when the roads are suddenly free of a tremendous burden. it's a little bit of adrenaline, and head free of pesky thoughts, your arms around his waist and your laughter that seems to fade into the breeze after a few seconds. the glimpse of you staring out of the car's rolled down window as your favourite song plays on is oddly sweet, and sukuna finds himself content with smaller things in life.

the ultimate betrayal of trust is giving in to the unholy, godforsaken urge to watch that one episode after a frustrating cliff-hanger — alone. there are spots in your routine which you fill with some stupid reality show or a theatrical series, most of which neither of you expect to grow so attached to. the image is that of a dimly lit living room, a bright screen and sound of chewing as you lay close to one another, occasionally commenting on and reacting to whatever is occurring within that wondrous glowing box of visionary delight. sukuna is transparent with his tastes; his expression twisting in some vague sense of disgust at poor writing, or brows raising in interest as the music shifts to a melody that is a tad more dramatic. the salt remains on your tongue and sticks to your lips.

he loves the way you attempt to be subtle with your affections and desires when the movie you're watching proves to be too dull. he sees you within the periphery of his vision — how you throw a glimpse or two towards his handsome profile, your gaze smoothly trailing down the line of his nose, dripping from its tip onto his lips only to take a turn up his sharp jaw. he'd call you dumb and naïve for thinking that the gears within your skull are not being obnoxiously loud with some starved intent, but he bites his tongue for the sake of indulgence. the tip of your index finger ghosts over his skin before you press your lips to his cheek gingerly, begging for a sprinkle of attention, and when he does not go out of his way to satisfy your whims then and there, you whine and complain into his ear how the movie is so boring... truthfully, he would have scoffed and wrinkled his forehead at the terrific acting and horrendous story-telling, too, but he swallows down whatever atrocity his eyes are witnessing on screen lest you grow bolder and needier with your advances, because he adores seeing you try harder.

some days you're bolder, when you come stomping to him as his eyes follow the rows and rows of black-ink characters pressed into the paper or glowing from the screen. your perfume is demanding, your outfit revealing, your lipstick's shade a herald of debauchery. try harder, he wordlessly dares as he spares you but a single glance, acknowledging the intent that you're absolutely overwhelmed with. sometimes he is not in the mood for your little schemes, so when you push at all his buttons with that voice thick with desire and relentless attitude that ignores his every warning, what else could he possibly do than give you what you've wanted, tenfold? he bruises your thighs with violet handprints and paints your neck with ruby red stamps of wanton need and irritation and leaves your legs quivering, shaking like a leaf because you, needy, naughty little thing, have asked for it.

other days he demands your attention. when you're reading your book, or watching your show, he approaches with bold, shameless kisses to your neck; open-mouthed and wet, not shy of whatever thought clouds his mind. sometimes there is barely any lechery in the way his fingertips sink into the flesh of your thighs or the way his palm caresses your back. sometimes he hungers for that which he deemed unfamiliar before you; for his head to rest against your breast and the sound of your heart-beat echoing in his ear. no matter what the motive is, his approach is direct, and his arguments temptingly good.

the smell of clean bedsheets, stained only by a whiff of slumber, is intoxicating on the weekend mornings; those always end in some lounging and rolling around, small kisses and sleep-laced grumbles. it's slow, it's leisurely, as if time holds no weight or consequence. they lead to another thirty minute nap, or a hungry yet slow session of love-making that ends up lulling you all the more. it's a shared shower, toast for breakfast, smell of bitter coffee or matcha, and the two of you in your own little world for the day.

sometimes you wake up before him and abandon your spot on the bed; let it grow cold and lonesome. standing on the sidelines, by the nightstand, provides you with a different view from the one you're used you when your cheek is sunken into the pillow. other than sukuna's resting face, you see the entirety of him fully — the cover half-heartedly trying to hide any indecency; the expanse of his muscular back moving rhythmically with each breath, resembling the way sea-waves come to hug the shore before being pulled back by an invisible force. the scratch-marks from your desperate fingernails are faded red on his shoulders, and he seems so tenderly mellowed as he roams his own dreamworld. you could lap up the sight, eat it up and engrave it into your brain, but settle for acting like a little stalker for just a minute or two, appreciating the sight of peaceful, unburdened sukuna who has his features halfway devoured by the soft embrace of his pillow.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

[gojoest]

handjobs on the brain . . .

[neptnszn]

waking up horny in the dead of night with SUGURU GETO as your boyfriend is actual hell sometimes

i just know that this man has the worst attitude when really tired. who can blame him? being a guy as hot as he is cannot be easy.

“girl—” suguru would grunt and turn back over after shaking him awake for dick. for dick. yeah self-inflicted really. other times he wouldn't say anything at all, just shoot you a nasty look.

but a girl has her needs.

“baby please?” you try again, perching your chin onto his buff arm. “the dream was a little too detailed.” a small pout forms on your puckered lips.

“that isn't my fault,” suguru counters, the soft bass in his voice resounding in your shared bedroom. “you couldn't have waited until there was light outside?”

you shake your head.

“must be tough. good night, sweetheart.”

this man. you groan out an exasperated ‘suguru!’ and curve over his form, staring at him as if he can see you through his closed eyelids.

“no, y/n.”

“i’ll top?”

you lied.

you knew damn well you couldn't be bothered to ride him to an orgasm at two in the morning and so did suguru. so when he scoffed and muttered “roll over.” you were grinning victoriously.

“I don't belive you.” suguru hissed, lifting up your hoodie over your hips and feeling up the skin of your ass.

“sorry, sugu’.” you're breathless already when he starts spreading the globes of your ass apart to take a good look at your cunt through low lidded eyes with the sleep and arousal still weighing them down. suguru merely tutted, wrapping a hand around his bobbing cock to push his tip in for the second time tonight.

you tensed as you sunk your head into the pillow in front of you. suguru had a big dick. you knew that much from the time you caught wind of what his attitude was like. nonchalant, quiet confidence, tall, pretty large hands. You'd be surprised if he didn't.

“y/n..if you don't relax. I can't move if you're trying to crush me.” you roll your eyes—so dramatic.

you ease up, but quickly choke on your breath when he slides all the way in, filling you with his thick inches. your pussy flutters at the intrusion, squeezing suguru again. “shiittt baby..” yeah—he undoubtedly missed that.

and when suguru sees your ass ripple and hips jump forward with every deep thrust, he suddenly thinks that he made a good decision.

but he was still fucking tired.

“mm-mm, don't run from me, sweetheart. you wanted me to give it to you, so take it—take this dick ‘fore I take it away.”

“you're so needy, can't even let a man sleep.”

“pretty girl just can't stop creamin’ all over me, so cute.”

“listen t'thaat, it's like your pussy's doin’ all the talking. have i made you dumb already, sweetheart?

for someone who’s so fatigued, he can't seem to shut up at all. mumbling and groaning nastiness all up in your ear like he's drunk on your pussy. suguru thinks he just might be.

he's got a firm grip on your hair and one digging into the fat of your hip, balls thwacking against your sticky cunt. suguru's strokes are mean, every ridge of his cock rubbing against your cushy walls. you're actually drooling, the dizzying mixture of exhaustion and pleasure making you float higher than the pearly gates. Yet with the way your hole squelches when he goes real deep..and his fat tip grinds on that one spot, you're going anywhere but heaven.

You don't even have to say it, suguru knows. suguru knows you're about to cum when he can feel you sporadically squeeze him and when your moans get longer and higher against the pillow you bury yourself into.

“gonna cum already?” he's giggling, the trembles of your ankles and the way your fist tightens not going unnoticed by him. “fuck me back, then. show me how bad you wanna cum on me.” he stops all motion before yawning out loud, a lazy hand reaching his face to cover his mouth. how sexy.

pressing your lips together, you brace your hands out in front of you and swing your ass back on suguru. you were on thin ice right now, and with his snarky attitude, he literally might just leave you high and dry.

your knees are unsteady and shaky but you persevere, looking over your shoulder to see jet black strands hang over his face and shoulders, and amber eyes steeled on where you two connect. his lips are parted slightly as he huffs out a gravelly groan.

“yeah, jus’ like that. fuck me.” suguru praises, words sliding over each other slightly. he picks up the pace again, balls tightening as his head hangs low. he listens to your drawn out moans, sounding more like broken sobs with each stroke he gives you and it makes him dizzy. “‘m gonna cum, i'm gonna cum.” he's whining now.

“inside, sugu’—don't stop!” you beg as you spasm around him, milking your boyfriend.

suguru huffs out a laugh, a lazy grin stretches on his lips. he loves seeing you needy and mind-fucked like this—it scratches an itch deep in his soul. “alright. stay still f'me sweetheart—gonna give it to ya how you like.”

a shattered whimper rips from your throat as he pushes his hips all the way forward, and rams himself all the way in so his cock bullies that spot, the one that makes your cunt gush.

“o-ohh, my god! right there..’s right there, ‘m gonna cuumm..” you wail but he shushes you, the volume of your moans making him wince.

“make a mess pretty girl,” he grunts before his jaw goes slack and ropes of his sticky load flood your cunt. “fuuuckk..” but he doesn't stop—he powers through his orgasm and into overstimulation. suguru smiles when your eyes roll back and your limbs go limp, wailling into the satin pillowcase as you cum and cream onto him.

you think you black out for a second with your ears ringing and heart hammering in your chest. knees falling flat, your entire body slumps forward into the mattress as the aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you like lightning. you could practically feel the beads of sweat sliding down your body underneath your hoodie.

when a warm and wet rag slides against your slit and inner thighs, you glance behind you and see an entirely spent suguru. he's continuously yawning while he pulls your flimsy underwear back up, before tossing the damp towel into the dirty laundry basket.

“thank you sugu’,” a satisfied sigh escapes your lips as he tucks you into his embrace, yet all suguru can do is scoff. you couldn't help but giggle at his annoyance, smiling like a cat who got the cream.

literally.

“next time, I'll just ignore you and get my well deserved sleep,” he spits, resting his chin atop your head.

totally worth it.

© NEPTNSZN 2024 ★ please do NOT copy, repost or modify my pieces, apply credit when necessary.

[babymtal]

könig x afab!gn!reader smut

the voices made me do this. it's purely self indulgent nonsense.

↳ warnings: 18+ content, DNI IF MINOR i'll take ur liver, porn w/o plot, reader calls König Colonel once, wrote this with huband!König in mind, oral r!receiving, p in v, unsafe sex (pls use protection), size kink central tbh, König got a fat dick obv duhhh, major dirty talk, praise kink, mating press, unedited, i think u get the point!

thanks for reading <3 lols

You can't exactly recall what led you into this position, face smothered into the plush comforter as he fondled your naked body softly from behind.

König is a whore, that much you do know. Was it the way he carried himself, letting his giant everything tower over everyone shamelessly in any room he was in? Maybe it was the way he just merely walked like his dick was weighing heavy between his legs with every step.

You didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, mind reeling back to reality at the sound of his breathy voice. "Look at you, ya messy lil' thing." he cooed mockingly, slipping his middle finger past your entrance and leaning back, relishing in the sight of your hot heat swallowing his digit up greedily. His finger continued slowly pumping in and out of you, the drag of his single finger alone enough to make you drool as your cunt soaked his hand. "Oh, yeah..." he whispered as he reached his thumb down to teasingly rub the bundle of nerves that shot sparks of pleasure through your spine.

"Gotsa taste ya, engel." His hands manhandled you easily, flipping you over and quickly spreading your legs, pushing them to your chest.

You nearly passed out at the look in his eyes as he quickly ducked down, lifting his mask slightly to situate his mouth over your sloppy heat. He let the makeshift T-shirt mask fall back against your body, shielding your view as it lay on your lower stomach.

His eyes rolled back, vibrations shooting through you as he moaned whorishly against your clit. He paused his devouring every once in a while to give a shake of his head against your pussy, rubbing his nose messily over your puffy clit as his chest rumbled with relief. His mouth made quick work of you, licking and sucking wherever his heart content. His piercing gaze never left yours as he continued to messily lap at your cunt.

Whines and pants left your lips at the pleasure, toes curling as your chest began to rise rapidly. His big hands wandered over your body as his eyes fluttering closed, lost in the taste of you. His tongue circling your clit juuust right had you tensing all over, mind blanking as you came against his mouth with a cry from your parted lips.

All you heard was muffled moaning as König lapped up the juices you were leaking. He pulled back after a few moments, the air feeling thick as he situated himself with his huge thighs caging your hips. He leaned over, his giant build deemed menacing as he towered over you. His heavy hand reached down, unzipping his cargo pants. "Lil pussy gunna take me real nice, ja?" He slurred, eyes dancing over your naked body hungrily. His eyelids were drooped, gaze swallowing every exposed inch of skin his eyes could reach as he palmed his thick bulge through his boxers.

He shimmied his pants and briefs down, fat cock bobbing as it was released from it's confines. The sight alone had your mind hazing over, reaching out and pushing the shaft down softly until it met the parting of your wet folds.

"A-ah, fuck." he sighed, instinctively rocking his hips forward at your actions. Your bottom lip was pulled under your teeth as the head of his cock knocked against your pulsing clit. A sigh slipped from his lips, whimper catching in his throat as he continued to rub his heavy dick through your folds, effectively soaking the underside of his shaft in the process.

"Oh mein-" he paused, a sharp hiss sounding from him when the tip nudged against your clit again. "Tell me ya want it, engel." He demanded, halting his movements to position the head of himself at your entrance.

