yumimaus

[yumimaus]

The full Kiridai cut from the 10th anniversary audio drama, rough translation by me

Would definitely recommend the Season 2 Vol. 4 and Season 3 Vol. 6 audio dramas, for context around Hanamiya’s online gaming adventures

[yumimaus]

[yumimaus]

Solicitude

Victorian AU - inspired heavily by @/hannahbarberra162's Hysteria series.

Marco/Reader

Summary: You meet Marco Edward during your debutante ball when you're 17, and marry him shortly after your 18th birthday. Agreements are reached in writing, but you realize quickly how much space exists within the lines. Will you be able to bend within the lines you drew yourself? Or will you break against edges you never imagined?

CW: Dark dark content. Misogyny, age gap, power struggle, dub con, non con, coercion, yandere, kidnapping, abuse, group sex, abuse of power, bondage, rough sex, oral, kink, bdsm dungeon, impact play, degradation, praise, gags, humiliation, you kind of unknowingly sign yourself over for free use and don't realize it until it's too late, mdni, DEAD DOVE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Chapter 10: The Sanatorium

Author's Note: This chapter contains medical sexual assault.

You’d been married to Marco for two months now. A week after he had you show him how well your training had been going, he’d started adding more to it.

Padded leather straps were brought into your room by Tate one morning after Marco had left. She explained that she was going to help ease you into the position Marco would put you in. While you were fairly limber already, the goals she was going to start helping you with were fairly extreme. Especially concerning your arms.

The padded leather looked like hospital restraints, and Tate had explained that’s what they were. They kept from marking your skin, which would make the process more comfortable for you. Not that it made the process comfortable by any stretch.

The goal was to get your elbows to touch behind your back. Then your elbows and wrists. After that she was going to start stretching your arms so your hands would be a prayer position between your shoulder blades. That was a ways off, especially since the first day your elbows had quite the gap between them and you couldn’t handle trying to get them any closer.

She had pulled beyond what you thought you could take and left you there for a few minutes, talking the whole time. The more you endured, the quicker it would go, and the quicker it went the sooner it wouldn’t be horribly uncomfortable.

You were grateful for Tate. She was like a rock in the midst of everything else. Not only was she honest with you, she was very blunt.

“You can argue with me, but then I’m going to have to report to your husband.”

“Just work with me and we’ll make this as painless as possible.”

“You’re doing good, hang in there.”

“Yes, he is kind of an asshole, but you can do this.”

There was just something reassuring in how she dealt with things. It wasn’t like she was trying to dress it up as something it wasn’t. She didn’t make you doubt yourself, or dismiss your concerns, but she still did her job.

It was commendable.

When it had been time for you to begin working at the sanatorium, you were relieved to know that Tate would be joining you. Not as your personal assistant, but as additional help to ease the burden of your work on the rest of the staff. You needed to learn the processes in order to help improve them, and while Marco was going to teach you directly on most things, he would still have his own responsibilities.

As such you got to know the faculty, and the facility, very well within the first couple weeks.

By the time your elbows were starting to touch behind your back, you were finishing up your comprehensive training of the facilities’ processes, and had become acquainted with the staff that supported Marco’s work. Your access to the patients was very limited, as you were not a medical professional, and you weren’t there to assess or improve the patients themselves.

You did get an idea of the connection between them and the staff, which helped in your own understanding of the facility’s functions and needs overall.

You saw less of Tate, and less of Marco as you got deeper and deeper into the details of the archival systems, record processes, and other areas of organization. Your questions became fewer as you started to grasp the organizational aspects of the sanatorium, and began to work in earnest on the improvements. Once you completed your work, you’d compile everything into a presentation for Marco and the staff to review, allowing them to implement the changes they decided upon in the end.

You neared three months with Marco, and three full weeks on the job, you were left mostly to your own devices during your shift.

Your eyes were starting to go cross. The records’ room wasn’t as well-lit as you’d like, and you’d been lost in your work for long enough your back and legs were stiff. Taking a stroll would wake your muscles up, and give your eyes a break. It wouldn’t do any good to push to the point that you made a mistake, or ended up with a headache.

You couldn’t argue that Marco’s remedy for headache’s wasn’t effective, it certainly was, but you didn’t need to allow him a reason to do such things at work. Not that you thought he would forcefully break his promise concerning the separation of work and home, but you didn’t doubt he would bend what he could, when he could.

