#mitsamu.sins

[mitsamu]

CRUSH

zenin maki

— maki has a crush. there's nothing wrong with that, is there?

› smut , dark content. MINORS DNI.

AGED UP CHARACTER ; F.READER ; VOYEURISM (NONCON) , MASTURBATION ; PROBABLY OOC ?

› words ; 0.7K

notes ; i don't know what this is, just know that i want maki to wreck me.

there are three things maki is sure of. number one: you’re the prettiest being she’s ever seen. number two: she’s been infatuated with you ever since you first walked into her apartment, after yuta introduced you to her as a potential roommate. and number three: she is definitely, positively not obsessed with you.

it’s a crush. nothing more, nothing less. a totally, completely harmless crush. or at least that’s what she tells herself as she creeps along the hallway, up to the door you left ajar.

holding her breath, she leans closer and peers into the room through the crack left behind. she has to bite down hard on her lip to prevent the swear rising up her throat from leaving her lips; because there you are, stark naked on your bed, one hand tweaking and twisting your nipples while the other thrusts a vibrator deep, deep, deeper in your cunt. your soft sighs and low mewls can be heard more clearly now that there’s no wall to obstruct them, and they do nothing but fuel her need and lust for you — if she were to describe them, she’d probably say something cheesy along the lines of “the singing of angels.”

the heat between her legs is becoming impossible to ignore, and soon she’s sliding two fingers down her sweatpants and underwear. the pool of arousal has formed a wet spot in your panties by the time she finally buries her fingers up to the knuckles, easily and without restrain.

her eyes follow every curve and line on your body. from the side of your neck, to the slope of your shoulder; your chest and the way it rises and falls swiftly, the strain and flexibility of your wrist as you fuck yourself harder, the way your soft-looking legs part and give way to your dripping cunt — the vibrator, sinking in you with renewed need.

pupils dilated and breathing irregular, maki picks up the pace of her fingers. there’s a longing inside her almost impossible to ignore. a longing for you, longing to be the one between your legs, fucking you senseless. to feel your heat around her fingers, your taste on her tongue. she leans closer, free hand resting on the cool wall, face inches away from crossing the threshold of your room. with how close she is now, she can hear the wet sounds of your cunt being filled, if she strains her ears, that is.

with a particularly loud moan, you throw your head back and buck your hips up. eyes closed, mouth agape, your head thrashes side to side desperately. for a moment, she thinks you saw her and ducks behind the door; after a few seconds of uninterrupted moans, however, she leans in again. emboldened by your obvious lack of awareness of your surroundings, she steps closer and sets foot in your room, barely inside. mind racing, she doesn’t stop to consider what she’ll do if you catch her; but by the looks of it, you’re still unaware of her presence. if she squints, in fact, she can almost make out an earphone tucked in your ear, probably drowning out whatever sound she might make.

her eyes never leave your body, laser-focused on the way your hand drives the vibrator faster inside of you, the way your hips desperately rise to meet the toy. you’re close, she can tell by the way your breathing is growing irregular and your pace messy. the show’s coming to an end but it’s okay, because she’s getting close too — impatient, even, eager to finish at the same time as you so that she can feel connected to you, even by a thread as thin as this.

she moves her hips at the rhythm you’ve imposed, heat beginning to unravel as your own hips start convulsing. unable to hold back, maki swears, broken and whiny, as she watches you with rapt attention. you moan and mumble incoherent garbage she cannot be bothered to pay attention to. all she can notice is how beautiful you look, like an angel corrupted by mortal pleasures, and it’s that image that finally pushes her over the edge, and soon she’s coming around her own fingers, creamy cum coating them and dripping into her palm.

with no time to bask in the post-orgasm bliss, however, she wipes her fingers on her sweatpants and strides back to her room as silently and quickly as she can.

© MITSAMU ; DO NOT REPOST, MODIFY OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN.

[mitsamu]

cry for me

SUNA , OSAMU

— your boyfriends love torturing you until you're nothing but a crying mess.