"Want it so bad, Colonel, please?" you asked sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his mind lurched at the sound of your words. You gave into him so easily, the thought alone making him whine softly. One of his hands removed themselves from your hips, reaching up to cup the side of your face lovingly. He used the other hand to lift his mask a bit from his face, a giant glob of spit dropping from his mouth and down onto the place your sexes met.

"You ask so nicely, süßer, how could I say no?" He rhetorically asked, dropping his mask and occupying his fingers with your swollen nub as he pushed his hips forward softly, the tip nudging slightly into your entrance as it spread his saliva.

The intrusion had you quick to reach out and grab ahold of his arm, a small whine passing your lips. Your fingers wrapped around the wrist of the hand that was cradling your face, maneuvering his fingers until two were wrapped in your mouth, tongue twirling around the digits desperately.

His muffled whimpers grew as he rocked his thick dick back and forth, inching it slowly into your tight heat. Your walls clamped down, muscles tensing as the overwhelming feeling of being so full had taken over your senses.

"C'mon, liebling, I know you can take it. Do it for me?" His voice shook slightly as he rubbed at your clit a little more precisely. His action rewarded him with the feeling of you fluttering around his cock, giving him further access as he moaned.

"I know, i know. Dick's big but you can take it." He cooed down at you, rocking his hips forward a bit harder when your soft tongue flicked over his fingers. His length slipped in, his every vein pulsing against your slick heat before he bottomed out. The feeling of him being so deep knocked the air from your lungs as you began to drool a bit on his fingers, whines and moans muffled.

"See?" He said, nodding down at the spot you two met before teasing, "knew ya had it in ya." He gave little to no time for you to situate yourself before his hips retreated from yours, every inch of him disappearing from your tight grip until just the tip was left. He took a deep, shaky breath before snapping his hips forward suddenly.

He repeated the action a few times, eyes never leaving the sight of your weeping pussy engulfing his giant cock whole.

"Oh gott, ya milking me so good, engel." He praised, a ring of your juices beginning to form at the base of his shaft. "Jus' like that, keep takin' it for me." He slurred, fingers never stopping their assault on your abused clit as he slammed himself into your cunt repeatedly.

You felt like you were on fire, skin feeling sticky with sweat as he continued to pound into you. Your whines increased, the feeling of him violating all your senses continuing to cloud all around you. Your mind was focused on the pleasure he was delivering you, blabbering pathetic thank yous around the pads of his fingers as your legs trembled.

"Ah, mein lieb so polite when takin my cock, huh?" His voice had the coil in you tightening, walls squeezing the life out of his fat cock as he drove his hips deeper in you. The head of his dick was rubbing so perfectly against your gummy walls.

"L-listen, engel." He commanded a few times, desperately trying to pierce through your haze and direct your attention to the sounds of his thick girth slipping in and out of your sloppy cunt. The squelching noise had your entire body flushing, heat engulfing you as your toes curled.

"O-oh ficken, give me it, c'mon." He growling, whimpers tumbling from him as he caged you in his arms, desperate for your release. He reached around your legs, trapping your knees to his side as his hands traveled to your ass. He gripped the plush flesh in his large hands tightly as he raised your hips in perfect time to meet his brutal thrusts.

Your cries quickly enveloped the room as your hand hurriedly reached down to paw at your bundle of nerves.

"A-ah, gott damn. I get a show too?" He mused, a smile hidden behind his dark mask as he moaned, his pounding refusing to seize as he watched you play with yourself. His hips stuttered, a long breathy whine escaping his throat when he swore he could feel you gush around his cock.

"Cum on me, yeah? Wanna feel ya cum s'bad, engel, fuck."

Your body shook pathetically under his as your orgasm tumbled through you. Your iron grip on his arm tightened as your walls fluttered around him. His whines and moans began to pitch an octave higher as he sloppily thrust into your cunt, cum shooting into you.

The air around you stilled, the pulse of his throbbing cock in your dripping heat in sync with your own throbbing as your breaths settled.

"You're a fuckin' whore, König." you panted out, a loving smile on your lips as you both chuckled at the comment.

"Ja, whatever." He said, pulling out softly before rubbing his fingers through your sloppy folds, spreading the mixture of your combined cum all over your sticky cunt.

[authorhjk1]

Loving the december specials already! Cant believe this is the first time you wrong a gangbang theme story!! It was so hot and well written!!! Is there an alternative whereby IU wins and Seulgi loses? 🤔 ! Nonetheless hope to see more seulgi/IU stories! Looking forward to the rest of December

Seulgi's body slowly starts to give up on her. What time is it? She can't tell for how long they are taking turns on her already. Partially, because she can't see anymore.

After getting more than just one facial, Seulgi's face is a mess. A mixture of cum, tears, saliva and messed up makeup. Her eyes are glued shut too. Their heavy cum is weighing down on her eyelids, making it impossible for her to open her eyes.

And she can't clean them either. Her hands are both tied to the back of the chair. She is sitting on someone's lap, involuntarily having to ride his dick, while someone pushes inside her puckered hole from behind.

Her mouth is barely used anymore, just because it's too high for the guys to fuck her face. But that doesn't stop them from painting her face and mouth with cum once in a while. Her lips feel like their glued together. The sticky cum on them makes Seulgi moan deep in her throat.

"How are you still so tight, bitch?"

The young woman is unable to answer. She has resigned to her fate for a while now. The pleasure in her body stops her from forming proper sentences. She couldn't have talked anyway, her lips full with cum.

Seulgi hears IU moan from somewhere in the room. She took a couple of guys to play with, while the other keep taking turns on Seulgi. The difference between the two is, that IU is still in control of what's going on. Seulgi is definitely not.

She hears someone groan behind her. A second later, the guy in her ass orgasms inside of her. Her hole is filled with cum once more. How many loads did she already get? In her state, Seulgi couldn't even count to three, even if she wanted to.

She feels someone pulling her head down by the tie around her neck. It used to be IU's but the older woman thought that the guys could make better use of it. She made a couple of guys cum on it, before putting it on Seulgi. She feels the sticky and warm liquid rub against her neck with every thrust.

Every time someone pulls her head down with it, she knows what's gonna happen next. A moment later, she feels warm cum hit her face. But because her head is still too high, she feels him cum from underneath her. Some of his cum hits her nose. But not the outside. It invades her nostrils, making Seulgi struggle for air.

Her lips are still closed. She is unable to say anything. Not just because of the cum, gluing her lips together. But also because of two panties inside her mouth. IU forced her to take both of them. She could taste her own and IU's juices, while their panties make her cheeks bulge.

Luckily, the guy's cum slowly starts to ooze out of her nostrils.

"Let me have a turn too, man."

Seulgi doesn't know, who the new guy is talking to.

"Just give me a second."

She hears the grunt of the man she is sitting on.

"Let me fill up that slutty pussy."

It makes Seulgi's center tingle with anticipation. She keeps getting pushed onto his cock by the guy, who is fucking her ass.

A couple of more thrusts and he finally unloads inside of her. His warm cum fills her belly, making Seulgi moan into the pair of panties.

If she had known before that this was gonna be her punishment, Seulgi wouldn't have tried so hard to win.

She feels the guy underneath slowly pulling out, his cum dripping out of her pussy. The new guy sits down in his place, before guiding her back onto his cock. He pushes the man's cum back into her pussy. Further and further.

_______

I hope that paints a picture for another possible outcome.

Thanks for the compliment and yes, this is my first time. I was unsure about it as first, but it seems to have turned out alright. I'm always ready to try something new, since I want to improve my writing. This was definitely fun.

Hope you like the next one just as much.

[blindmagdalena]

So…I have a concept. How would Homie react to someone waking him up with a blowjob 👀

18+. Most people dream of flying. Homelander doesn't need to. Instead, Homelander dreams of you. He dreams of your lips on his, kissing the taste of blood out of his mouth. He dreams of your hands peeling away the layers of his suit, stripping him of his façade and laying him bare for your eyes alone. Your hands are always so soft. You're the only person to ever handle him like he's fragile. It would be laughable if he didn't need it so badly. Your touches are featherlight, tracing the slopes of his body like you mean to memorize them. You teach him that sex is more than fucking. You make love to him.

Homelander dreams of your mouth pressing butterfly kisses along his stomach. He loves the way you smile when his tummy jumps under your touch, faintly ticklish. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and the adoration in your eyes leaves him breathless. There is a reverence to the way you touch him. He is undone by it, a tremble in his hands as they slide into your hair. He cradles your head, but does not inhibit your movements. He only wishes to admire. You're so much gentler than the pound of your heart in his ears. He relishes how excited you are to touch him. To worship him. He can smell your arousal, feel in your pulse the thrum of your anticipation. You can't wait to taste him, and that reciprocation alone has him hard, dripping. Homelander gasps at the first wet, heated swipe of your tongue, fingers flexing briefly in your hair as inexplicable, warm colors explode around him. This is true power. With a single drag of your tongue, you have brought a god beneath your mercy. You smile at him, and his own heart becomes loud in his ears. "I love you," he says breathlessly. His voice sounds strange, distorted, but yours is clear as a ringing bell when you whisper in return I love you, too.

"Fuck," Homelander hisses as you envelop him in the wet warmth of your mouth in one long, slow slide, savoring the weight of him on your tongue. He screws his eyes shut, but he never stops seeing you.

You once told him that you would like a deity who cussed, who could be taken apart and reconstructed by his disciples; a god who is not above his people, but who is the embodiment of them. That is precisely how he feels now— deconstructed down to his base elements. He can think only of his most primal needs.

Your eyelids flutter as his hips jerk, his cock filling your throat. Tears well and sit heavily on your pretty eyelashes, weighing them down, but you don't slow. Homelander feels outside of his own body, watching you unravel him with hollowed cheeks and clever swipes of your tongue, knowing full well that it isn't the carnal pleasure alone that sunders him. It's you, and the profound way you have come to love him. The same way you have taught him to love you.

He wakes with a gasp, but the heat and the pleasure of you don't fade with the technicolor haze of his dreams. He blinks, bleary eyed, and looks down to see you there, eyes closed, working his cock with practiced bobs of your head, his hands in your hair. When you hear him, your eyes flicker open. They're just as watery from taking the length of him down your throat as they had been in his dream. You pull off, but continue to slowly jerk his cock, hand slick with spit and precome. "Hey," you say softly, voice already rough with use. "You were dreaming, I think. Hard. Grinding. I wanted to help." You're trying to explain yourself, you even look a little sheepish, but Homelander can't fathom why. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, almost a whimper, before he manages to clear it and say, "Don't stop. Please." He needn't ask twice. You descend back down upon him, taking him to the back of your throat like he's meant to be there, stroking the base with deft twists of your wrist. Homelander's eyes roll back, his mouth falling open on a low, loud moan. You cup his balls, your hand warm against him. All it takes is a few more strokes of your tongue before Homelander is crying out, back arching off the bed, burying his cock so deep in your throat that you don't even taste it when he comes. He sees all those same colors from his dream exploding behind his lids like the fucking Fourth of July, his soul temporarily leaving his body.

The force of it makes you gag, but only briefly, the sound muffled around his cock. You draw back just enough to catch a breath, softening your handling of him, but continuing to milk his release until his moans turn to quiet, overstimulated little whimpers. Pulling off of him with a soft wet pop, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before crawling up the bed, collapsing into his outstretched arms. Homelander closes his arms around you, cupping the back of your head. He kisses you languidly as he drifts down from his high, but with force of conviction, holding you as tightly as he dares allow his strength. "Holy fuck," he whispers, making you laugh. "Holy fuck."

"Good?" You ask, knowing full well the answer. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck. "Good?" Homelander echoes incredulously, voice little more than a rasp. "Thought I was going to fucking die." You laugh again, lifting your head to look at him. "Is that—" He kisses you before you can ask whether that's a good thing or not, his hand cupping the side of your face. He kisses you until the taste of him fades into a mixture of the both of you. When you part, his eyes are glassy with tears. "John?" You question softly, brows pinched. He smiles at you, wide and intimate. "I was dreaming about you," he says, thumb stroking your cheek. "Oh," you say quietly, returning his smile. "Good dream?" He huffs a small laugh. "The best."

[imaginedreamwrite]

Brave New World: Part 10

A/N: Scattered smut throughout the entire chapter, use caution if you don’t want to read it

Hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as you were pulled back into powerful thrusts, your back arching off the bed while you chased the heat that burned you from the inside out.

You were breathing heavily, your heart was thrashing in your chest with every powerful jerk of his cock in and out of your seeping cunt. You couldn’t be sure who was behind you and who was in front of you stroking their cock, their scents had bled together and you were weighed down by the fogginess in your mind.

“You’re going to be stretched around my knot,” lips brushed your shoulders, husky and hoarse pleasured threats etched into your skin, “I’m going to fuck you full over and over.”

You couldn’t keep your eyes open, you couldn’t have possibly kept them open when every stroke of his shaft on your spongy pussy walls was bringing you closer to your next powerful and unstoppable orgasm. Every inch of you was electrified, every piece of you had felt the weight of their desire and love, their innate need to destroy you just like you had asked.

“Fuck!” His curse was muffled against your back, his teeth nipping your flesh as his hips jerked violently, his head throbbing while prodding your cervix, the base of his cock swelling as his knot locked the two of you together in a tight bond.

You fell forward with a high-pitched whine, your eyes crewing closed when another surge of heat bloomed in your cunt, his thick and heady seed was being pumped into your pussy as if his cum was trying to coat your walls for control. Your fingers gripped the sheets as your eyes rolled back in your head beneath your eyelids, the constant flow of electricity throughout your body was undeniably addictive.