His… appetite for you was intense, and still more scary than anything else, but it also was a boost to your self-confidence. No matter whether you were comforted by that or not, it was difficult to not appreciate how much he seemed to desire you.

How well you took it, too.

Since you began working at the sanatorium, Marco had taken to taking you on a nightly basis. He’d always at least pulled you close and touched you until you fell asleep, but lately he’d fallen into a steady ritual.

He’d strip you after dinner, with just enough restraint to avoid tearing your clothes. Then he’d bury his face between your thighs and bring you to orgasm two or three times at the least, and often until you were crying for mercy. You’d barely make it to the bed before he was hilted inside you, holding your legs back and thrusting with such fervor that it would push the air from your lungs.

You weren’t sure how often he climaxed, between earlier orgasms, the pace, and how he never stopped even when you were shuddering from pleasure, you simply didn’t have your wits about you enough to know. But once he was sated he’d get you cleaned up, taking such care you almost wanted to ask him if it was how he apologized for sure rough actions, but you never asked. Something in his actions stayed your question, as though it would be rude of you to phrase it that way.

You expected to be sore and raw after such attention, but each morning you would wake, well-rested and only the slightest bit sore. An ache that sat in your muscles for a moment and was gone before the first bite of breakfast.

Still, you didn’t know how to accept his passions. You weren’t sure if you should. The idea that if you invited him in, instead of simply allowing his entry, it would somehow be worse for you.

Maybe not worse, but certainly more intense.

Coming out of your thoughts you realize you’ve wandered down a hall you didn’t mean to.

“Get your hands off me!”

The voice startles you, coming from the door nearest you. It’s not closed, barely even pulled most of the way. Curiosity and concern move you, and while you’re mostly hidden by the door, you can see into the room.

A mostly naked woman is strapped down to a metal table with the same kind of straps Tate’s been using to help you stretch your arms. The woman’s head is cradled inside a padded metal rest, making it so that she can only look up at the ceiling. Her legs are in metal bucket restraints, like examination stirrups, but with enough extra reinforcement and straps that she can’t move.

The only thing she’s wearing is a straitjacket and the extra clips and buckles on the jacket are attached to the table. You can tell she wants to kick and thrash, but the restraints and the weight of the table stop her.

Marco is between her legs, standing tall enough she can see him even with her restricted field of vision. He’s got a clipboard and pen in his hands.

“We’ve been over this, Mrs. Kujaku, in order to provide the care you need, you must endure being touc-.”

“I don’t need care, you bastard!” She bellows, pulling at the restraints. “I’m not insane just because I refused my husband!”

“You beat him with a shoehorn until he required stitches.” Marco says flatly, setting the clipboard aside and pulling on a latex glove. “Hardly the actions of a sane wife.”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare!”

“This is for your own good.”

“It is not! Release me!”

“We’ll begin manually, but I want to see if the device will benefit you more.”

“Device? What device?” Her questioning tone turns into an angry growl as her legs tense. You can’t see it, but you’re certain his fingers are inside her now.

“A new item a colleague of mine has recommended. I don’t think it’s necessary for most patients, but in your case, it may prove valuable.” Marco explains idly as he works. “The intensity of it concerns me, but it is quite adjustable.”

“Nnngh, n-no, st-stop.” The woman whines, even as her face flushes and her eyes lose focus. “Haaa-how? How?”

“Hm?” He hums, meaning to prompt her for clarity, but she starts shuddering again.

“I don’t - I don’t want to cum!” You see her start to cry and look away from it, taking a step back from the door. You shouldn’t have lingered this long, and now you’re caught between guilt and horrible feeling between your own thighs. “Stop-stop!”

Your stomach twists as the woman is forced to orgasm, but when you turn to leave, you see Tate looking back at you. Her brows are raised, but she isn’t saying or doing anything, she’s carrying a box, but you don’t know what could be in it. You shake your head, there’s too much turmoil in you right now and you don’t want to confront anyone.

Least of all Marco.

She steps back and motions for you to leave with a flick of her head. As you move down the hall you hear Marco call out in response to the soft footfalls.

“Tate?”

“Yes, doctor.” She replies, clicking her steps a little more purposefully you think as she enters into the room. You’re out of sight, but afraid to move while everything is so quiet. “I have the items you requested for the patient.”

“Thank you. How’s my wife faring?”

“In need of more lamps. The records’ room isn’t well-lit.” Tate answers evenly.

“What kind of beast did they find to wed a monster like you?” The woman’s words are hurled with all the vitriol she can muster, though it sounds like she’s fairly exhausted. You must not have come in at the start of her treatment.

“Mrs. Kujaku,” Marco’s tone sends a terrible chill up your spine and you turn back toward the door. You aren’t sure what you could do, but even if it creates an issue between you and Marco, you’re suddenly worried he’s going to harm her. “You may have whatever opinion of me you wish, but you would do well to not disparage my wife ever again.”

You can’t move. The silence and tension following his words has you held in place for a long moment before Mrs. Kujaku speaks again.

“… My apologies, doctor, I’m sorry.” Her voice is quiet and shivering, fully admonished and so soft it’s almost hard to hear her, even in the silence of the immediate area. “Please forgive me.”

“Progress, finally.” Marco says, his tone flat and neutral again. “Weeks of therapy and you’ve finally shown me a modicum of civility. Nurse Tate, assist me in adjusting the patient’s restraints. Once we get her set on the device, I want you to induce hysterical paroxysm ten times. I’m going to check on my wife.”

The door to the room is pulled shut by Tate as she answers Marco in the affirmative, and the click of the latch is enough to shake you free of your stupor. You walk quietly back down the hall and wend your way back to the records’ room. Forcing yourself to take long, deep breaths, you settle back down into the space you’d occupied before you’d decided to go on a walk.

You had to get the interaction out of your head before he comes to find you.

You knew that a lot of people at the sanatorium were not there by choice. Marco had educated you on his work even before you had married, so you were ignorant of how intense it could be. You understood how effective therapies were often unsettling. He had explain how electro-shock therapy worked, how conditioning could look dehumanizing since many of the same techniques were used to train dogs.

But that was why such things were done with the patient’s privacy in mind. You didn’t provide someone therapy in the town square.

The way she was restrained, however, stayed lodged in your mind. You couldn’t get the sight of it to fade. There was something about it that settled hotly between your thighs and you felt terribly guilty for it. She was obviously in distress, having not yet given into the help being provided, but something about the futility of her struggle, and the fire behind it keeps prodding at you.

The door opens and you look over at Marco, your mind reeling with the sudden visual of being the one strapped to the table, instead of his patient.

“That’s quite the expression,” he muses. His expression is neutral as ever, but his eyes are focused. You’ve learned well not to dismiss the subtle differences.

You do your best to soften your expression, shaking your head to try and throw the visual away for now, looking back down at the papers in front of you.

“My apologies, my mind wandered away from my work.” You answer honestly, looking back up at him with an apologetic smile.

He hums softly, stepping into the room, until he’s right beside you. You’d really have to crane your neck to look up at him, but his hand between your shoulder blades is enough for you to know he doesn’t expect you to.

“Tate said it was a bit dim in here, and I don’t think she was wrong,” he says easily. The location of that conversation makes your heart flutter again, but you settle yourself quickly.

“I wasn’t sure if it was safe to bring in more,” you explain, indicating the oil lamp on the desk. “It may be unfounded, but I was worried about accidentally starting a fire.”

“This would be an unfortunate room for a fire to break out in.” He agrees. “The newest wing has light fixtures, meant for the light bulbs Vega Labs released last year. It might be prudent to place what you need on a cart, and use one of the rooms over there. There’s plenty of vacant ones currently.”

“It would certainly be worth a try.” You agree.

“Later, however. For now I would be honored if you’d join me for a late lunch.”

You agree, and Marco escorts you to the cafeteria. The small facility is provisioned by one of his brothers, and while it doesn’t offer a wide variety of food, it does have a commendable selection available. You both stick with light fare, enough to hold hunger at bay until you get home to a proper dinner later that evening.

As always with Marco the conversation is easy. You feel like he can read your mind, and that he must know that you were in the hallway earlier. You try not to dwell on it, forcing your focus onto your meal and the conversation at hand.

If he was sparing you simply because you were at work, he would certainly bring up his concerns once you headed for home. Hopefully by then you’d have them a little more sorted, but you weren’t really sure what to make of it all. The idea that you’d been aroused by it was very uncomfortable to consider.

Maybe not wanting to face that is what was really making it easier to focus on the conversation.

Despite what you think of him, Marco cannot actually read your mind.

Even if he wishes he could at this particular moment. You’re obviously distracted by something, and if it was related to your work, you would’ve begun to lay it out for him when he first entered the records’ room. A mix of concern and curiosity almost compels him to probe, but he had promised to maintain a separation of work and home.

Even if this was work-related, if you were hesitant to bring it up, he didn’t want to try and force it out of you. Few things were of great importance to him, but one of those things was how you and he were perceived socially.

Marco was the adopted son of a newly rich commoner, and you were the eldest daughter of a very old family line. He wasn’t a fool. Unless he and his family were perceived flawlessly it could cause trouble, and while your marriage brought some legitimacy to his family’s name, if anyone perceived any turmoil it could cause problems.

That’s why you needed to be functional like this. Why he didn’t just tie you up and breed you until you were hoarse from cumming, sobbing while you tried to sing for him just one more time.

Opening the door to the patient’s room, Marco finds Tate watching over the patient. Mrs. What’s-her-name? He’d have to look at her chart again, he hadn’t cared enough to remember it through lunch. A patient’s name was irrelevant to their needs and progress.

She was secured to the device, in much the same position as she’d been in when he’d left. Except now she was dripping sweat, her hair slicked against her face, drool dripping from the gag in her mouth, legs shivering. Tate had turned the device off when Marco entered the room, and the patient was breathing heavily.

The device was something you straddled. It had several interchangeable dildos that could be set into it, in order to provide comfortable stimulation for a variety of patients. One of Marco’s brothers was working on molding extreme variants for experimental purposes, but the default pieces seemed to work well enough for now. Vaginal, anal, or dual insertion was possible, and there were also a couple wand devices that you could use, limited only by the cord that attached them to the rest of the apparatus.

They required more manual intervention than simply securing the patient to the device, but he appreciated the versatility.

“How many?” He questions.

“Eight,” Tate answers.

“You… lying… bitch,” the patient husks, words distorted from behind the ball gag. The restraints force her to look at the ground, one strap pulling her down by the collar of her straitjacket, two more coming off her upper arms stopping her from leaning too far forward. The combination held her in place and pushed her clit into the device’s vibrating plate, raising the effectiveness of the therapy.

“She’s right,” Tate sighs, shrugging apologetically. “It was only six.”

Before the patient can argue, Tate turns the machine back on and turns it up a little bit more. Broken swears shatter against the gag as the patient begins to sob and babble against the vibrations and over stimulation.

“You’re upset.” Marco says, picking up the clipboard and noting that Tate had eight occurrences marked down on the paperwork. There had been an entry for the 9th line, but it had been erased.

“She regressed.” Tate snaps. “It was frustrating.”

“Oh?”

Harried gasping whimpers punctuate the background of the conversation as the patient orgasms. Her body shudders violently in the restraints, an odd almost inhuman noise coming from her as she convulses. She begins to dry heave and gag, and Tate turns off the machine before continuing.

“I was giving her advice, to help her accept her situation and begin progressing.” She explains, and Marco nods, setting the paperwork down. “I really thought we were getting somewhere, but then she asks me how I can work for a monster like you.”

“Tate, I’ve explained-.”

“I don’t care that you don’t care.” Tate interrupts, turning the device back on. The patient sobs, heaving heavy gasps around the gag as best as she can. “I care. You’ve helped hundreds of people, and you specialize in such a variable field like this! For anyone to be so ungrateful!”

Marco takes the control and turns the device off, giving the patient enough attention to be sure she was still conscious before turning back to Tate.

“I’ve said before, these treatments are intense, and not everyone accepts them. Those patients are going to say all sorts of things, and you have to let them.” He explains evenly. “I appreciate your defending me, but I need to know what number she was actually on.”

“Tch. That was the tenth one.” Tate answers curtly. “She’s done.”

[yumimaus]

(short reacts) | "avoiding him because you're down so bad" + one piece men

summary: you're avoiding him because you can't even look in his direction without blushing and stammering like a fool anymore. (part 2 here)

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

CROCODILE

You’ve been dodging his gaze all week. Dropping papers when he speaks. Laughing too loudly. Running the moment he enters the room.

He’s had enough.

He finds you alone in the hallway. Stalks up behind you like a panther.

“If I didn’t know better,” he murmurs low in your ear, “I’d say you were avoiding me.”

You stiffen. Red instantly.

“N-No! I’m just—I dropped something—I—”

He presses up against you from behind. Corners you to the wall.

“You weren’t like this before. Why?”

You open your mouth—nothing comes out, but the tips of your ears glow redder.

His smirk curls.

“So it is me.”

You practically short-circuit. He chuckles and leans in, lips brushing against your earlobe.

“Good.”

MIHAWK

He watches you fumble every time he speaks.

You drop your fork at dinner. Can’t string two words together when he walks by. Once, you hid behind a bookshelf.

He doesn’t confront you immediately.

No—he waits.

Until you’re alone.

He steps into your space, gaze like a blade.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You flinch. Try to play it off.

“I-I’m not! I just—uh—needed air—”

“You used to look me in the eye.”

“I still can! Just—uh—briefly…”

He leans down, tilts his head.

“Look at me now, then.”

You do.

You regret it.

Your face goes red instantly. You turn away with a squeak.

And he just smiles, satisfied.

“Exactly.”

MARCO

You used to call him “hot stuff” and “fire chicken” and now you stammer just trying to say “hi.”

You avoid sitting near him. Can’t even hold eye contact. Once, you tripped trying to escape a conversation.

He finds you one day—curled up at your desk, trying to be invisible.

“Hey,” he says with a teasing grin, “did I step on somethin’? Or are you just allergic to how fine I look lately, yoi?”

You groan into your arms.

“Marco, please—”

He crouches beside your chair with a grumpy stare.

“Oi. You used to flirt better than this. What's wrong with you?”

“I wasn’t in love with you back then!!”

You slap a hand over your mouth.

He blinks.

Then grins.

“Oh?”

ACE

He’s noticed. He’s very aware.

Because you’re acting weird. Like, “drop your lunch tray, run into walls, won’t touch his arms anymore” weird.

So what does Ace do?

Vocalizes it. Loudly.

“Did I do something? Do I smell bad?! You used to hug me like, all the time! DO YOU HATE ME? WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!”

You turn bright red.

“No! I mean yes! I mean NO—! It’s not you—it’s ME—I’m—”

You trip trying to backpedal and land in his arms.

He catches you. You’re face to face.

You flinch, avert your gaze. He frowns.

“You really can't even look at me anymore?”

You glare, face on fire:

“Because I’m IN LOVE WITH YOU, you FUCKING IDIOT.”

He blinks.

He goes redder than lava.

“OH.”

“YEAH.”

You both stand there, steaming.

Then he kisses your nose and runs.

SHANKS

You’ve been flustered. Can’t look at him. Babble like a child. Run from the room when he’s too close.

But Shanks? Oh, Shanks lives for this.

So what does he do?

He turns it up.

“Aww, what’s wrong, sweetheart? You look a little warm. Fever? Or is it just me?”

You sprint.

He finds you later. Alone.

Traps you with a grin and a hand on the wall.

“I gotta admit… you’ve been cute lately. Too cute.”

“I-I’m not cute—!”

“You’re adorable when you’re this shy.”

He leans in, whispering:

“It’s okay. I’ve been hooked on you for longer than you know.”

Then, he leans in, closer:

“Let me know when I can give you a real reason to turn red.”

You make a noise only Neptunians can hear.

LAW

You were never jumpy.

Except now you are.

You used to banter. Now you blush and fidget.

He’s watching. Quiet. Thinking:

"What the hell changed?"

Then one day you bump into him. Literally.

“S-sorry! I wasn’t looking—!”

“You’ve been doing that a lot.”

You look up. Caught. Flushed.

He stares.

Then—without missing a beat:

“...Do you like me?”

You turn scarlet.

“I—what?!—I—maybe—why are you asking—?!”

“Because if you do… I need to adjust some plans.”

“What?! What plans—?”

“Long-term ones.”

You faint on the spot.

CORAZON

You avoid him like he’s contagious.

Every time he walks into the room, you fumble whatever you're holding and can’t speak without stuttering.

He’s devastated.

Writes on a napkin:

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry.”

You immediately panic, because NO.

“NO!!! You’re perfect, it’s ME, I’m broken!! I have a crush on you so bad I can’t function like a human being anymore, and—!”

He stares. Your mouth turns into an “o.”

Then he hugs you.

You die, mortified.

Then you come back.

Then he hugs you again.

[yumimaus]

Would it be bad to say, that I make c.ai of Chris Prince?

Hello! I have this in my notion draft for a couple of months, so I thought might as well share this with you guys!

Enjoy!

Marriage Contract - Chris Prince [Character AI]

© Blue Lock and its characters are created by Muneyuki Kaneshiro and illustrated by Yusuke Nomura. I do not own any rights to the original work; these are all fan-made stories created for entertainment purposes. Any copy, rewrite, recreate in the name of other than author is unauthorized and will not be tolerated. Content may not and will not be allowed to be reposted and re-upload anywhere without authorization from author.

[yumimaus]

FGO fan art! Finally

[yumimaus]

WEAR HEADPHONES

NSFW

2 minutes of Caleb fingering you and then fucking you.

Excluding bgm. All audio and sfx come from the game. No Ai. 🤤😏

[yumimaus]

WEAR HEADPHONES!

NSFW

3 mins of Sylus eating you out and then fucking you.

All audio except for the music comes from the games. No AI.

[yumimaus]

TR

Ran as a father hc

[yumimaus]

Lock and key

Karasu Tabito x Fem!Reader • Word Count: 1.3k

content warnings: anal, spit as lube, established relationship, dirty talk, pain kink, mentions of gaping (lol), squirting, oral (f receiving)

All things considered, Karasu Tabito is the ideal boyfriend. He opens doors for you, pulls out your chairs, gives you his coat when you’ve left yours at home and he catches the way your arms cradle the last bit of warmth towards yourself. He’s a little cocky and doesn’t think before he speaks most times; but you’ve learned to love his bluntness. Karasu doesn’t keep secrets and is annoyingly good at prying your darkest ones out of you. Picks at the seams until your patchwork is torn down. While he may be the one to pick and prod and break; he’s always there to fix them; properly this time. Sweet words and soft kisses begin to heal parts of you that you weren’t even aware were bruised. It’s good— great even. You really, really, like Tabito (perhaps even love) and you’re almost entirely certain he feels the same.

But (there always a but, isn’t there), you can’t help the feeling there’s something more he wants from you— something he hides deep in his chest under lock and key.

You don’t notice it the first time you have sex. And honestly, why would you? While sex isn’t new to the two of you, sex together is. The shrouded insecurity gets quickly swept away when you’re underneath him though; when he runs his filthy, filthy mouth in the best way possible. When his hands grip and squeeze and his chest rumbles with deep groans when he pushes past the tight ring of your pussy for the first time. When he whispers in your ear how you were made for him, made to take his cock.

After the first time, it gets easier. You both become more vocal about your likes and dislikes. You’re content. That’s when the realization dawns on you; that you’ve become docile prey resting in the maw of a wolf shrouded in lust.

“C’mon, pretty,” Karasu coos in your ear, “won’t ya let me?”

His fingers circle your clit, your body already shaking from the orgasms previously pulled from you. His finger dips down, circling the tight ring of your ass before pushing in, just so.

“It’ll feel so good, angel,” he promises, teeth nipping, tongue soothing, “Have I ever lied to ya before?”

And well, no, he hasn’t. Karasu is a generous lover, always putting your needs before his own, never asking for more than he knows you can handle.

“Don’t be shy,” his spit slicked finger pushes in further, thumb reaching to dip into your pussy as he speaks, “I know ya like it, baby. Remember last time I ate your pussy? When you let me fuck your little hole open while my tongue ate this tight pussy.”

It’s hard to argue when he makes you feel this good. And it’s not that you don’t want it, you know if you said stop now he would. It’s just so…

“Dirty,” you finally whine, fingers clawing at his back as he pushes a second finger past the tight ring of your ass, “T-Tabito, ‘s dirty.”

Karasu laughs, smirk glinting in the moonlight as he coos down at you.

“What does that make you then, huh?”

You hate the effect he has on you, eyes rolling back as his fingers speed their pace, his thumb circling your pussy.

“Such a dirty girl, aren’t ya? You like when I play with your ass, baby?”

“Please,” you finally break, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this point, “please, Tabito.”

But Karasu knows, he always does. Knows you like the back of his hand, plays your body like a finely tuned instrument.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers as he slides over your body, slots himself between your legs, “I’ll make it so good, baby.”

You’re nodding and whining and—

“Tabito,” you cry, fingers fisting his hair as his tongue circles the rim of your ass, his chuckles reverberating through your body as his tongue splits you open.

Large hands push your legs up to press against your chest, and you hold them there like the good girl he always says you are. Your hands are maneuvered quickly, his own covering them as he leads them to spread yourself for him.

“Just like that, angel,” he groans, before spitting harshly onto the rim, “spread yourself for me, be good.”

You’re hot all over, from embarrassment or lust you’re not quite sure; perhaps it’s just Karasu. The hold he has over you.

He moans as you spread yourself further for him, his free hand falling to fist at his leaking cock as he eats your ass.

“You gonna cum like this? Dirty little thing,” he chides.

You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed anymore, not when his own moans fill your ears, when the wet sound of his leaking cock fills the sounds of his mouth prepping you for it.

You whine when he pulls back, tears falling as you’re ripped from the edge of your climax.

“Wanna feel you cum while I’m fucking you open,” he moans, “breathe in for me baby, c’mon. Relax for me.”

Karasu tries not to let his desperation take over, he’d never want you to hurt, especially because of him. But the way you’re whining and crying and clawing at him; the way your unused hole clenches with a need to be filled… he finds himself pressing the leaking tip of his cock into you faster then he should.

You gasp in pain; teary eyes looking up at him.

“Hurts… hurts, Tabito.”

“I know,” he soothes, “but I’ll make it feel so good. You trust me, don’t you, pretty girl?”

His fingers fall to your clit as you nod, pressing deeper before pulling back just so as he circles the sensitive bud.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, cock twitching as your pussy, so wet from his earlier treatment leaks down onto him, “you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to fuck you into the shape of my cock.”

You cry out at that, hips bucking so harshly he’s pushed into the hilt. Cries of pleasure fall from the both of you, and Karasu has to will himself not to finish when cum gushes out of your pussy; squirting as he fucks your ass open.

“Holy fuck,” Karasu moans through gritted teeth, “you like that, baby? You like when it hurts?”

“Yes!” You cry out, hands clawing at his chest as his hips snap harshly into yours. Your legs over his shoulders, his hands intertwined behind your neck to make you watch how he fucks you open. Makes you take it.

“I’m— fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

Karasu’s hips snap harsher, faster, deeper if even possible. Using you to chase his own high. Your walls squeeze him so tight, nearly forcing him out as another high washes over you; one so visceral no sound can even escape you.

“Just like that,” he encourages, “just like that, baby. Fuck— take it, take it, take it.”

He presses as deep as he can one last time before he’s pulling out, hand fisting quickly over his cock as he looks where you were once connected.

“L-look at you,” his hand digs into the fat of your ass spreading you open more, “gaping for me baby, gonna cum in you. Breed this ass; make it mine.”

You beg for it, cry and weep for his cum; and Karasu’s tightly wound string snaps, hips bucking into his hand as he cums in your ass, on your pussy.

He collapses onto you as his high dwindles, cradling you gently in his arms.

“So good,” he soothes, “you did so good for me, baby. Such a good girl.”

He pops his head from the crook of your neck to look at you, nipping at your jaw when you pout up at him.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Only the good kind,” you say with a shy smile.

He kisses you gently, hands massaging at sore muscles.

“Can’t believe you squirt just from—

“Stop! You’re done, we’re never doing that again.”

[yumimaus]

I laughed harder than I'd like to admit here.

Bachira: Rin chan.

Yukimiya: Rin-kun.

Nagi: Rin.

Aryu: Rin.

Hiori: Rin-kun.

Reo: Rin.

Gagamaru: Rin.

Karasu: HIE-BON!

Barou: Rin.

Isagi: Rin.

[yumimaus]

never laughed so hard in all my life. my side hurts😭

Blue Lock additional time S2E8

[yumimaus]

Their voices are sweet heaven to me🥰

[yumimaus]

Mwah🩷

chu😚

[yumimaus]

I wonder how the va's feel when saying these lines. Like, do they cringe or do they laugh?

"Forcing it through a tiny hole, huh? That's hot." how do you even say that with a straight face😭

[yumimaus]

Satoru Gojo + Hands