› smut. MINORS DNI.

F.READER ; DACRYPHILIA , TOYS , MULTIPLE ORGASMS , OVERSTIMULATION ; TAKING PHOTOS (BRIEFLY).

› words : 1.2K

notes — repost from my old blog.

the air around you was heavy with arousal, its sweetness ingrained deep within you. rising and falling swiftly, your chest followed the pattern of your ragged breathing and rough heartbeat, the silent symphony deafening in your ears. your body was splayed in the middle of the bed, legs embarrassingly spread to your sides. your hands were holding onto the thighs underneath you, nails digging crescent shapes in the smooth skin.

blissfully ignorant to the fire that spread through your body, taking over your limbs and making them burn with the effort of maintaining their position, you shivered and shuddered, desperately mewling into the emptiness of the room as osamu drove the vibrator deeper inside of you.

“look at you, so ruined already…” the man in front of you scoffed. he took ahold of your chin and forced you to look at him. there was a greedy smirk plastered on his face. his eyes followed the lines of your trembling body. “you’re being so good, angel… isn’t she, osamu?”

the toy inside of you pressed harshly against your sweet spot, its dull sound became louder as rintarō adjusted it to the highest setting. a broken whimper left your lips, half a plea for more, half a cry for it to stop. you had lost the count of how many orgasms they had forced out of you like that, one controlling the settings while the other fucked you senseless.

“so good. our good little fucktoy.” osamu’s lips grazed the shell of your ear as he spoke, warm breath fanning over the curve of your neck.

his free fingers danced on your body, touch light and soft. He trailed them up and down your sides, circled around your nipples, teased the skin around your clit — avoided all of the places that ached to be touched.

“in fact, she’s earned herself a… reward, hasn’t she?” even if you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the devious smirk in the way he spoke. your eyes widened as rintarō mirrored the man’s expression.

without even giving you time to protest or fight back, rintarō knelt in between your legs, a bullet vibrator that seemed to have come out of nowhere held tightly between his fingers. he toyed with it for a moment, looking at it pensively, as if he was pondering on what to do with it. his smile only seemed to grow as you tried harder and harder to fight off osamu’s hold.

you weren’t sure you’d be able to withstand any more of their sweet torture. even so, you should’ve known better than to misbehave.

an arm snaked around your middle section, caging you against osamu’s chest. rintarō pressed a knee against one of your legs as his free hand held the other one apart, effectively ensuring you wouldn’t be able to close them. he brought the toy closer to your body, rejoicing in the nervous expression that painted in your face.

the cool material sent a jolt through you upon first contact that made your friends chuckle, but it wasn’t until he began exploring your body with it that you started trembling and squirming. he ran the small object along the line of your neck, the valley of your breasts, even the curve of your lips.

his tongue busied itself with your nipples, adding fuel to the growing warmth inside of you. he swirled and twirled and nipped at the little buds, harder every time just so he could hear your little yelps and whines. osamu didn’t fall behind, thumb glued to your clit as he cruelly pushed the vibrator deeper and deeper inside of you. his lips were attached to your neck, relentlessly littering your skin with wet kisses and bites.

the bullet vibrator finally found its way to your clit, pushing the other’s fingers aside. rintarō pressed it hard against you, holding it there with a smirk on his face.

it immediately sent a jolt through your body, and you were soon turning and writhing in as lewd mewls poured out of your lips. you threw your head back against osamu’s shoulder and held onto him tighter than before. It was almost unbearable, painful, how bad you wanted to come.

intense, hot waves crashed through your body, and soon, you were nothing but a babbling mess, incoherent and desperate pleas filling the air. your head was clouded with lust, tears beginning to pool on your eyes and blurring your sight. vaguely, you could hear them chuckling and cooing at your ruined state.

“p-please…iI can’t take it… please.” tears were now flowing freely down your cheeks, twin rivers decorating your face as you implored, begged for a little mercy.

in spite of the numerous orgasms you had experienced that night, or maybe because of them, you were growing sensitive — every light touch had you squirming, the abuse of your most sensitive spots pulling sobs and cries out of you, the devastating need to come making you tremble.