“Good girl,” when your felt metal against your cheek, you knew that it was Bucky in front of you and Steve behind you, “you are such a good omega.”

You purred, instinctively preening, under their praise. Your body shuddered against Bucky’s cool touch and his endearing verbal affection, the two alphas who had spent the majority of the night fucking you in turn, over and over again to quell the heat and the rut that inflicted all three of you. There was no air of gentility when you were trapped between them when you were made to ride their cocks, when they had fucked you senseless and sent you into pleasured oblivion.

There was no end, no beginning to any of you. There was no clear divide as you fucked each other in the nest, over and over again.

You woke to the sound of grunting and the smell of sex, the elicit sounds stirring you from sleep.

Though your eyes struggled to open and your felt weary beyond all means, you had managed to witness the sight of your alphas together. Bucky was riding Steve, his head thrown back in lust as he rocked his hips against Steve’s thrusts. Bucky’s hands gripped Steve’s shoulders and his sultry moans echoed in the room, the two alphas seeking each other’s pleasure while you rested on the far side of the bed, your chest vibrating with subtle whines and purrs.

“Good morning, doll.” Bucky grinned solicitously. He winked at you over his shoulder, a momentary action before his neck was grabbed and he was yanked back to Steve’s level, their lips locking as Steve thrust once more, filling Bucky’s ass with his seed, the creamy spend dripping from his puckered hole when Steve withdrew.

“You’re tired, we didn’t want to wake you.” Steve had answered a question that was never asked, only after Bucky had rolled off of him onto the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you whined, you whimpered and attempted to stretch, the chance stripped from you when piercing heat had struck your belly, “hungry.”

Bucky, despite just being fucked again, reached for you and brushed your hair behind your ear, his cool fingers trailing along your jaw to your chin. He was softly cooing, the two of them so attentive to you, their scents reflecting their desire and want, their need and craving. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your heart skipped a beat the longer he stroked your flesh with his fingers. You gulped down their scents, sinking deep into the comfort they provided and the safety of their nests.

“You need to eat something, you should have a bath.” Steve’s voice was soft as he got off the bed, his crooning tenderness easing your heat temporarily. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I’ll help give you a bath.” Bucky’s fingers trailed along your sides, his lips drawing over your neck, memorizing the feel of your flesh, marking the portion of you that would bear the weight of his mark. “Relax, sweetheart. Give me five minutes.”

Bucky, like Steve, had gotten up with ease and departed the bed as if he hadn’t just been fucked stupid. You watched from the bed, blinking languidly while Bucky raised his arms above his head and stretched. You felt ragged, you felt weary despite having serum running through your veins. You didn’t know if it was because this was your first true heat since you’d left your reality, or if you were so ragged and weary because of how intense Steve and Bucky had fucked you.

They hadn’t held back, they hadn’t needed to. You were able to take everything they had given you, they had fucked you endlessly for hours, never once ceasing until you were fucked out and pliant. They had been like beasts, feral and wild animals that had lost total control of themselves when they were making you take their thick and heady lengths. You were fucked stupid; senselessly losing your mind to every jerk of their hips and the friction that drove you to the brink of countless orgasms.

You didn’t know what was playing on the screen in front of you, the black and white movie was completely new to you however it wasn’t the movie you were focusing on. It wasn’t the story of the girl who seemed lost and the wayward friends who were helping her defeat evil that had captivated you, it was Steve and Bucky.

It was the two alphas who had helped clean and care for you after the latest bout of increased heat. The older men with silver and greying hair were still gorgeous and breathtaking, with wisdom and strength that other people would only dream of having. The two men who had and would so starkly defend you with their lives despite only knowing them for a short while.

They were your alphas, they had been hoping and waiting for you without ever knowing if this could be a possibility.

Since omegas had been lost, since they had disappeared almost as if they had gone extinct, Steve and Bucky had no idea if they would ever have the future they desperately wanted.

An omega to call their own, a wife to help fill their empty halls with pups.

It was a life they had always wanted and had been denied again and again. It was a constant setback, one after another. No adoption agency would give them a child to raise, the risk of one or both of them being gone for extended periods, injured or killed was too high. And any beta, even alpha, surrogate they could have wouldn’t have been able to handle a pregnancy with a super-soldier pup.

Until you, they were screwed. They had zero options set out for them, and with a portion of their lives lacking what they’d always wanted, they hadn’t dared seek retirement.

But now, you wondered if they would. Now you wondered if this was going to be the final step in their plan for their lives if they would settle down.

Both men, despite their silvering hair that was littered throughout their natural colour, and the beards that contained the same sign of age, were no less gorgeous than they had ever been. They were still stronger than a majority of men ever would be, and there were still great lengths of their lives left to live. There was no foreseeable end to their youthfulness even at their age.

“I’ve never gotten to see a movie for fun.” It was the first piece of conversation that had come between the three of you, with the movie dialogue and soundtrack playing there hadn’t been any need for you to talk.

Not when you were all closely bundled together in the middle of the couch, with ample room on either side of you. No one wanted or felt the need to talk, not when you were in this temporary and mobile nest enjoying each others’ company while anticipating the next wave of your heat and ruts.

“We were fed lies, government-funded videos to beat their idealism into our heads.” You spoke, you communicated this revelation to the two of them while you had dug deeper into Bucky’s lap, your fingers curling into the material of his Henley.

Bucky’s chest rumbled beneath you, his soft purrs and whines were endearing. He had returned the favour by trailing his fingers up and down your side, his touch tender and warm, perfectly in tune with the sounds of his sense of ease. He was elated, he was peaceful and content at the moment with you and Steve. There was no urgency or rush, he was willing and happy enough to settle with you in this momentary safe nesting space before you returned to the bedroom.

“You will never have to go through that again.” Steve cupped your chin with his forefinger and thumb, tapping the pad of his thumb against the cusp of your bottom lip, tapping twice before he leaned in and kissed you softly.

You were leaning into him, still resting and drawn into Bucky’s lap, your lips captivated by Steve’s while he slowly slipped his hand down the side of your neck to your shoulder, and then further to the sweater you had stolen from the two. His fingers grabbed hold of the ivory-coloured buttons, tilting and pushing them through the button-hole, repeating the same process until the sweater was open and had been able to be pushed down your shoulders.

You angled yourself into him, you mewled in response to his lips trailing down the column of your deck, his teeth nipping your goose-bumped flesh, hands teasing and toying with your hardening nipples. His touch alone was enough to usher in the latest rise of heat and need, the drive to return to the nest upstairs and work your way through this next round.

“We are going to take such good care of you, you are safe,” Bucky whispered in your ears, fingers deftly hooking into the band of your borrowed sweats to yank them over the curve of your ass and down your hips, your bare flesh rubbing cathartically against his erection. “Steve and I are going to protect you, we’re going to take care of you. You will never be hurt again.”

It was a vow, it was a promise that was whispered against your flesh. It was drawn against your chest and your neck, it was communicated in the soft strokes of Steve’s tongue against your nipple and through Bucky’s hips thrusting his bulbous, and still clothed, head of his cock into your bare and slick folds.

You were well onto your way to becoming overwhelmed with the rush of searing heat that came with your cycle, and the driving force of their ruts. The three of you were about to be driven wild with the need to fuck each other again and again, maybe for the last time in this whole cycle. Maybe this would be the final hour-long fuckfest that would finally sate the primordial cycle and send you back into normalcy.

“I love you,” the words fell from your lips, naturally pulled from you when Steve had whispered the same sentiment against the valley of your breasts, and Bucky muttered the endearment against your back, “I love you both, I love you, I love you…”

It was endless, it was never ceasing the way you kept repeating your great love for the alphas who had saved you, who had shown you more care and affection than you had ever felt before in your life.

Steve and Bucky, your life with them, was guaranteed to be good. You knew it was.

“Mark me.” You wove your fingers into Steve’s hair, yanking on the strands, begging him to claim you before the knot, the urgency to have his teeth sink into you was impossible to ignore. “Mark me now-“

He hadn’t waited, he couldn’t wait. Bucky and Steve had acted in turn, one on each side of your neck, their teeth sinking into your scent glands to solidify their claim.

You were trapped between them, without having any knots or being stretched full. You felt their teeth, you felt the steel cables, the fibres of what would be your shared bond snapping into place. It was a permanent fixture, a permanent claim that you would have on them and they would have on you.

It was intense and it was hot, the way that they had taken you and made you theirs.

It was overwhelming and as you moaned their names in some garbled unison, you had been overtaken by surreal and unstoppable happiness.

You were safe. You were loved. You were happy.

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[blackleatherjacketz]

When you've got me on my knees

More

Baron Zemo x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Edging, Bondage, Sex Toys, Dom/Sub Dynamics

On the brink of collapse, your thighs shake as he pulses the vibrating toy deeper into your center, his eyes transfixed on your slack expression. Your eyelids nearly fall shut as you attempt to guide your hips into it, moaning with delight as every inch of your skin tingles with sheer ecstasy.

He pulls the toy out from between you thighs, robbing you of the pleasure you were so close to experiencing, like a word you can’t recall that’s on the very tip of your tongue. You feel it begin to diminish already, to recede back into your core as that device of his slowly leaves your body. Whining in protest, you instinctively knit your brows together as he looks at you with piqued interest.

“Do you want me to continue?” He teases your clit with the tip of the toy upon its exit, spreading your juices up and down your length.

“Yes!” You barely manage a whisper, tugging on the restraints that keep your hands tied behind your back.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you get off that easily, did you?” He strokes your hair with a gloved hand, keeping the toy just close enough for the heat to radiate onto your moistened skin.

“No? I… I don’t…” your answer trails off, unsure of what you’re supposed to say in this moment to get what you want. You aren’t exactly used to playing these kind of games just yet, the rules to them still seeming a bit hazy in your head.

“Do you want me to stop?” He leans down closer to your face, his glare so heavy it nearly weighs you down.

“No.” All you want is for him to keep touching you, for you to be released and to be able to touch him in return, but something tells you that it won’t be that easy.

“Do you want more, my darling?” He traces the outline of your face with his forefinger, a devious smirk curling his lips upward.

“Yes,” you nod your head, eyes welling up with tears as your entire body shivers in anticipation. “Yes, please.”

Zemo licks his lips, his eyes suddenly glinting with satisfaction as he smooths his fingers down your neck and chest before bringing them down to your belly and between your thighs. He spreads them even further apart as he gets down on his knees, kissing the sensitive skin between them as he holds the toy even closer.

“Good,” he kisses you there again. “Now beg me for more.”

[thedemoninmywalls]

Control

Rire decides to be nice, for once.

Ever since Rire appeared in her home, Aro searched for a way to get rid of him.

Her first attempt hadn’t worked - she didn’t have the nerve to stab him with a knife.

So Aro went online, and to the library, where she dug through dusty tomes and sketchy websites. She looked at dark magic and witchcraft and demonology and the art of exorcisms. People from all cultures and ages have been trying to get rid of demons for millenia. There was a lot to be learned and much of it was easily accessible.

Some of her sources led her to real exorcists and witches who offered such services, but Aro avoided them. Even if they could succeed, she was sure that Rire would retaliate, and she couldn’t stand the idea of anyone getting hurt on her behalf.

She could do this by herself.

And she did. Salt was strewn over her doorways and cryptic runes drawn around her room. She covered all the mirrors in her apartment and sealed the cracks with a paste made from chicken blood and melted-down silver. She scattered ash around her bed and whispered prayers in strange tongues.

Nothing worked.

No matter what Aro tried or how reputable the source, somehow Rire was always there, waiting for her, often with a cup of tea in hand. Being a demon king, Rire had a pretty high immunity towards things that would have hurt lesser demons. He laughed at her attempts to repel him and verbally abused her for even trying.

He liked to watch as her hopes crumbled and the light left her eyes, before pinning her to the bed and fucking her senseless long into the night.

Still Aro pored over her books and websites, following strange threads into the arcane and mysterious, desperation rising as she searched for something - anything - that could possibly work against a powerful demon.

But the words began to blur and her eyelids drooped.

The endless nights were taking a toll on her body and her mind. She stubbornly held onto the hope that she could defeat Rire, but she was running out of energy. She didn’t have the strength to fight for much longer.

So Rire was surprised, one night, to find Aro waiting for him on her bed. She just sat there calmly, like a sacrifice on an altar, exhaustion etched into her eyes.

“Well, this is a change of pace,” he commented, sweeping into the room. “No schemes tonight? No silly little tricks to get rid of me?”

Aro shrugged without much effort. “Guess I’m out of ideas.”

“Are you giving up on me, little human?”

Rire’s voice took on a deadly serious tone.

Aro hesitated. “I didn’t say that,” she said carefully. “I’m just…tired.”

The truth of it seemed to weigh on her shoulders. “I’m so tired, Rire.”

“I know you are, my pet,” he drew nearer to her. “Tonight, all I ask is that you give me control. Can you do that for me?”

Aro opened her mouth to respond, but the words that came out were not her own.

“Of course, sir. I will give you control.”

They were spoken in her voice, but they came from somewhere else. Rire smirked, and his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose to reveal his yellow eyes. He ordered her to unzip his pants, and she did so, her movements neat and precise as though guided by a puppeteer’s hand.

Aro felt all this happening as though it were happening to someone else. She was not in control of her arms, her hands, her body, but what was the point in fighting it? It was so much easier to relax and let him do the work.

She suddenly felt more tired than ever.