“oh? what was that, baby? you want us to stop?”

you only realized what was going on when they pulled away, almost at the same time, with no sign of touching you again. unaware of the teasing in rintarō’s voice, you started shaking your head profusely, sobbing and stammering as you tried to beg them to keep going, needing that sweet torture and the promising release that awaited you, that consumed you.

“no! no, no, don’t stop. please, don’t stop.” you cried, desperate and shameless.

with his middle finger and thumb, he forced you to face him once more, his index resting against your lips as if to quiet your sobs. he shushed you, a fake smile of sympathy on his face, and lightly pressed the bullet vibrator against your clit, enough to have you begging, but not enough to offer release.

“i’ll be good, i promise. just don’t stop… please.” the last word was pronounced in a wretched moan, voice breaking pathetically as they resumed their attack on your body.

you were partially aware of the distinguishing sound of a phone’s camera, but your mind was too dizzy with pleasure to fully realize.

rintarō’s voice mocked you, cooing at how cute and pretty you looked when you cried for them, but the condescending praise too got lost in the fog. all you knew was the burning feeling that washed over you, sinking you into a blissful state that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your mouth open in loud pleasure. your toes curled, legs trembling uncontrollably, whole body writhing agitatedly as you pushed your hips against their hands.

just like that, your body went limp against osamu. you stayed like that for a moment, panting heavily and weak, sobbing in the aftermath of your orgasm, unable to move in the slightest.

rintarō took the toys and placed them on a cloth next to you. a lazy smile stretched your lips at the knowledge that the torture was over.

“are you okay, baby?” osamu’s voice was soft, full of adoration as he grabbed your face in his hands and cleaned the tears off of it. you simply nodded, too dazed to speak, and observed as both of them took care of you, cleaning your body and dressing you up in comfortable clothes that smelled suspiciously like them.

[mitsamu]

bloody valentine

toga himiko.

— toga doesn't think she's ever tasted blood as sweet as yours.

› smut. MINORS DNI.

F.READER ; KNIFE PLAY , BLOOD + BLOOD DRINKING , FINGERING , ORAL SEX.

› words : 1.1K

notes – repost from my previous blog. i edited and modified it a little.

the cold steel of the knife presses against your naked skin with a tenderness you wouldn’t have thought toga to be capable of. it dances on your body, caresses the curve of your neck, the valley of your breasts. goes back up to the side of your face, where she uses it to tilt your chin up, the sharp tip digging into your skin ever so slightly. her eyes catch the little drops coming out of the wound and sparkle with a malicious kind of hunger that has you trembling in your place.

legs folded underneath you and hands tied behind your back, you are nothing but a docile sacrifice to her impulses. like a little mouse trapped in a cat’s claws, unable to do anything but surrender yourself to her mercy.

“you look so pretty like this…” her voice is sickeningly sweet, but after all those years together you’ve grown used to it, addicted to. it's certainly better than the alternative, the morose and grief-stricken tone she talked in when you first bumped into her. “but you would look so much better with…” her smile grows, your breath gets caught in your throat. “just…” the knife traces its previous steps. cold, unforgiving. “a little bit of…” it sinks shallowly at the base of your neck, like a caress turning a little bit too far, a little bit too rough. “…red, don’t you think?”

you whine at the sting, eyes shut tight and lips trembling. she watches as a road of carmine drips down your chest, between your breasts and down, down, down, where they get lost in your belly button. her fingers reach forward, waltz on your body, around the healed scars of past encounters, over the fresh wounds, smearing the blood on your skin. a whimper leaves your lips as she tenderly dips her fingers in them.

for a brief moment, she does nothing but watch her fingers swirl and twirl the clotting liquid until it doesn't spread out anymore, too dry for her to keep playing with it. a soft “not enough” leaves her lips, almost inaudible. toga goes on cutting, digging, slicing your skin. your body trembles underneath her, whether with fear or arousal, you aren't sure — it's been long since the two wires have tangled into your brain, leaving an indistinguishable chaos behind.

the glint of the stained steel catches toga’s eyes. the red of your blood has always been her favorite shade. it looks so pretty, beautiful no matter what it decorated. she giggles and looks down at you with hunger. pure, raw, burning hunger.