“Beg to suck my dick,” Rire ordered.

“Please, sir, let me suck your dick,” she replied mechanically, with no input from her actual brain. “Please, I want it more than anything.”

And Rire gave her what she wanted.

Closing her eyes, Aro felt the pull of her mind drifting into unconsciousness. She opened them again when she felt new sensations in her body. She could no longer tell what was Rire’s dick and what was his tentacles. The pain and pleasure blended together. She felt like she was outside looking in, watching him violate her body in increasingly horrible ways.

Rire was speaking, but he sounded distant, far away. She could no longer tell where her thoughts ended and his words began.

A good toy doesn’t have any thoughts. A good toy doesn’t fight back, doesn’t misbehave. A good toy exists only to please their master. Now relax and be a good toy for your master.

Somehow, Rire had tapped into that traitorous little part of Aro’s brain that wanted to be held and used and wanted. That welcomed the abuse, if it meant she could feel his touch. She welcomed the feeling of her holes being stretched and filled and used. She imagined that he was holding her close, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, promising that she would be his forever.

Did she imagine it, or was it real?

Lost in the demon’s embrace, Aro didn’t really know what was real anymore, nor did she care.

Tomorrow, she would fight again.

Tonight, she was tired.

[whumpqin]

14. Slowly suffocating, please

Hello there! I hope this is what you wanted hehe >:3c

Ask game here! (feel free to send me one of these)

Characters: Elisha/Caleb and Jeremiah

TW: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, intimate/creepy whumper, nonhuman whumpee, choking/strangulation, noncon touch/kiss, manipulation, referenced suicide attempt, creepy comfort, fucky dubcon thoughts by whumpee

Content under the cut!

Fingers wrapped around his throat, rough and gentle thumbs criss-crossing over Elisha’s windpipe. They did not press at first, but instead slowly pushed him into the soft bed sheets and pillows, weighing him down alongside the body straddling him. His fingers gripped against Jeremiah’s wrists, mouth parted open with fangs peeking out from behind his lips. Elisha’s feet slowly ground the lower sheets of the bed, pushing his claws in bit by bit as his tail writhed. A steady thrum of his heart announced his panic.

“Does this scare you, Caleb?” Jeremiah asked with a steady voice. Calm ripples of hungry water that lapped against Elisha’s terrified thrashing.

“Y-yes, Sir,” Elisha breathed. He swallowed heavily and felt how Jeremiah’s thumb moved to feel his Adam’s apple.

“I’m barely pressing, pet. I haven’t even started.” His eyes half-lidded as he readjusted his grip on Elisha’s throat. “Maybe it’s just you panicking again. Take deep breaths for me.”

Struggling to press down his urge to scratch at Jeremiah, he nodded. He didn’t want to hurt him - he knew what the consequences of it would be. Depending on how hard Elisha was sure that he would rip out his nails or put his hands back in those horrible mittens with the buckles on them. So he took in a deep, slow breath.

As his breath reached its shaky limit, Jeremiah pressed just a fraction more against his throat. Elisha let out a shrill whimper and tears line the bottom of his eyelids. Without realizing he gripped tightly against Jeremiah’s wrists in a hesitant attempt to push him away. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to suffocate.

“Deep breaths, pet,” Jeremiah reminded.

Elisha took another breath. Jeremiah’s grip tightened and his breath hitched, catching partway in a manner that was choking him.

His ruddy green eyes were alight with pleasure, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Farmer tanned arms shifted as Jeremiah’s muscles worked at holding him so firmly. Even he seemed to be doing his own breath work, with slow and even inhales and exhales vividly contrasting the amount of effort he was putting in. Was this really worth it, to hurt Elisha like he was? Wasn’t it tiring?

There was a click of his teeth as Elisha snapped up a terrible plea behind them. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Instead he let tears fall down the corners of his eyes and stain the pillow underneath him. 

“You should relax, Caleb. Crying is going to make this worse for you,” Jeremiah said. 

Again Elisha swallowed, trying to compose himself so the lump in his throat wouldn’t provide a further barrier for air. He took in a deep breath like Jeremiah told him to, but as he did and felt the fingers grip against him that much tighter, he let out a breathy sob, beginning to scratch at his Sir’s hands while he struggled for air. Jeremiah huffed a laugh.

“You’re not trying hard enough. It’s honestly pathetic.” Jeremiah’s grip tightened again as Elisha took a sharp, hitched breath in. This time it was beginning to make Elisha lightheaded. Darkness danced in the edges of his vision. “There are days I wonder if it could be considered putting you out of your misery. That’s something you’d like, wouldn’t you, Caleb?” His voice was sweet as honey. Stuck against Elisha and not letting go.

A hazy eye looked up to their Sir. His closeness. It was plain to see Elisha wanted anything but this. With the gentle touches of Jeremiah, leading him to bed with a smile, something completely different was what he thought was going to happen. Finally pulling on the bait and hook he’d laid out since Elisha hurt himself in the basement.

Isn’t that what Jeremiah wanted? Elisha wondered, briefly while he gasped, if he could be good like that. In the moment, he preferred to think of the soft kisses and gentle touches, the act of peeling clothes off of skin to hold one another in an embrace.

He didn’t want to be here.

With another breath Jeremiah’s hands finally cut off his air. Elisha let out a few choked cries, sliding his hands up his Sir’s arms to tug and pull. His legs weakly thrashed and kicked while his tail writhed as he struggled helplessly under the stronger man on top of him. Darkness swam in his vision like he had dove into the ocean. Soon Elisha’s eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered-

Then a release. His airways suddenly open, Elisha took in a desperate gulp of air and heaved empty coughs. Jeremiah withdrew his hands to either side of Elisha, trapping him here still as he turned away to sob into the pillow. He felt the brush of fingertips hook pieces of his brown hair, tucking them behind his pitch black horns.

“You look beautiful when you’re dying. So fragile and desperate.” Jeremiah leaned down and kissed against his cheek. “It’s only a shame I can’t do this too often. Even now you're bruised and swelling." A thumb drew itself across his throat, and it took everything in him not to scream.

Elisha had nothing to say or anything he could. No prompting from his Sir, beyond the worship of his pain. But Jeremiah didn’t seem to care, as he moved to touch against the ridges of Elisha’s horns, sending a soothing tingle down his spine.

"You were so good for me. So quiet and as still as you could be. I don't think these scratches are even going to last," he said, looking down to his forearms. Jeremiah slid his hand up to Elisha's cheek. His eyes scanned over Elisha's pale green skin with adoration and obsession. "I'm going to get some ice. Then we can get some rest for the night." Jeremiah pressed their foreheads together. "Don't get up, or I'll break your legs again."

His Sir got up easily from the bed and walked out the door, allowing Elisha the space to sob into the pillow as he gasped for air.

[dollwritesarchive]

breeding kink with dane >:)

oops my hand slipped and wrote this blurb :) not proofread, so mistakes are pretty much guaranteed.

warnings: rpf, daddy kink, breeding kink — minors dni

“How’s that feel, precious, huh?”

how he actually expected you to have a coherent response when he was pounding them out of you was beyond you. he could clearly see each thought leave your mind every time he bottomed out inside you, hips grinding into yours until you’re squirming underneath him, gripping the pillow he’s so delicately placed beneath your head when your eyes roll back and you mewl with vulgar delight.

“Feel good?” he presses, using one palm to rub your lower belly when he’s deep enough to feel his cock poking from the inside. you nod, arching your back to meet the rutting, but he leans forward with a breathless chuckle. his lips ghost over yours, sapphire gems zeroed on your pleasured countenance and nowhere else, “Tell me about it, precious. Let me hear you, fuck, please—“

your eyelids feel as though they weigh a hundred pounds each, so you keep them closed, though blindly chase his mouth as you pant in his face, “It feels so good!” you cry out, digging your nails into the pillow, “So— so good; mm, that’s it, daddy—“

you hadn’t even realized you’d said it until he pauses, brow quirking. “Daddy?” he asks, half smirking. his chest is heaving as both hands glide over your abdomen and up to hold your face. “You just call me daddy, baby?”

you’d called him daddy as a joke, or when he did things around the house, but never in bed.

it just slipped out.

you decided to tell him that, and open your eyes to find him staring at you, and smiling. it stuns you, how gorgeous he was like that, and you find your lips parting with no sound coming out. “You want me to be daddy, huh pretty girl?” he half teases, pecking the tip of your nose. his thrusting has slowed to a deep, sensual caress that has you a melting, moaning puddle underneath him, “I can be daddy for you. Would you like that?”

you nod, purring in response, “Yes, daddy!”

Dane bites down on his lip and nods, rutting as deep as he can go, and he nods with you, as if encouraging you, approving of the new nickname. “That’s it, baby, shit, I’m so close. How do you want it?”

with your better judgement out the window, and now much more fixated on the opportunity, you moan and lock your ankles together against his lower back, “Mm, fill me up, daddy! I want it inside, please…”

Dane scoffs, bemused and… in awe.

“Yeah? My pretty baby wants to make me a real daddy, doesn’t she? Fuck, you want me to put a little brat in your belly, baby girl?” you whimper, eyes rolling back when your walls flutter around the girth of him, the sensation of him throbbing in your depths almost unbearable, but he’s got your head, supporting it with both hands cradling your face, “Oh, I know, precious, I know you do. Here it comes, be a good girl for daddy and take it, yeah?”

with that, he peppers open-mouthed kisses over your face, moaning your name when he comes undone. but his praise didn’t stop there; even after he’s cum, Dane kisses your lips with a tenderness unique to him. the loving caress is then carried downwards, over your chin to shower your throat in the same love— taking a moment to give your pulse point extra attention, he must’ve felt how hard your heart was beating. “Dane,” you whisper, needy and wanting to kiss him again, but he shushes you with his tiers dragging along your clavicle and over your breast. that piercing gaze catches yours, and he smiles into your skin, flicking at your erect bud with his tongue before moving on to pepper the kisses over your belly. your svelte digits delve into his damp tendrils, massaging his scalp with your nails as you exhale, content. “Dane.”

“I’m daddy now,” he corrects you with his brows arching, kissing your lower belly, “remember?”

you giggle, and nod as you lay back against the pillow, petting his hair. he’s sat back on his calves now, signing every inch of exposed flesh with his mouth. “Mm, mhm. Yeah, I can get used to that.”

[scuttling]

Weigh Me Down

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,221 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad bod Hotch, Physical domination, Manhandling, Slapping, Choking, Mild breath play, Sir kink, Oral sex, Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Begging, Dirty Talk Summary: You always knew being the kind of girl who runs her mouth would get you in trouble eventually; you just had no idea how incredible being in trouble could feel. *Inspired by @unicornprancing. Link to A03 or read below! It’s always the quiet ones: it’s a cliché because it’s true, something you’ve never really given much thought to because you are not a quiet one. You talk a lot, laugh a lot, aren’t afraid to speak your mind—it can get you in trouble at work, when local law enforcement is being stubborn and you give them a piece of your mind, or when Hotch gives an order that makes no sense, like stay behind me.

Has he met you? You aren’t the stay behind me type, not by a long shot, so when he says that or something like that, it always leads to you running your big mouth and starting an argument.

You are surprised as hell when one of those arguments follows you back to the office and, in an apparent effort to get you to stop talking, Hotch presses your back against his closed door with his body and puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning in to kiss you rough and deep.

Kissing Hotch is not a thought you've ever entertained. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive—he’s pretty much everything you dream about in a man, tall and strong and commanding, with dark hair and big hands and a withering stare. It’s more that you are so different, that you are loud and lively where he is quiet and clearly repressed; the idea of the two of you together just doesn’t make sense, until it really, really does.

You fist your hands in his shirt, arch up to press your hips against his, and he puts his hands on your body and shoves you back against the door; there’s something hanging on the wall to your right, and its frame rattles with the force of it. You moan into the kiss, and he pulls back, panting, to look into your eyes.

“Was just trying to shut you up for a change,” he says, low, and you lick your lips, look over his face. He’s still angry, and his hands are hard on your hips, holding you down when you try to press up again. Your heart is pounding, your breathing harsh.

“It was working.” His eyes sweep over your lips, your heaving chest, and you suddenly want so many things, starting with his mouth on yours immediately. “Maybe try again.”

He tilts his head, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or purposefully deny you what you’re asking for, but ultimately he gives in, leans in, takes your face in one of his big hands and kisses you hard.

You twist your fingers tighter in his shirt, slip him your tongue, and struggle against his hand so he’ll let you make contact, so you can feel the raging hard-on he has to be sporting. He takes his hand off your hip, and you think you’ve won, but he slides a thigh between your legs instead, pins you against the door that way, and grabs your wrists; he pulls your hands away from his shirt despite your tightening grip, holds your arms over your head, and deepens the kiss, makes it wetter and messier.

All your life, you have wanted this: someone bigger and stronger who could handle you at your mouthiest, who could calm the fire that’s always raging inside you and wind you up at the same time. Men have always been intimidated because you’re in the FBI, or because you were a cop, and for those reasons you’re also physically more capable than they expect; plenty of guys enjoy having a girlfriend who can rough them up a little, but not the guys you want. The guys you want see your strength, your fortitude, and they go running.

Hotch knows all of this about you, and he’s not running.

Far from running, he is crowding you up against the door, his body and his hands and his unrelenting mouth bringing you such pleasure you’re tempted to try to rub off against his leg. You grind against it, more to see what he will do than to actually try to achieve anything, and he shifts so both of your wrists are in one hand, brings the other to your jaw to hold it still. When he stops kissing you, you whimper at the loss.

“No.” So deep it’s almost a growl, his command is one you can feel in your bones, and you swallow hard. Your eyes are fixed on his, and you grind up against him again; his hand flexes on your jaw, presses into the bone, and while that feels really good, there’s something you want even more. You cover his hand with yours—his grip loosens, either because he knows you’re trying to ask for more or because he thinks you’ve had too much—and slide it to your cheek.

You let him go, look up at him, breathless, and he pulls back and slaps your face: not too hard, or too soft, just enough to sting and soak your panties. You gasp, lick your lips, dazed, and he switches hands, hold your wrists together with one and slaps the opposite cheek with the other. He takes your jaw in his hand again, tilts your face up like he’s daring you to act up.

You contemplate it, quickly weigh the pros and cons—acting up is looking better by the minute—but someone comes up and knocks on the door, right behind your head.

Hotch drops your hands, steps back, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to snap out of the trance you’ve found yourself in. He turns around, presses his hand against the front of his pants, clears his throat and says, “come in.”

It’s JJ, and she gives the both of you a concerned once over when she enters; she was in the SUV with you on the way back from the airport, had a front row seat to the argument that started it all. You can’t imagine how you look—flushed, breathless, a little confused?—but Hotch somehow manages to look unaffected, like he’s really just been up here bickering with you all this time. You envy his composure.

“I was just getting ready to leave, wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need anything.” He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and looks over at you; you shake your head too, hope that your inability to do much more than stand there can be attributed to the fight she clearly thinks the two of you were having. “Okay then. Have a nice weekend,” she says, flashing a soft smile, and she leaves, closes the door behind her. Hotch blows out a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look,” he says, and your heart sinks so fast. You really thought for a second that things might be different with him. That you finally found what you’d been looking for.

“No, I get it,” you manage to say, and your voice is rough, but you look him dead in the eye because that’s who you are. “You didn’t mean for it to go that far. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

You’re surprised again when he frowns, shakes his head.

“No. Well, yes, but no. I didn’t mean to take it that far, I’ve never—I’ve never done that.” He wets his lips and takes a step closer to you, and already your body knows how to react to his proximity. It’s like a switch was flipped, and now it can’t be unflipped. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Not if you don’t.”

You breathe heavily, let silence blanket the room for one heartbeat, two. Twenty.

“I don’t. I really don’t.” He takes another step closer, brings a hand to your cheek, but this time his touch is gentle.

“Then we won’t.”

His mouth, when it finds yours, is not gentle. It is bruising, probing, his tongue seeking yours, and you wrap your arms around his back, his shoulders, encourage it, until one of your hands drops to his belt and he grabs it, forces it down at your side.

“Not here,” he says through gritted teeth—probably because, while he’s saying no, the unmistakable bulge in his pants is actually begging yes. You move the hand he’s not holding, brush it through his hair, and he blinks slow. “Do you want to come home with me tonight?”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your goddamn life. The ride to Hotch’s place is slightly awkward. You are both mostly silent, in that stage of the hookup where you’re both reliving how you got here, wondering what will happen, if this is the right thing, if it’s worth it.

From everything you’ve seen so far, it’s really fucking worth it.

His apartment is very nice, clean, kind of bare in that modern bachelor way. Yours isn’t much better, because you are always at work, always looking at photos of missing women instead of your family and friends. You run a hand along the sofa—large, black, suede—and comment on it just to say something, and he puts his hands gently on either side of your throat, kisses you, and looms over you so you are forced to settle back onto it.

You lay back, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched along the length of the cushions, and he pushes his way between your knees, drapes himself over top of you, kisses some more. You run your hands over him because he lets you, truly feeling his body for the first time, and the thickness, solidness, softness has you moaning against his lips for more.

He leans up, takes one hand off your throat, and moves the other to the front of it, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck. The image of him on top of you like this, your literal life, safety, comfort in his hands… it’s intoxicating, and you nod just slightly, to let him know that if he wants, this is something he can have. Something he can take.

He bends down to brush his lips over yours, then over your throat, your ear. “Just a little,” he murmurs, squeezing tight. “I’d prefer to discuss it more—unless you wanted to stop and do that now.” There is a smirk in his voice when he says it, because he knows already that stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. You’ll take just a little, for now.

He leans up again, flexes that hand on your throat in a way that makes your eyelids flutter. With his free hand, he loosens the knot of his tie, pulls it off, starts slipping his buttons free.

Undressing himself on top of you, making eye contact, restricting your air supply—never before have you been willing to give a man free rein of your body, but there’s a first time for everything, and he’s quickly earning himself a key to your kingdom. Your body thrums at the idea of being at his complete mercy, tied up maybe, legs spread, edged with his mouth and hands until all you can do is whine his name and beg to come.

Your face heats, and you whimper, and he loosens his grip, brushes his thumb over your mouth.

“Good girl. Are you alright?” You lick your lips, swiping your tongue over the pad of his finger, and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

You would never be insubordinate—okay, you absolutely would be, have been, were earlier today—but authority is not really your friend, so you aren’t the type of person to throw sir around like it’s second nature. Your use of the title here is deliberate—call it a hunch—and when his eyes darken, it’s clear it’s worth swallowing your pride over.

He takes his hand off of you, makes quicker work of his shirt with both hands available to him. You look down at his crotch, and he pauses to bring his hands to yours, moves them to his belt, giving you permission to open it. The clink of the buckle feels obscene in his quiet apartment, and you untuck his shirt so he can pull it off, left only in a tight undershirt that emphasizes every curve of muscle, the bit of softness across his midsection. He’s perfect, and you run your hands over him, moan, make sure that he knows it.

He pulls your t-shirt off, unhooks your bra and kisses your throat, your chest, cups your breasts in his hands and teases your nipples with a pointed tongue. You let your head fall back, because it feels so good and you want to feel his tongue lower, wonder how he’d react to the taste of the slickness that’s been pooling in your panties since he slammed you up against that door.

“Fuck. Please.” He looks up at you from where he’s mouthing at your breasts, pulls off with a wet sound and rubs his hand up your chest to curl around your neck.

“You have to tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m not a mind reader.” You whimper, and he presses his thumb into your mouth, lets you suck on it a moment before easing it out. “Always running your mouth, always disobeying me. Always have to have the last word. Where’s that mouthy girl now?” You stare up at him, say nothing, and he slaps your cheek, pushes two fingers into your mouth when it falls open in a moan.

He’s back to undressing one handed, stands while his fingers thrust over your tongue and pushes his pants down, his underwear. You moan when his cock springs up, big and full, and you bob your head a little so maybe he’ll get that you want to give him a sickeningly sloppy blow job.

“No, you don’t get this yet,” he says, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and spreading the wetness over the dark head of his dick. “You don’t get anything until I give it to you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you promise with a nod, and he pulls his undershirt off and works your pants open, drags them down your legs. He exhales deeply when presented with your panties—you’re certain they’re obscenely, visibly wet, and it’s confirmed when pulls them off and you can feel how messy you are, your sticky arousal coating your pussy, ass, and thighs.

He pushes your legs up, leans in, and swipes his tongue over you, from your opening to your clit, then over your inner thighs, and you moan, buck against him. Moving his hands to just behind your knees, he holds you tightly, lays his arms over the length of your pushed up thighs, presses down so you can’t move. You whimper at the restriction, and he presses harder, dives down to lick and kiss your pussy, to tug at your lips gently with his teeth.

“All this because of a little roughness?” he asks with a delicious jab of his tongue inside your aching hole. “Soaking your panties because I slapped your pretty face?” You pant, nod, and he rubs his tongue hard against your clit, gets you so close you can hear the change in your own voice as you moan, and then pulls back. “You’ve been needing someone to put you in your place for a while, haven’t you? Someone who can take hold of that smart mouth and render you silent. Do I have it right, baby?”

He has it exactly right and he knows it, only asks to hear you say the two words he probably never imagined he’d get out of you.

“Yes, sir.” It’s strained and weak, and he lays one forearm across your thighs, holds you down, and batters your clit with his tongue, rubs his huge hand over your hot, sensitive pussy until you come whining and trying desperately to move against him even though you can’t. “Oh my god, Hotch, fuck.”

He kisses you as soon as you sag against the sofa, groaning against your mouth, running his hands over your hips, and you are still trying to catch your breath when he gets his arms around you, scoops you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he tosses you roughly onto the bed, your body bouncing from the force, and then turns you over and wastes no time thrusting inside you, laying on top of you, his full weight all but guaranteeing you’ll come fast and hard.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts in your ear, pounding against your ass, and you whimper, claw at the sheets. He covers your hands with his, laces your fingers so you can't move them, pushes your hair off of the back of your neck with his nose. “Good girl, just lay there and take my cock. You aren’t the type to put up a fight, are you?”

That shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but you live to fight, and now that you have this incredible, sexy, strong man on top of you, dominating you the way you’ve only dreamed, it just comes naturally.

You try to buck back against his thighs but can’t because he’s so heavy, his thrusts so deep and rough. You try to get your arms free, whine when he holds your hands tighter, when he presses his biceps down against the backs of your arms so they can’t move at all. You thrash your head, moaning, loud, nearly primal sounds of pleasure, and he puts his mouth against the back of your neck, bites down hard like you’re an animal he’s forcing to submit.

“Settle, settle; just let me fuck you, let me come inside. You’re no match for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll back in your head as he speaks it into your ear, as he rocks his thighs against your ass, as you can feel the muscles of his stomach flex against your lower back. He uses your body, truly, every inch of it covered and compressed by the weight of him, forcing your breasts and clit to rub against the comforter; any one thing he’s doing would be enough, but all of it combined is almost too much, and you whimper, desperate, needy. “Too weak to do anything but let yourself be fucked, aren’t you? Whether or not we come is up to me.”

“Mmh, yes sir,” you breathe, and he leans in to bite the back of your neck again, possessive and rough. It sends a wave of arousal through your whole body, makes your pussy throb and ache. “Oh, god. Please, please make me come. Please use me to come.” Your voice is high, eager, so unlike you’ve ever heard it before that it somehow only adds to your pleasure.

“Using you, baby,” he groans in your ear, thrusting faster, harder, the fleshy smack of your thighs as he fucks and the wetness of your cunt as you take him in filthy and amazing. “I’ll make you come, I’ll come in you, if you promise to be a good girl for me. Are you a good girl?”

God, he’s really going to make you say this. Being a sweet, subservient girl is not in your nature, but it could be, for him. You’d be anything he wants you to be.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur, and he lifts one hand off of yours and puts it on the side of your head, pressing your cheek against the bed while he fucks you.

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice is louder, but less convincing, and he trails his lips over the curve of your ear, sinks his teeth into your exposed throat.

“Louder.” He punctuates it with a hard, almost brutal snap of his hips, and you can feel your orgasm so close, try not to become so focused on the feeling that you miss out on all the rest.

“Yes, sir, I’m a good girl. Please, please.” He picks up the pace, crushing you against the bed, beneath his weight, and you are sweaty, breathless, out of control—perfect.

“Yes you are, and you’re going to come for me.” Soft lips brush over the stinging bites he left on your neck, and he swipes his tongue over them, soothes them. “Who are you going to come for?”

“You, sir,” you gasp, body tensing, pussy clenching, and he groans.

“Who are you going to come for? I need a name, baby.” You whimper, moan, wish you could kiss him, taste him, and when you come it is violent, lengthy, gripping your whole body and dragging it somewhere you’ve never been.

“Aaron—oh, god, I’m coming for you, Aaron. Please, please.” Your eyes water as he fucks you through it, pumping deep until he spills inside you, panting that’s right, easy, just like that in your ear until he’s spent.

He settles on top of you, and the layer of sweat between you should feel disgusting, but it just makes you feel closer to him, like a good girl, like you earned the reminder of how hard you both worked, how hard you came.

He is all sweet kisses and gentle hands, asking if you are alright, praising your performance, your body; it feels so good, his velvet voice wrapping around you, his heavy body pressing down on yours.

You shower after that, so you can sleep; notorious insomniac that you are, he chuckles in your ear when you start to drift off in his arms almost instantly after he gets you both situated in bed. You wake to gentle hands sweeping over your body. You are bruised where he held you down, sore all over in the very best way; you hum at his touch, turn to face him so you can collect soft, sleepy kisses. You drape your arm over his stomach, bury your face in his chest, and he rubs his hand over the back of your neck where you are bitten and raw and claimed. It turns you on—the feel, the memory, the implication—and he lays you back against the bed, puts a pillow under your ass, then settles between your legs and kisses your mouth.

“Going to make you feel really good, baby. Just do as I say, be a good girl, and I promise I’ll make you come.” You nod, tired but horny and ready to do as he says, and he leans up over you, wraps his hands around your shoulders, hooks his chin against your neck. His weight is pressing down on you again, but this time it’s different, sweeter and more intimate. You smile softly, wet your lips.

He slides inside you, maneuvers your legs up over his thighs, and rocks upward, his pelvis lined up in such a way that it rubs right over your clit. You moan, wrap your arms around his back, roll your hips while he grinds against you, pumping shallowly inside but, more importantly, stimulating your clit with each stroke.

“Aaron,” you sigh, holding him tightly while he moves against you, and you throw your head back, gasp and groan while his heavy body glides over yours, while he breathes roughly in your ear.

“Yes, baby. Feels good? Want your sweet pussy to feel good, after I was rough last night.”

“Yes, sir, feels good.” It leaves your mouth as a groan as he humps against you right over your clit, as he tilts his head to kiss you softly below your ear.

“Not sir right now, just Aaron.” You hum, clutch him tighter, move against him, feel the tip of his cock come so close to slipping out just to have it pushed carefully back inside.

“Feels really good. I’m close.” He grinds a little faster, body rolling harder against yours, and you shudder, dig your nails in, and climax, easy and slow and delicious. He praises you even though, again, you didn’t do much, then leans up on his forearms and pushes in fully, thrusts quick and deep. “Mmm, yeah. Want your come.” You pull him close for a kiss, grip his shoulders hard while he fucks you fast, desperate.

You kiss his arms when he comes, panting and gorgeous over you, and when he collapses onto you you wrap your arms and legs around him, hold him tightly, and hum.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asks, knows that sound, and you press your lips to his shoulder.

“Just thinking how nice this is. How I like that last night isn’t all you want from me.” He makes eye contact, smooths your hair back, brushes a kiss against your mouth.

“I want anything—everything. I think we could be really good together, despite our differences… if that’s something you want.” You nod, smile softly, and he reciprocates, leans in for more easy kisses. “One thing, though: when I tell you to stay behind me, stay behind me.” Your smile melts into a scowl.

“You wouldn’t tell Derek to stay behind you!”

“Why are you comparing yourself to Derek? Why are you comparing at all, I told you—”

“I know what you told me, and it’s bullshit, so forgive me if I—”

“I don’t forgive you, actually, and if you keep talking back to me—”

“What are you going to do?” He demonstrates. It’s extremely effective. You still don’t stay behind him when he tells you to.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[hopelesshawks]

Can I request a Compress x Reader? Babytrapping + Breeding?

Ohhh interesting, of course you can! I rarely write for the villains so this will be fun. You didn’t specify but because baby trapping I did fem!reader. I also just realized you might’ve meant reader baby trapping Compress but I wrote Compress baby trapping reader so I hope that’s what you wanted 😅

The following request contains dark content. Check the warnings before reading

Warnings for vomiting, pregnancy, manipulation, non-violent sexual assault (baby trapping), breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), minor dumbification? (reader is very no thoughts, head empty during the smut), minor size kink, minor pain kink

Three years.

Three years together and yet you never would’ve guessed that your boyfriend is the notorious Mr. Compress of League of Villains infamy.

You first met Atsuhiro while working at a hole in the wall theater company. He came up to you after performing one night and had been so effortlessly charming that you’d instantly been put under his spell. He was more intelligent than all of your exes combined and could make you laugh like no one else could. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall totally and completely for the charming man you met that night.

But all of that came crashing down around you when he came home from a “business trip” with a prosthetic arm and no amount of half-assed excuses about an accident on stage could assuage your suspicions. He managed to dodge a confrontation with you for almost a week before you’d finally put the final pieces together and went to him to demand an explanation.

“You’re a terrorist Atsu!”

“That’s just what the heroes want you to think my love, don’t fall for their propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda it’s just a fact! People have died because of your actions!”

“And how many more have suffered or died because of heroes and the society they created.”

“You’re deflecting. I have always indulged your rants about hero society but this is too far! The man I fell in love with would never stoop to this level!”

Atsuhiro crosses the room to you in two quick strides, cradling your face gently with his hand while you feel the cool metal of his other find your hip, fingers slipping under your shirt.

“I’m still the man you fell in love with (y/n), I can assure you of that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How could that possibly be?”

“Let me show you.”

He pulls you into a gentle kiss, reassuring in its care. As his lips move against yours, gently coaxing them to open so he can deepen the kiss and slip his tongue inside, you struggle to maintain your earlier anger. It’s a distraction and you know it is but it’s hard to resist as he starts to move you both back towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of your clothes and by the time your back hits the plush of your mattress you’re both already naked. His mouth finally releases yours to travel down your body, leaving bruises in his wake as he marks you as his.

“Atsu, wait we should, ah-” you start but he quickly shushes you before licking a long stripe up your waiting sex.

“Just relax Angel, let me take care of you. Let your thoughts drift away,” he all but purrs.

You try to focus on the conversation you know the two of you need to have but it slips from your fingers like grains of sand as he brings one hand to your swollen clit and starts rubbing slow circles. Your hands tighten in the sheets as he draws a low, keening whine out of you. His hazel eyes dance with smug satisfaction as he watches you try and fail to form a coherent thought. He doesn’t let up the pressure on your clit for even a moment as he drops his mouth to your waiting cunt and plunges his tongue inside. Your hand flies down to his curly hair on impulse, tangling in the brown locks and gripping tight. Your nails scratch along his scalp and your tight grip tugs at the roots of his hair but he loves the pain of it, knows it’s a sign he’s doing well as he brings up his free hand to add two fingers inside you as well. After so long together he knows your body just as well as you do and it takes no time at all for him to find that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your climax builds and builds until you finally crash through the peaks of your pleasure, walls fluttering around your lover’s tongue and fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

You’ve barely had time to recover from your orgasm before you can feel his erection pressing at your entrance. “W-wait, Atsu, condom,” you pant, shifting in the bed to reach for the bedside drawer but Atsuhiro stops you. “We don’t need it baby, wanna feel closer to you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your face as he eases you back down to laying flat on the bed. “But what if-” “You’re on birth control right?” he cuts you off. “I mean yea but-” “Then it’ll be fine, you worry too much.”

Any further protests you might’ve had are immediately silenced as a snap of your boyfriend’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. You gasp as your body attempts to adjust to his girth. “You’re taking me so well baby, isn’t this so much better? Feel how close we are. Nothing between us, just as it should be,” he coos and it does feel good, good enough that despite the voice in your head telling you you should be cautious, you only nod and beg for more. The grin Atsuhiro gives you is almost blinding right before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you greedily as he slowly withdraws his hard cock before pushing back inside you again. You whimper and whine into his mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, each thrust more brutal than the last. Eventually he leans back and away from you, shifting your hips so he can plunge himself in deeper, but with his lips no longer occupied with yours he’s free to let his thoughts spill out and into the room:

“Gonna fill you up so well, fuck, my beautiful Angel.”

“You and me forever baby, gonna look so good round with my kids.”

“Taking my cock so well, can’t wait until you’re full of my seed.”

The words wash over you but barely register. There’s no room in your brain left for anything else as Atsuhiro takes over every corner of it. Language becomes a foreign concept to you, barely able to articulate your own pleasure in more than the sinful sounds dripping from your lips, let alone trying to process your boyfriend’s ramblings. His thrusts start getting sloppier as he brings one hand between you both to stroke your clit and push you over the edge with him. “I’m so close angel, I’m so close. Cum with me. Want you to finish with me while I stuff you full of my cum,” he pants and all you can do is nod as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. As you clench harder around him he goes toppling over the edge first, crying out your name as he spills his load inside you. You never would’ve anticipated enjoying it so much but it’s that feeling that sends you over the edge, falling apart around his cock as he finishes filling you with his cum.

He helps you come down from your high with sweet kisses and whispered words of encouragement, but as the haze of lust fades, you start to remember the fight you both were having before. As much as you would like for this to be the kind of thing you can just kiss and make up over, it’s not and you know it’s a conversation that needs to be finished. Looking at your boyfriend as he settles more comfortably on top of you though, you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Sleep is weighing heavy on your eyelids anyway so you resolve yourself to bring it up the next day.

Except the next day ends the same way.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Every time you try to bring back up Atsuhiro’s secret double life as Mr. Compress he manages to distract you just long enough to get you back into bed. At first you tell yourself it’s not a big deal that the conversation’s been delayed a couple days, but then it turns into a week. A week of very hot sex, mind you, but if the existence of Atsuhiro’s double life was a red flag then certainly his insistence on avoiding discussing it is an even larger one. After two weeks you finally resolve yourself to talking to him the next morning over breakfast, no distractions and no avoiding the issue with sex. Cooking helps with your nerves, giving you something to do with your hands and a task to focus on to help you ignore your roiling stomach. You end up making almost an entire breakfast buffet by the time Atsuhiro emerges from your shared bedroom to join you in the kitchen.

He barely has time to tell you good morning before you’re rushing him to the table and setting plates full of food down. You know you have to tread carefully so you use the time you both spend eating to organize your thoughts. This time for sure you’ll talk to him. You finally open your mouth to confront Atsuhiro once and for all but as you feel bile start to crawl up your throat what comes out instead is “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

No sooner have you said the words are you shoving away from the table and rushing into the nearest bathroom. You get to the toilet just in time, fingers clutching the rim of the bowl as you violently eject the contents of your stomach into the water below. It burns your throat coming up and your eyes sting, but a warm, comforting presence is by your side in an instant, one hand coming up to rub your back gently as the other pulls your hair away from your face. Only once your stomach is thoroughly emptied does the heaving finally stop and you’re able to sit back and catch your breath. “Are you ok my love? What’s wrong?” Atsuhiro asks with gentle care as he pulls you close. You shake your head, unsure yourself of what had turned your stomach. Sure, you were nervous to talk to Atsuhiro but not that nervous. It can’t have been something you ate since all you’d had was the breakfast you made and you know everything was cooked properly. You rack your brain for an answer only to go rigid when you start to settle on one.

“Atsu what’s the date?”

“The 22nd baby, why?”

Your blood runs cold.

You’d been so preoccupied with figuring out things with Atsuhiro that you hadn’t even noticed how much time was slipping past but there’s no doubt about it. Your period is two weeks late.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” you whisper. No way in hell you’ll leave this up to a drugstore test. There must be another explanation for your sudden nausea. Sure, you and Atsuhiro had pretty much abandoned condoms. Every time you started to reach for one, he’d remind you how good it felt not to use one the first time and convince you to forgo it again. But you’re on birth control! This isn’t supposed to be possible.

God bless him, Atsuhiro doesn’t press you any further on why exactly you want to go to the doctor instead of trying to find something at home to settle your stomach. He simply helps you off the floor and then grabs the keys to your car so he can drive you to the doctor himself. You’re incredibly grateful that he doesn’t seem to share your nerves. He’s a calming presence next to you as your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

You’d asked Atsuhiro to take a seat without you while you checked into the urgent care. You didn’t want him to hear you describe your symptoms to the nurse waiting there. The kind woman immediately suspects the same thing you do and leads you to the bathroom so you can pee in a cup. She’s sympathetic and reassuring as she tells you to return to the waiting room while the doctor runs the pregnancy test but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. The air in the waiting room feels oppressive and when your name is finally called to go back and see the doctor, Atsuhiro’s hand in yours is probably the only thing that keeps you grounded. You take a seat on the examination table and instead of moving to sit down in one of the chairs in the room, Atsu stays by your side, whispering reassurances into your ear. “Whatever’s going on I’m here for you my love.”

The doctor strides into the room shortly afterwards, greeting you warmly even if somewhat absentmindedly as she moves to the computer to check for your details. She confirms your date of birth and then after scrolling for a bit her eyes finally land on the results of your test. She smiles and your heart sinks. “Well it looks like congratulations are in order, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims, beaming at you. A lump forms in your throat as tears threaten to fall, anxiety making your hands shake as the weight of the situation starts to crash down on you. The doctor misinterprets your reaction and as she leaves the room to get you pamphlets on what to expect and how best to take care of yourself during your pregnancy, her reassuring words that promise you’ll make a great mother are anything but.

As soon as the doctor leaves the room you break, tears cascading down your cheeks as your chest heaves. Atsuhiro pulls you into his embrace, letting you fall apart in his arms as you come to terms with the news. “I’m not ready to be a mom, I can’t do it on my own,” you cry, hands clenching onto his shirt. “I know my love, I know, but you’ll never be alone as long as you have me. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” he assures you, pulling you in even closer.

As you continue to cry into his chest, murmuring hiccuping thank you’s between heaving sobs, Atsuhiro can’t help but smile to himself.

He’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Garaki for the fake birth control pills later.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

[wri0thesley]

I propose slow loving sex with Gojo thank u for ur time

propose and you may receive

prince charming - gojo x reader (2.5k)

[comments and reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist] 

warnings: afab reader, no pronouns. not sfw. minors dni! light fingering, piv sex, coming inside, soft. . . soft . . .

Most people who know Satoru Gojo would tell you that the man has two modes. Two ways of being. There is the way that he is from day to day; the laugh, the shovelling of sweets into his mouth, the constant stream of upbeat nonsense and jokes that few people are able to keep a proper track of. This is the Satoru Gojo he is with his students, you think – when the weight of being the strongest does not weigh so heavy on his shoulders.

Then, there is the Satoru Gojo in battle. There is the lift of his blindfold, the way that his blue eyes bore into his enemies – the self-assured way of talking, the ruthless precision with which he deploys his skills. This is the Satoru Gojo that does bear the weight of all of his strength; but his lips still quirk at the corners, he still cracks a joke sometimes though his tone is steely. They have shades of one another, those two personalities - but still, they are the two personalities that he chooses to show the world.

You, however, are permitted to see a different side than most people do.

You see Gojo now, with his body over yours, his soft lips brushing your jawline. You see him with his big hands, cupping your face so he has more access to your neck and your ear, the kisses coming slow and soft and relaxed. He is a large man, despite the fact that he is tall, lithe muscle as opposed to pure brawn – he cages you beneath him like he never wants you to be able to escape him.

You do not want to escape him. Not least when you finally manage to capture those lips in your own and you taste sugar on his tongue. As his teeth nip gently at your lower lip and a breathy sigh is transferred into his mouth; as his long fingers run down your body, appreciating you with a soft hum.

“I’d ask what I did to get so lucky,” he murmurs, voice low and throaty, “but I think I deserve you.”

Some things do not change; Gojo’s arrogance is always there, beneath the surface. He is lucky you find his self-confidence charming, your lips sliding into a smile as your own hands gently push up the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is warm and soft beneath it (you dread to think how expensive it was; Gojo spends money like it’s going out of style, and you have a myriad of gifts to prove it).

“You don’t shut up, do you?” You ask him, mildly, your smile not leaving your face. He laughs softly, and it feels like wind blowing through a field of flowers.

“You love me for it,” he says, all fondness, and he’s right. His shirt is parted from his top half and you admire him; unmarked skin (you suppose his technique means he’s free from the scars so many other jujutsu sorcerers learn to live with), the lean but taut muscles of his abdomen and shoulders. You run your fingers over him and he sighs, leaning into your touch like a cat. Your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat as you take a handful of his pale hair and drag him down into another kiss.

If nothing else, it occupies his mouth.

You can feel his hardness straining in his ripped jeans (pre-ripped for his convenience, with an eye-watering price tag, but even you have to admit that they make his ass look rounder and cling to his thighs and crotch in a way that makes you needy and heated if you stare for too long) as he moves his body against you, half-grinding.

You’re on the couch. You really should move to the bed – heaven knows Gojo’s is big enough for both of you – but there’s something domestic and sweet about Gojo kissing you here, amongst the remains of the sweets he’d been feeding you and with a romantic comedy neither of you are watching any more playing on the screen.

It’s so easy to feel like everything with Gojo is a life-or-death situation – to ascribe more meaning to a brush of his fingers on your shoulder or a murmur of ‘I’ll be home later tonight’ than you really need to.

This, though - this is simple, and easy. It lets you forget the world outside, just for the moments in which Gojo’s body is pressed against yours – lets you think of yourself as a normal couple.

There is nothing more romantic to you than the thought of you and Gojo being able to be just anybody.

So you spread your legs further apart so he can settle between them, sighing as his mouth moves from your own to brush kisses over your cheeks and the bridge of your nose instead.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he tells you, as he pulls back and tugs on your own shirt – you allow it to be removed, thrown onto the ground where you may never see it again. Much more interesting than the lost shirt are Gojo’s hands, large and warm, sliding up the expanse of your stomach and to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. He undoes the catch of your bra as if the motion is as easy as breathing – and maybe to him, it is. Upon your flesh being newly bared, he sighs, leaning down to kiss the swell of the curve. To find your nipple with the warmth of his tongue and tease it to hardness as he flattens his tongue against it and laps at you, the motion sending little electric shocks of pleasure to the place between your thighs. You sigh and squirm, and he gives the hardened bud a gentle graze of his teeth as he pulls back to look at you.

The sight of his blue eyes concentrated wholly on you and all of the distilled starshine contained within always makes you lose your senses for a moment. It should be unfair, you think, for him to look like that. For those wide blue eyes to seem so innocent when you know that he is not--

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you. You know that he’s telling you the truth; Gojo is not the kind to mince his words. His hands rest on your waist, curving down over your hips to tug at your bottoms and make short work of those too. You lift yourself slightly to allow it, Gojo wriggling so that he can get them off without ever having to really move from between your legs. The bottoms go the same way as your shirt, and you are below him now in nothing but your underwear--

Though that’s barely covering anything. Gojo sighs to see the pale white of the piece you’re wearing has gone translucent from the gush of your slick, clinging to the outline of your folds and showing him just how needy the kissing and the touching and the groping has gotten. He trails a finger down and brushes your mound through the fabric, ghosting over your clit.

“This is for me, doll?” He asks you, a smirk on his face that you want to kiss off.

“You know it is,” you breathe, lifting your hips – and the smirk softens into a smile.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it,” he murmurs, increasing the pressure of his touch so he is rubbing you through the cotton; his big fingers pressing against your clit, making your hips jerk. You don’t know if you want to jerk away from the sensation of the fabric pressing against your swollen nub, or jerk into the pressure that you want so badly – so you settle for circling your hips, panting soft little noises.

Gojo smiles at you and the expression on his face is dazzling. Your heart skips a beat; he’s so beautiful. You’re so unbelievably, amazingly lucky--

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, leaning and kissing your cheek, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and lick and suck at the skin there. Your back arches as his attentions send yet more shivers down your spine, set you aflame even further. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his face was warm – is he blushing? “If you could see yourself, you’d understand--”

“If you could see yourself,” you tell him, through the pounding need in your chest, “you’d understand exactly why I’m looking at you like that--”

“Oh, I know,” he preens, though his face is still warm. He hooks his fingers into the wet underwear and pulls them over your thighs. “I know why you’re looking at me like that! I’m gorgeous-- but . . .” He seems to stumble over his words before he manages to get a good hold on them again, before he pulls back and the flush on his cheeks is only barely there. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are, and . . .” He places a hand to his chest. Your underwear is dangling from his thumb, though you’re not entirely sure how he fully tangled you out of him in the position the two of you are still in. “It breaks my heart!”

You smile despite yourself.

“You’re being too romantic,” you tell him, though your insides are secretly all aflame and bubbling. “It’s not like you.”

“I’m wounded,” he says. One hand lands on your thigh, drawing circles and patterns on the slick skin – his middle finger gently nudges the very outside of your sex, teasing the puffy lips apart so he can brush your clit. Your gasp dies in your throat. “I’ll have you know I’m an absolute Prince Charming, baby--”

And he’s giving you that charming smile, even as that same finger presses deep inside you in one swift movement and your knuckles clench on the couch cushion. You groan aloud, lifting your hips to allow him deeper, to make you feel fuller--

Your eyelashes flutter, eyelids somewhere between open and closed, but you still see that Gojo’s own gaze is fixed on you. It’s tender. Loving. You feel strangely exposed beneath it – but at the same time, you feel warm and comfortable and right as he adds another finger and stretches you out on it, scissoring them apart. He brushes the spongy spot of your walls that always hits different and you sigh, murmuring out his name--

“Satoru,” you’re practically whining. “Satoru, faster, please—”

“Prince Satoru,” he corrects you, with a grin that’s slightly crooked to one side and more charming than it has any right to be. He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, until they are thoroughly coated in your wetness, until the fire inside you has been suitably kindled and your breath is uneven and your face is hot – and then he pulls them out.

You don’t have time to whine.

Not with the sound of his zipper, the sound of him kicking off his expensive jeans – the heat of him settling over you on his knees and taking your hips to slide you easily onto his cock.

He groans out your name like it’s all he ever wants to say.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he says, and you reach up and grab a handful of his hair again. He lets it be pulled with only the softest sigh – lets you bend him over you so the two of you are cheek to cheek, chest to chest, so close that you can feel his heart beating. “Fuck, doll--”

He’s right. He fits inside of you like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; warm and tight and perfect.

It’s a triumph, for Satoru Gojo to be lost for words – but he stops speaking as he fucks you slow and soft. It’s not that you and he only usually fuck hard and rough – but his job is stressful, and he is teasing and smug, and it’s more usual for you to be bent over on his bed as he pulls your hair and runs his mouth than it is for anything like this to happen.

He doesn’t seem to have any complaints about it, though – and neither do you. How can you complain when he holds you so gently? When he kisses you like he’s savouring the taste of you instead of devouring you?

He’s not speaking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy – he’s panting, groaning, moaning. He’s always loud in bed – he has almost no self-control when it comes to pleasure, you don’t think – but the noises also go right through you in only the best of ways, making you shiver and shudder. It’s unfair that his voice should sound so good. It’s unfair that he should have almost no flaws--

Some people might say his personality is a flaw, you suppose, but you unfortunately find him charming.

You wrap your legs about his waist and his cock hits deeper, brushes that same spot inside of you – but you find you do not care so much about the orgasm as you care about having Gojo in this embrace.

Not caring about it, though, doesn’t mean that is not going to happen – not with the slow thrusts of his hips, or with the sight of him with his lip bitten and his hair all mussed up from your tangling.

You’re not sure if Gojo has ever found something that he isn’t good at, and fucking you is no exception. His cock hits every spot inside of you and seems to find new nerves you didn’t know would feel so good when stimulated; your entire abdomen (hell, your entire body) feels like it’s on fire. You were slick enough before he’d entered you, but now you can feel your own arousal pooling on the couch cushions beneath you – you can hear how wet Gojo’s cock must be, on the push-pull of him fucking into you. The glide is slick and silky and searing, and your fingers flex on his back, as the tight string inside of you readies to snap.

“Sat-- I’m-- ‘m gonna--”

Your words are lost to the feel of him, to the haze that seems to descend around you whenever you and Gojo are together. You see the curve of his smile, hear him softly whisper;

“S’alright, baby--”

A stroke of his hips that has the flat plane of his pelvis pressing against your clit and you let yourself go, tumbling into the bright lights of your oblivion, your thighs tightening reflexively about him as if you want him to drown inside of you. Gojo sighs, groans, moans out your name as your cunt milks him for all he is worth, squeezing around him – and, he, too, lets go. Heat. Warmth. Gojo’s cock, twitching, heavy and perfect and right inside of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, against his collarbone, in time with the beating of his heart – and Gojo looks at you as his hips continue to roll slow and leisurely, eking out the final drops of his release as it settles inside of you like a claim, and he smiles slow and soft like honey or syrup.

“I know,” he says, quietly. “I love you too.”

He stays inside of you, on top of you, in the embrace, even as his cock begins to soften. Enjoying your warmth, your presence, your closeness.

Maybe he is a Prince Charming.

You’re not going to say that aloud to him, though.

He’d never let it go.

[hornime]

voyeurant | kenma kozume x f!reader

he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...

warnings: 18+, timeskip!kenma, kinda dubcon, kenma’s unintentionally pervy, male masturbation, poorly written video game content (i tried my best), mutual pining but u both are oblivious

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: yes, the title is a shitty pun of valorant. no, i will not be changing it. also this tiktok about timeskip kenma made me giggle so pls enjoy.

voyeurant: part one ↓ | part two | part three:

“fuck, i hate this map,” kenma grumbled into his headset.

your voiced chimed in his ears. “is it ascent?” you turned to see his face on your screen, pinched in annoyance. “ha, it is ascent. sucks for you.”

“which one are you on? haven?”

“you know it,” you chuckled. “your favorite.”

“i hate you.” he weighed his options, did he really want to play this game? the layout of the world made it irritatingly hard to strategize, and today’s losing streak was making him more agitated than usual. with a sign, he closed the application. “fuck this. i’m gonna go piss.”

“yeah, yeah, you’re such a big baby. and...” you released your mouse, throwing your hands up in triumph, “we just won. at this point, i’m gonna outrank you.” you were joking, of course. kenma wasn’t just a gamer, he was kodzuken, one of japan’s best pro-gamers, and you were just someone that played as a hobby. but it was always fun to tease.

“hmm,” he hummed.��“i’m sure you will.” he turned his head to look directly at his webcam, smirking, “in your dreams.”

“ooh, catboy’s getting feisty!” he flinched at the nickname. “go pee so i can beat you at your best.”

he obliged, pulling his headphones off and looping them on the top of his chair. he casually raised his middle finger at you while smoothing out strands of his hair, prompting a series of profanities to escape your mouth, none of which he could hear. he chuckled playfully as you responded with two middle fingers of your own, before moving out of the camera to get to the bathroom.

you and kenma had met in an... interesting way, to say the least. after going moderately viral from lashing out at him for refusing to heal you in a game of overwatch—while he was streaming—the two of you reconciled over a twitter thread and exchanged gamer tags. since then, you’d struck up an easygoing friendship, characterized by almost nightly discord calls and occasional flirting. but we’re just friends, you often reminded yourself. and you were fine, well, mostly fine, with that.

tonight was like any other night: both you and him spending hours in a video chat with nothing better to do than mindlessly play games and bash each other. it was more than enough to strengthen your relationship but fell short of giving you the romantic tension you craved.

with kenma off in the bathroom, you, already bored, spun wildly in your chair. forgetting that your earbuds were still plugged in, the white wire caught on an opened can of coke sitting on your desk, spilling the sugary drink all over your keyboard and the front of your shirt. 

“shit!” you quickly scrambled for paper towels, but the still-connected wire yanked you backwards. in your haste for something to wipe the soda with, the fact that your camera remained on in the video call completely slipped your mind. making the split-second decision that the trip for a towel wasn’t worth it at this point, you quickly whipped off your shirt, dabbing the keys with the part that was still dry. since you were home, you’d gone braless, and your current predicament had you flashing your webcam.

now, kenma had seen a lot of things from your side of the call: he’d seen you get chewed out by your residential advisor for being too loud, you with two sticks of pocky poking out of your mouth like walrus tusks, and you doing random cosplay moves you’d seen on tiktok. what he wasn’t expecting to see, not even in his wildest dreams, was a screenful of your tits, slightly damp from the cola that had seeped through the fabric of your long-gone shirt.

he stopped in his tracks, still out of the frame of his camera, eyes wide and heart racing, desperately trying to calm down and prevent the gradual hardening of his cock in his pants. unable to deny his desires, he continued staring at your plump breasts on his computer, you completely unaware that he could see you.

you quickly threw your soaked top in the laundry basket before throwing on a random sweatshirt and trying to calm your frazzled nerves. you tentatively touched your keyboard, groaning internally when you fingers lightly stuck to the buttons. it’s gonna take forever to clean this, you mourned.

“hey,” kenma mumbled, reappearing on screen and shaking you out of your thoughts.

“hey.” you noticed his flushed expression. “are you okay? you look really red.”

“uh, yeah. i actually uh, i feel kinda sick. so i’m gonna, gonna go.”

“oh, okay.” why’s he acting so weird? “feel better!” you disconnected from the call with a huff, disappointment morphing your face into a pout. well, you thought, better get to cleaning.

kenma, on the other hand, was still, swallowing as the bulge in his boxers became agonizingly hard. though the only thing left on his screen was his reflection staring back at him, the luscious view of your bust was etched in his mind. his hands moved to free his cock, the tip an angry red and smearing pre-cum over the waistband of his underwear. 

he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...

“fuck,” he whined, slowly stroking up and down. his thighs trembled as he fell back into his chair, mind wandering. he couldn’t stop himself, his thoughts become more and more lewd, fantasizing about how your breasts would bounce as he thrusted into you, how your thighs would wrap warmly around your head as he ate you out, how you’d cry out his name so prettily when he made you squirt around his fingers.

it was all too much, and as the circle he made with his fingers tightened as he reached his tip, he lurched forward, alarmed at how good everything felt just by thinking about you. i can’t cum, i can’t, the small part of his brain that wasn’t completely overtaken with pleasure tried to reason with him. there’s no going back if i—shit—if i cum. she’ll know, somehow, if i—if i cum, i—

the ecstasy kept clouding his judgement and his body worked against his mind as his hand pumped faster and faster while his conscience screamed to stop. his wrist wetly slapped the base of his cock, the sounds of both his hands and his moans getting too loud for comfort, but all he could think about was you. your eyes, your mouth, your chest, your legs, your ass, your pussy. god, he wanted to be in you so badly.

he couldn’t hold back, his insatiable need to cum overriding his senses, and the translucent liquid twitched out of his throbbing cock in spurts, drenching his fist and his balls. “fuck, fuck, fuck. i’m—fuck.”

he collapsed against the back of his chair, chest heaving with the sheer intensity of his orgasm. he combed a hand through his hair, the consequences of his actions now weighing heavily on his shoulders. i’m never gonna be able to look at her in the eyes again, he lamented. how am i ever gonna—damn it. 

the sudden ping of a notification had his eyes raising from the mess on his pants towards his computer screen. 

meanwhile, you were messaging kenma, a little off-put by his sudden radio silence but chalking it all up to his mysterious sickness.

[11:05 PM] you: hey ken! hope u feel better

[11:05 PM] you: if u get the chance u should check out what i added to our minecraft house. its perfect for sick victorian orphans like u

[12:14 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: why arent u responding

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: ok u got me ill tell u

[12:05 PM] you: its a hot tub

[12:05 PM] you: but with soup

[12:05 PM] you: but the soup is lava

[12:05 PM] you: genius right

[12:06 PM] you: anyway get some sleep and feel better <3

[12:06 PM] you: lmk if u wanna play animal crossing

[12:06 PM] you: actually no u should sleep. rest ur eyes and shit

[12:06 PM] you: no animal crossing for u!

[12:06 PM] you: sleep well so i can destroy ur ass in val tmrw

[12:06 PM] you: >:)

he sighed as he read your one-sided ramblings. he really liked you.

and he really wanted to fuck you. lucky for you, you wanted the exact same thing. 

if only kenma knew what you did on the other side of the screen, hands in your undies and his name on your lips...

>> part two

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[ghoultramp]

dream, interrupted [bakugou x reader]

▷       bnha

↳ pairing: katsuki bakugou x f!reader

↳ content: masturbation, somnophilia, thigh fucking, praise, cockwarming

↳ words: 2k

⇢ summary: katsuki is frustrated that he can’t sleep, and also just a bit horny.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: i would say this is tamer, softer even, than my last few pieces, considering the content. there are a few mentions of alcohol being consumed the previous evening (which has been tagged), but this was written with two consenting adults in a secure relationship in mind.

i do hope you enjoy this bakugou fic that almost caused me to have an existential crisis - aha~

The dull drone of the traffic beyond the apartment windows were beginning to grind away at his sanity. How long had he been awake for this time? With a grunt, he rolled over to check his phone, once again, for the time. 

“Fucking damn it,” Katsuki cursed under his breath.

His angular features twisted as he scowled, how had it only been 10 minutes? It didn't seem possible. 

He returned the phone to its resting place, under his pillow, before begrudgingly turning onto his back. He brought his hands to his face and dragged thick fingers through his disheveled blond hair. He let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his palms hard against his eyes, pulling them down his cheeks to rest idly on his chest.

Katsuki’s ruby eyes wandered over to the lump next to him, watching the cover rise and fall softly with your breathing. The recent longer, more arduous workdays were uncharacteristically weighing him down; the lack of sleep was making him grumpier, easier to anger - both of which becoming a boiling pot - and the sheer workload was now more than a little overwhelming. 

His eyelids felt heavy recalling memories of the previous evening; Katsuki had come home in a revolting mood, worse than usual, and instead of using his words like a big boy, he took out his frustrations on you and your body after unwinding with a few drinks. But then again...

You never complained.

It was no secret that you loved how he could become so unrestrained during those 'bad day at work' sessions, passionate and explosive. 

Trying to simulate your light touch, he traced the outlines of his well-defined abdominal muscles. He shuddered when his fingers brushed along the sensitive skin of his tight obliques, visualizing your delicate fingers repeating these same motions from last night. He let his eyelids finally fall as he recalled you positioned over him, your drunk needy eyes taking in his statuesque body as he scratched at your back hungrily.

Settling himself in further, Katsuki shifted his hips and shoulders. He reached an eager hand down to his hardening cock, cautiously fondling it as his eyes peered over to assess your level of consciousness.

"Hnnn--" Katsuki failed to hold back his groan, his abdominal muscles twisting and tightening as you let out a gratifying sound in your sleep.

His cock convulsed and the feedback spurred him to grip tighter. He could feel it throbbing beneath his grip, he stroked his cock harder upon hearing the gift of another delicious noise from you.

“You sure seem like you’re having a nice dream,” Katsuki murmured, opening one eye as he turned his head to look at the back of yours. 

He bit his lip, imagining that he was reaching his free hand out to stroke your hair, gently at first, before he would then spread his fingers to take a hold of you tightly. A low growl escaped his throat, he was frustrated.

Katsuki grunted as he turned onto his side, shifting closer to you. He was careful to position his dick-holding hand so as not to hamper its performance. He halted immediately when you shuffled ever so slightly, a strangled moan caught in his throat as the leaking head of his tender, hard cock made contact with the bare skin of your ass.

His breathing was now shallow and irregular as he extended his unoccupied hand, he could feel himself quiver as he brought it to rest cautiously high on your thigh. He let his thumb press gently against your hip. 

The sweet song of a soft whimpering encouraged him.

“Such a cute thing,” he whispered as he traced faint circles against your ass with his precum tipped cock. “Those good dreams better be about me, princess.” 

His grip around his cock tightened when you groaned, shifting your leg in your sleep. Katsuki inhaled sharply, biting his lip hard. It took tremendous effort to quell the moans he so desperately wanted to release, as he felt the warmth of your pussy envelop him.

Katsuki felt the aching pull in his hips as he rubbed himself unashamedly against your rear. He continued caressing your hip while he fought hard against the urge to dig his in his nails and mercilessly fuck you right there and then.

“Fuuuck,” he hissed, caught in the thought as he leaned his head back.

Breathlessly, he finally brought himself to meet your enticing entrance. It took all his strength not to cum right there when he brushed against you, your tight cunt already dripping wet. He followed your slick juices to your thighs.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he breathed, rubbing the head of his cock against your inner thighs.

He imagined that your thighs - the way they were tightly shut, the way your juices had trickled down - were a completely different part of your anatomy. Katsuki almost yowled, caught deep in his reverie, when you quivered in response to his touch. He’d not expected that another one of your movements would cause him to penetrate the tight gap between your thighs. 

Straining his neck, he observed with bated breath as you shifted yet again, this time it was your arms. He exhaled, relieved when he saw they had only moved closer to your head. He found the way you nuzzled your lightly blushed cheeks into the pillow quite precious. 

Katsuki’s breath shuddered as he let go of his cock, his need was agonizing. He had to do something. He was allowed to, surely? 

He found himself slowly rolling against you as he fucked the space between your legs. As he moved his hand from your hip to your thigh, he felt the overwhelming need to knead his fingers against you; the succulently soft, long moan escaping your lips caused his eyes to roll back, his eyelids flutter, and his hips quiver.

Katsuki shook his head, trying to collect himself. There was no way he could allow himself to cum yet, not before he'd claimed your sweet, ripe cunt in your unconscious state.

"Focus," he scolded himself with a grumble.

Now taking the base of his tender, pulsating cock between his thumb and forefingers, Katsuki maneuvered himself until he was poised within reach of your sweet hole. He was feeling more inebriated from your warmth and scent alone than from any of the drinks you’d both shared last night.

He gently pressed on, feeling your cunt quiver; with the mess that had already been made between the pair of you, it didn’t take much for the head of Katsuki’s cock to intrude your tight walls. He let out a low groan when he heard the sopping wet sound your pussy made upon contact.

Katsuki gently rocked on his hips, he couldn’t refrain from panting as the friction against sensitive nerves vibrated throughout his body. How much longer would he be able to edge himself like this?

He didn’t care to halt when you made a sound this time, he was far too lost in these short, shallow, pleasurable thrusts. That was until he heard a whimper, louder than any of the sounds you'd made before; he stopped with his full head nestled in your cunt, wincing sharply when you tightened around it, the warning before hearing your dozy, broken voice.

“Kacchan?” The word strained against your dry throat, your eyelids too heavy to open.

“Shh, shh,” Katsuki reassured you, his voice cracking.

You weren't even vaguely aware that his hand had been on your thigh until he moved it, your body was still comfortably numb from the alcohol in your system. You felt your abdomen flutter as he delicately trailed his fingers over your silhouette, resting when he lay it on your head. 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he purred.

You mumbled incoherently, discombobulated as you tried to make sense of what was going on; you found yourself drifting away softly with the way he stroked your hair, the warmth of his body so close to yours. You thought you heard his voice waver as he hummed.

Katsuki was shaking now, your lack of awareness was even more tantalizing, you were so innocent. He growled low in his throat, taking your hair in his fist just as he’d imagined. He felt you spasm as well as heard the shuddering moan that broke free beyond your lips.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, his voice gruff and heady with arousal, “I promise.”

Katsuki kept his word; he gently lifted his pelvis, you both moaned in blissful unison as he took his time plugging you up completely. You felt his teeth make contact with your shoulder, trying his best to only gently nibble as your walls clamped down him around him. 

“S-stop doing that,” he breathed against your shoulder.

You tried so hard to stifle your chuckle, he only growled when your insides mirrored pulses that corresponded to your laugh. Katsuki tugged on your hair playfully, he was pleased with the way you whimpered and backed up into him in response.

You relaxed your back into his strong chest, groaning as you moved just enough for him to reach under and around you. His hand gently fondled at your breast and he released his grip on your hair as you rolled your neck, resting your head against him, gasping.

Both of your hips swayed in unison, even just these gentle movements were sending delicious quakes throughout your entire body. Katsuki’s unoccupied hand reached around your thigh, you could feel him tremble as he placed his palm on your abdomen. 

“I’ll never get enough of feeling this,” he whispered, you shuddered from his warm breath, lips caressing your earlobe. “Feeling me inside you right--” he pushed down with a palm ever so gently, the back of your head pushed further into him as you moaned without restraint, “--here.”

“Please, make me cum, Kaachan, fill me up,” you begged, whining as you ground against him, “please, Kaachan.”

“Well,” he began, his breathing heavy as turned his palm 90 degrees to point downward, “since you asked so nicely…”

Katsuki’s hand travelled down and you almost yelped when he took your engorged clit between his forefingers. He gently rolled your agonizingly sensitive nub between the first and second knuckles of his fingers, massaging gently as his thrusts picked up pace; just that bit harder and deeper.

Pitiful whines escaped your lips as he hit each one of your nerves, expertly navigating your body as you moved your hips in unison. Your chest heaved with your erratic breathing, lost in the waves of pleasure that seemed to vibrate to the very tip of your limbs. 

Strangled cries escaped your slightly parted, dry lips, your body convulsing as Katsuki pulled out to the tip before one last thrust, bottoming out inside of you.

“There’s a good girl,” he declared as you writhed beneath him.

You felt him nuzzle the side of your face while you grabbed tightly at the sheet and pillow beneath you. Your cries were shaky and broken between luscious moans as you felt the gushing release of your climax, Katsuki’s fingers still gently massaged at your overstimulated clit. 

He let out a long groan as his hips spasmed and you felt him collide with your cervix, Katsuki’s arm shot up to wrap around you as you let out a sob, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of his cum filling you up. He held you while you both quivered with the rippling aftershocks of your orgasms.

Katsuki pulled you closer to him, his cock still nestled in your cunt, plugging you up nicely. He wriggled and made an oddly happy-sounding noise.

“I love you, y’know that, right?” Katsuki’s voice was hoarse and exhausted. He nuzzled you and you gave a sweet, equally tired sounding giggle; his cocked tensed just a little at that.

“I love you too, dumbass,” you told him, smiling softly.

You reached for the edge of the quilt and tugged it closely to your face before drifting off to the sound of Katsuki’s breathing and the dull drone of the traffic beyond the apartment windows.