“it’s such a pretty color, red. it even sounds pretty.” she presses the edge of the knife back against your skin, cuts just below your ribs. eager eyes follow the blood that trickles down your body. “r-e-d. red… red!,”comes her singing, dreamy and cheerful. she leans closer into you, elated face millimeters away from yours. her voice is just a whisper when she speaks again, but it carries so much more fervor and fierceness than any scream ever could. “no wonder it’s the color of love…”

she smiles at you with a frantic kind of desire, desperate and greedy and impatient. presses her hands to your shoulders until you are forced to sit back. then, she crawls even closer to you, pushing your legs apart so she can kneel between them.

“you’re trembling so much… are you scared?” she puts on a playful tone, but you know she awaits your answer anxiously. you can see it in the way her expression shifts, almost imperceptible, a frown lingering for just a second.

“no. not of you. never of you.”

the smile on her face grows impossibly wider, pleased, at your reassurance. her chest rises and falls with a relieved, deep sigh. for a moment, you catch a glimpse of vulnerability and fondness in the way he gazes at you, before the flame in them burns with renewed eagerness.

the blade of the knife presses against your leg once more. carefully, almost lovingly, it slashes long, somewhat deep cuts through your skin. toga stares avidly at your face, looking for even the slightest twitch or change in your expression. when you remain quiet and compliant, trying to calm the beating of your heart, she changes her focus to the trail of blood smeared on your thigh. pink tongue licking her bottom lip, she leans in eagerly. the knife's quickly discarded, forgotten next to you like it was never there to begin with. she leaves a kiss near your knee before following the red path on your skin.

your consciousness is beginning to fade into a dull, hazy fog; and the warm, wet feeling of her tongue dancing on your body is the only thing anchoring you to reality. the only thing preventing you from falling into the darkness with open arms.

teeth sink into your flesh and you jump in your place, fleeting pain jolting through you. toga giggles again — a depraved yet sweet sound that's always taken your breath away — and a mirroring, dopey smile stretches your lips. her hands curl around your thighs and pull you closer. so close, your dripping cunt is mere inches away from her face. the way her eyes focus so intently on it has shame lighting up every bit of you, nervous system on fire and breathing ragged.

the desperate writhing of your body doesn't go unnoticed. without as much as a warning, she gives a tentative lick to you neglected clit. jolts of pleasure burst from the point of contact. short-lived and overwhelming after being ignored for so long. you take a sharp, shaky breath, hand flying to cover your mouth, eyes shutting tight in preparation. her fingers are quick to join her as she plays with the little nub, pushing deep into you until they all but disappear inside your warmth. curling them up, she presses and teases and abuses that sweet little spot. your eyes roll back and stars fill your sight.

mind dazed with the sudden rush that courses through you, you whimper and whine and sob behind your hand. breath dampens your palm to an uncomfortable point, but you don't dare to move it in fear of disturbing the quietness of the apartment. even so, muffled, desperate mewls pour out of your mouth, her name intermingled with them.

toga loves it, how you melt underneath her touch, with no reservations, no fear of what she’ll do to you. you trusted her. you trust her, and to her, there's nothing more beautiful than that.

except, of course, the way you come undone around her fingers, face contorted in unabashed, pure pleasure, voice breaking into breathy and needy cries, body trembling with the aftermath. it's almost embarrassing, how little you last while toga toys with your body like it's her favorite pastime; but she doesn't really mind, not when she gets to see you so perfect and vulnerable for her.

only for her.

© MITSAMU ; DO NOT REPOST, MODIFY OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN.