what is it with random people accusing authors of using ai?
do yall have some list of all authors that use ai? no, in fact: do y'all have a life? i highly doubt that, and i feel terrible that you choose accusing hard working authors of using ai as a hobby!
bit pathetic, ain't it?
not all good writing is ai, and i'm sorry if SOME of y'all can't seem to comprehend that AUTHOR'S can ACTUALLY write (it's in the job description, dumbass).
good morning sunshine! you've just learnt what fuckin reality is!
like WHO ARE YOU, HAVE I EVER SEEN YOU and WHY ARE YOU COMMENTING ON MY PAGE?
you want me to do a fuckass backflip now that i've learned you think i'm using ai?
do you think i'm gonna stop posting cause you said something?
I'M SOOOO EXITED TO WRITE THIS Y'ALL OH EM GEEEEEE🥹 i came up with the idea while i was showering and now i CAN'T LET THE FUCK GOOOOOO😭 anyways, i'm hoping to make this about 3k - 5k words and i'm setting a personal deadline till sundayyyy🙈
anyways feel free to send me ideas for drabbles/imagines!! LOVE Y'ALL MWAHHH😚
𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ summer breaks at your aunt's house in the countryside are always your favourite part of the year. though this year, there's a rather sweet surprise awaiting you. 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼, the grumpy (and unfairly hot) southern boy who comes to help out your aunt with garden work. and you've got one new mission for this summer: get him to fuck you, no matter what it takes.
𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 .⋆♱ ⤿ southern!katsuki ⨾ countryside!au ⨾ tanning in a bikini ⨾ semi-public sex ⨾ p in v sex ⨾ unprotected sex ⨾ backshots ⨾ hair pulling ⨾ degrading kink ⨾ a bit of spanking ⨾ massages kinda ⨾ kats likes your ass ⨾ rubbing through panties ⨾ southern dialect & 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 // 𝘄𝗰: 3.4k ⤷18+ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 , minors get out!
𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ oh boy, there go my pants. THIS IS A 2000 FOLLOWER SPECIAL BTW! thank you all soooo much, i really appreciate it. i couldn't have done it alone. i will be publising tons of fics in the next weeks, so stay tuned!😚 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧!
the summer heat hung thick over the countryside, wrapping around everything like a heavy blanket. cicadas buzzed a lazy rhythm, the scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass drifting through the air.
your aunt's old farmhouse sat nestled in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wildflowers and rows of tomatoes that your aunt tended to with religious fervor.
every summer you came here, escaping the city for the wide open skies and the slow, syrupy pace of rural life. it was always a charm—the sweet people, the sweet tea, the sweet, sweet fruits you could pluck right off the vine.
but this summer, there was a whole different kind of sweetness waiting for you.
katsuki bakugo.
the first time you saw him, you’d nearly tripped over your own feet.
he was standing in your aunt’s garden, in a white tank top that was completely soaked through, clinging to every ridge and dip of his torso like a second skin.
the water hose was in his hand, spraying a fine mist over the tomato plants, and the droplets caught the sunlight like diamonds against his tan skin.
his arms were scarred, corded with muscle, and his face—sharp, angular, with a permanent scowl etched into his features—was the kind of beautiful that made your stomach do a slow, dangerous flip.
you’d walked outside that first day in a short skirt and a tight tank top, lips glossed, hair falling perfectly over your shoulders, a wicked grin already curling your mouth.
you’d leaned against the porch post and said something sweet, something flirty, something that usually worked on every boy you’d ever met.
he’d looked at you like you were a bug he wanted to squash.
“fuck off,” he’d said, voice low and rough with that thick southern drawl that made even his insults sound like honey. and then he’d turned back to his plants like you didn’t exist.
you should’ve been discouraged.
you should’ve rolled your eyes and moved on.
but instead, something sparked in your chest. a challenge. a game. and you were never one to back down from a game.
so you made it your mission.
every day, you found new ways to get his attention. you’d walk into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, water still dripping from your skin, while he stood there drinking a glass of water, sweat beading on his forearms from working outside.
he’d barely glance at you, grunt, and walk right past like you were invisible.
you’d leave your bedroom window wide open while you changed, making sure the curtains were just sheer enough to silhouette your body.
not even a flicker of interest from him.
you’d bend over in front of him to pick up something you’d “accidentally” dropped, wear the shortest shorts you owned, brush against him when you passed in the hallway. nothing. he was a fortress, and you were determined to break down every single wall.
and today, you had a new plan.
your aunt had gone to town for groceries, leaving you alone in the house with him. the perfect opportunity.
you’d slipped into the tiniest bikini you owned—a scrap of pale pink fabric that barely covered your breasts and a matching triangle bottom that rode high on your hips.
you’d spent a good twenty minutes making sure everything looked just right, then you’d grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen, and a book you had no intention of reading, and you’d made your way out to the garden.
he was already there, of course. bent over a row of daisies, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a thin gray t-shirt that was already starting to darken with sweat across his back. you could see the muscles shifting under the fabric as he worked, could see the way his shoulder blades moved like wings.
your mouth went dry.
you laid your towel out on one of the sun chairs, positioned perfectly so that the sunlight would hit you just right, and you stretched out on your stomach, arching your back just a little more than necessary. you let your head rest on your folded arms, closed your eyes, and pretended to relax.
for a long while, nothing happened.
you could hear the snip of his shears, the rustle of leaves, the occasional grunt as he yanked a weed from the earth. he didn’t look at you. not once.
you kept peeking through half-lidded eyes, watching him move, watching the way his jeans sat low on his hips, the dark line of hair trailing from his navel disappearing beneath the waistband. and every time, he ignored you.
it was maddening.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he straightened up, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and turned to look at you. his crimson eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight.
“the hell you doin’ out here?” he asked, voice flat.
you stretched, letting your back arch just a little more, letting the curve of your ass shift under the tiny scrap of fabric. “tanning,” you said, all innocence. “is that a problem?”
“tannin',” he repeated, like the word was stupid. “in my garden.”
“your garden?” you lifted your head, propping your chin on your hands. “last i checked, this was my aunt’s garden. you just work here.”
a muscle in his jaw twitched. “i’m the one who takes care of it. means i get a say in who sprawls around half-naked innit.”
“half-naked?” you looked down at yourself, then back up at him with a sweet smile. “this is a bikini. it’s for swimming. and tanning. perfectly normal.”
“you ain’t swimmin’.”
“no, i’m tanning. didn’t you hear me?”
he stared at you for a long, hard moment, his eyes tracing over your body in a way that was almost clinical, like he was assessing a piece of furniture. then he scoffed, shook his head, and turned back to his work. “whatever. just don’t get in my way.”
you bit your lip, fighting a grin. he was talking to you. that was progress. even if he was being a dick about it, he was engaging. and you could work with that.
you let the silence stretch, listening to the sounds of him working. you shifted on the towel, making sure your movements were slow and deliberate, making sure the light caught the curve of your hip, the dip of your spine. you let out a little sigh, just loud enough for him to hear.
he ignored you.
you flipped onto your back, letting the sun hit your stomach, your chest. you arched your back, stretching your arms above your head, your breasts pressing against the thin fabric of your bikini top. you let out another sigh, this one a little louder, a little more breathy.
the snip of his shears paused. you didn’t look, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and hot. then it was gone, and the snipping resumed.
you smiled to yourself.
“hey,” you called out, your voice sweet and syrupy. “could you do me a favor?”
“no.”
“you don’t even know what it is yet.”
“don’t care.”
you sat up, letting the towel fall away from your chest. you ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face, and gave him your most innocent, pleading look. “i can’t reach the sunscreen on my back. and i really don’t want to burn. could you…put some on for me?”
he stopped. turned. looked at you like you’d just asked him to set the garden on fire.
“you didn’t think of that beforehand?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
“i thought i’d be able to reach,” you said, pouting your lips. “but i can’t. please, katsuki? i’ll be out of your hair faster. i promise.”
he stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. you could see the war in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself, and the part of him that was too damn stubborn to let you win by whining. finally, with a heavy, put-upon sigh, he set down his shears and stalked over to you.
“turn around,” he said, his voice flat.
you bit back a triumphant grin and turned, presenting your back to him. you heard him pick up the bottle of sunscreen, heard the squirt of it hitting his palm. then his hands were on you, and every thought in your head evaporated.
his hands were rough, calloused, warm. he started at your shoulders, spreading the lotion in firm, efficient strokes. his thumbs dug into the muscles on either side of your spine, and you couldn’t help the little moan that escaped your lips.
“shut up,” he said, but his voice was a little rougher than before.
you bit your lip, staying quiet as his hands moved lower. down your shoulder blades, down the curve of your waist. his fingers brushed the edge of your bikini bottom, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through you. he didn’t linger. he moved on, smoothing the lotion over your lower back, his thumbs tracing the dimples just above your ass.
“you’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “that ain’t like you.”
“just enjoying the view,” you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.
“view? you ain’t even lookin’.”
“i’m enjoying the view of the garden. through the reflection in your eyes.”
he snorted. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard.”
“you love it.”
“i hate it.”
but his hands didn’t stop. they moved lower, smoothing the sunscreen over the tops of your thighs, his fingers pressing just a little harder than necessary.
you felt your breath catch, felt your skin prickle with goosebumps despite the heat. his hands were wandering, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he leaned over you.
“y'know,” he said, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous, “you’ve been pesterin’ me all summer. walkin’ around in towels, leavin’ your window open, bendin’ over in front of me like a damn cat in heat.”
“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice innocent.
“liar.” his hands slid lower, his thumbs brushing the curve of your ass. you felt your breath hitch, felt your thighs press together. “you think i ain’t noticed? you think i’m fuckin' blind?”
“you never said anything.”
“what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, thanks for the free show, but i’m tryin’ to work’?” his hands were moving now, slow and deliberate, massaging the sunscreen into the skin just above the waistband of your bikini. “you’re a pest, y'know that?”
“you keep talking, but your hands haven’t stopped.”
“shut up.”
he was rubbing circles into your lower back now, his fingers slipping lower with every pass. you could feel the heat pooling between your legs, could feel the way your bikini bottom was already starting to get damp.
this was working. this was exactly what you wanted.
“you’re a real piece of work,” he muttered, his voice thick with something that might have been anger, might have been want. “think you can just prance around in your little outfits and get whatever you want.”
“is it working?”
his hands stopped. for a moment, the only sound was the cicadas and the pounding of your heart. then he moved, and suddenly his hands were on your hips, gripping hard, and he was pulling you up, turning you over so you were on your back, looking up at him.
his face was flushed, his crimson eyes burning with a fire that made your breath catch. his jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked furious.
he looked hungry.
“you didn’t think i’d notice?” he said, his voice low and rough. “you didn’t think i’d see what you were doin’?”
“i knew you’d notice,” you said, your voice soft, your heart pounding. “i was counting on it.”
he stared at you for a long moment, his hands still gripping your hips. then he let out a harsh breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head.
“you’re stupid,” he said. “y'know that?”
“i’ve been told.”
his hands moved, sliding up your sides, over your ribs. his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, and you arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. his eyes darkened.
“you’re gonna regret this,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice. just a low, rough promise.
“i doubt it.”
he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re gonna be beggin’ me to stop by the time i’m done with you.”
you shivered, a thrill running through you. “try me.”
for a long moment, he just looked at you. then, slowly, his hands slid down your body, over your stomach, over your hips, until they were resting on the curve of your ass. he squeezed, hard, and you gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.
“you’ve been askin’ for this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “all fuckin' summer. you’ve been beggin’ for it.”
“maybe,” you said, your voice breathless. “maybe i have. what are you gonna do about it, hm?”
his hands moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your bikini bottom. his fingers found the soaked fabric, and he let out a low, dark laugh.
“fuckin’ hell,” he said. “you’re already wet.”
“shut up,” you said, echoing his earlier words.
his grin was sharp, predatory. “make me.”
and then his fingers were moving, pushing the damp fabric aside, and he was sliding two fingers through your slick folds, slow and deliberate.
you gasped, your back arching, your hands tightening on his shoulders. he watched your face, his eyes hungry, as he circled your clit with his thumb.
“that feel good?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet.
“y-yes,” you breathed.
“good.” he pressed his fingers deeper, finding your entrance, and then he pushed inside you with a wet, obscene squelch. you cried out, your head falling back, your hips bucking against his hand.
he fucked you with his fingers, slow and deep, his thumb still working your clit. his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. you were moaning, whimpering, your body arching into his touch.
“look at you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “so damn needy. so damn desperate.”
“katsuki,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
“what?” he said, his voice sharp. “what do you want?”
“more,” you begged. “please.”
he smirked, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision go white. “more? you want more?”
“yes, yes, please—“
he pulled his fingers out, and you whined at the loss. but before you could protest, he was grabbing your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. his hands were on your ass, squeezing, spreading, and you could feel the heat of his body behind you.
“you want my cock?” he asked, his voice rough. “you want me to fuck you?”
“yes,” you said, your voice muffled against the towel. “god, yes.”
“then beg.”
you turned your head, looking back at him over your shoulder. his eyes were blazing, his face flushed, his lips parted. he looked like a man on the edge, and you wanted to push him over.
“please, katsuki,” you said, your voice sweet and breathy. “please fuck me. i need your cock. i need it so bad.”
a low growl rumbled in his chest. “that’s more like it.”
he pulled your bikini bottom down, letting it fall to your knees. then you felt his hands on your hips, his thumbs spreading your cheeks, and the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. he pushed, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.
“y'sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.
“yes,” you said, your voice desperate. “fuck, yes, just—“
he pushed inside you in one smooth, hard thrust, and you both groaned. he was thick, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. he paused, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises.
“fuck,” he breathed. “fuck, you’re tight.”
“move,” you whined. “please, move.”
and he did. he pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with your moans and his grunts. his hand came down on your ass, hard, and you cried out, your fingers digging into the towel.
“y'like that?” he growled. “y'like gettin’ fucked like a little slut in the garden, huh?”
“yes,” you moaned. “yes, yes, yes—“
he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and you gasped at the sharp pain. his other hand was on your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you, his thrusts deep and relentless.
“you’ve been such a fuckin’ pest,” he said, his voice harsh and breathless. “walkin’ around in your little towels, flashin’ your tits at me, thinkin’ you could get away with it.”
“i did get away with it,” you managed, your voice choked with pleasure.
his hand tightened in your hair, pulling harder. “you got a smart mouth. ever thought about that being fuckin' annoyin'?”
“you love it.”
“i hate it.” he thrust deeper, harder, and you cried out. “but i’m gonna fuck it out of you.”
his pace increased, relentless, unforgiving. the world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his breath, the heat of his body against yours. you could feel the pressure building, coiling low in your belly, and you knew you were close.
“katsuki,” you moaned, your voice breaking. “i’m gonna—i’m gonna—“
“not yet,” he said, his voice a low growl. “you don’t fuckin' cum until i say so. torturin' me all summer..”
he slowed his pace, pulling out until only the tip of him was inside you, then pushing back in slow and deep. it was torture, the most exquisite kind of torture. you whimpered, your hips bucking back against him, trying to get more.
“please,” you begged. “please, katsuki, i need—“
“what do you need?” he asked, his voice mocking. “tell me.”
“i need to cum,” you said, your voice desperate. “please, let me cume.”
“beg harder.”
“please,” you said, your voice breaking. “please, please, please—“
he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he whispered.
“yes,” you said, your voice a sob. “yours. your slut.”
something in him seemed to break. he pulled back, grabbed your hips, and started fucking you again, hard and fast, his rhythm wild and desperate. his hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles, and you felt the pressure build, felt the wave rising.
“come on,” he said, his voice rough. “you can cum.”
and you did. you shattered, your body convulsing, your cries filling the air as the orgasm ripped through you. you were barely aware of him pulling out, barely aware of the hot, wet spurts of his cum painting your back, his grunt of satisfaction.
you lay there, panting, your body trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure. you felt him collapse beside you, his breath coming in harsh gasps. for a long moment, neither of you spoke.
then he sat up, and you heard him fumbling for something. you turned your head, watching as he picked up your phone from where it had fallen on the towel. his fingers moved across the screen, typing something.
“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
he didn’t answer. he finished, tossed the phone onto the towel beside you, and stood up. he pulled up his jeans, buttoned them, and looked down at you with a complicated expression that was part annoyance, part satisfaction.
“you got what you wanted,” he said, his voice flat. “now stop botherin’ me.”
and he walked away, leaving you there, cum drying on your back, your phone buzzing with a new contact name.
you picked it up, looked at the screen.
a single name: “katsuki.”
you smiled, wide and wicked, and lay back down in the sun.
I was wondering if you could possibly write a tsukishima x reader enemies to lovers smut?
[内容] » your enemy 𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮 𝗸𝗲𝗶 drunkenly fucking you in the bathroom stall at a house party... 𝗰𝘄: p in v sex, agressive sex, degrading, alcohol & creampies, surpise at the end. ⨾ 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 ! 𝗠𝗗𝗡𝗜 !
𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: tsukishima kei x fem!reader
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! 💌 | hello @charlie27405 ! this is probably not as good as you wanted it to be, but i still hope you enjoy it 😚! i just didn't have the energy to write a whole fic, but this has around 700 words! thank you for the request, enjoy pretty!
the party is loud, a blur of bodies and bass thumping through the floor.
you don’t know why you came—maybe to spite him, maybe because tanaka said it’d be fun. now you’re pressed against the bathroom sink, your back hitting the cold porcelain as tsukishima’s fingers dig into your hips.
he’s drunk. you can tell by the way his glasses are slightly crooked, how his usually sharp eyes are hazy, pupils blown wide. he smells like cheap beer and something sweeter—a cocktail someone handed him.
you’re not much better. the room spins every time you blink, and your legs feel like jelly.
“what are you doing?” you slur, but your hands are already fisting his shirt, pulling him closer.
“shut up,” he mutters, his voice rough, lower than usual. “you always talk too much. it's fuckin' annoying”
he doesn’t wait for an answer. his mouth crashes onto yours, sloppy and wet, no finesse. it’s all teeth and tongue, and you taste the alcohol on him, feel the way he’s shaking slightly. or maybe that’s you.
his hand slides under your skirt, pushes your underwear aside. there’s no warning, no teasing—just two fingers shoving inside you, dry, and you gasp against his mouth. it hurts, but the pain blends with the numbness of the alcohol, turns into something messy and urgent.
“so fucking wet for me already,” he lies, but you don’t correct him. you’re slick enough from the heat of the party, from the thrill of doing this here, with him of all people. wait a second. this shouldn't be fucking thrilling at all. all this alcohol is making you forget that you hate this guy over everyone else.
he fumbles with his jeans, pulls his cock out. it’s hard, slender and flushed at the tip, and he doesn’t bother with a condom. neither of you think about it. your head is too foggy, his fingers too impatient. he lines himself up and pushes in, a single rough thrust that makes you cry out.
he covers your mouth with his palm. “be quiet.”
it’s a struggle to breathe, but you nod, and he starts moving. each stroke is deep, brutal, slamming you into the sink. the edge of the counter digs into your lower back, and you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.
you don’t care.
he doesn’t kiss you again. instead, he buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin, muttering things under his breath. “dumb slut,” and “can’t believe i’m fucking you,” or “you’re nothing but a warm hole.”
the words should make you angry, but they just make you wetter. you wrap your legs around his waist, digging the heel of your shoe into his back, pressing him deeper, and he groans, hips stuttering.
“m'gonna cum inside you,” he says, like it’s a threat. “hope you’re ready to walk around with my cum dripping down your thighs. tch, coming into this party with that fuckin' dress.”
you don’t answer. you’re too close yourself, the pressure building low in your belly.
he fucks you harder, faster, and when he cums, it’s with a broken noise, his body jerking against yours. you feel the heat of it, the way it fills you.
he doesn’t pull out. just stays there, panting, his forehead pressed to yours. you feel dizzy, sticky, the room tilting around you.
“get the fuck up,” he says after a moment, but his voice is weak, and neither of you move.
someone knocks on the door. “occupied,” he snaps, and you laugh, a breathless, stupid sound. the party goes on outside. you stay there, pressed against the sink with his cum dripping down your thighs.
[𝜗ৎ]
you’re still staring at the phone when the doorbell rings.
you don’t move. can’t move. the test is sweating in your hand.
the doorbell rings again. longer this time.
he's probably pissed off.
then your phone buzzes again.
fuckass idiot: i’m outside. let me in.
you shuffle to the door, legs numb, and open it a crack. tsukishima stands there, glasses crooked, looking like shit. he’s holding a bag.
he holds it up, voice gruff. “brought shit.”
you sniffle, opening the door wider in disbelief. you're panicked and fucking terrfied, and here this bastard is, holding mcdonalds like you're not four weeks pregnant.
you stare at him, eyes narrowed as he's lookng at you with unintrested eyes.
"the fuck are ya' staring at?" he snaps, rolling his eyes.
you're just about to say something, hands on your hips and a scoff escaping your lips. "tsukshima fucking kei, do you think this is funny—" but your words are cut off as he softly pushes you inside, closing the door behind him.
"what? a guy can't get the girl he accidently got pregnant some food?" he scoffs, though his eyes are softer than usual. pity? guilt?
"and don't fuckin' worry, i'm not here to say i'm gonna' leave ya' or whatever." his hand finds your shoulder, patting it awkwardly.
fucking hell. you slump forward in relief, heart pounding so fast it'll rip out of your chest. whatever messy enemies to lovers type bullshit this is, it's getting better already.
[内容] » hit by an aphrodisiac quirk, you have no other choice than to take help from your pathetic classmate 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗸𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶 . . . 𝗰𝘄: aphrodisiac , mean!reader | 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 ! 𝗠𝗗𝗡𝗜 !
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! 💌 | FINALLY some long awaited denki content for y'all (this is self-indulgent as fuck)...and HOW are we already at 1.9k followers i'm gonna cry wtf🥺
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏𖹭
you don’t even remember how you got here.
one second you were losing your mind, heat pooling between your legs, grinding against your mattress and getting nowhere. the next, you're in denki’s dorm room, riding him like your life depends on it.
your hands are braced on his chest, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave crescents. his head is thrown back against the pillow, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, a constant stream of whines and moans spilling from his lips.
pathetic. absolutely pathetic.
“f-fuck—y'feel so good—please, please—”
“shut up,” you snap, voice raw and breathless. “just— just stay still.”
he tries. he really does.
his hands grip your hips, fingers trembling, but he doesn’t push or pull. just lets you use him. lets you slam yourself down on his cock over and over, chasing something that’s been just out of reach for hours.
you tried everything before this.
fingers. yours, inside yourself, curling into your cunt as deep as you could, three of them even, but nothing. not even close.
your vibrator, the one you keep hidden in your nightstand, the one that usually has you seeing stars in minutes—dead. nothing.
a dildo, the biggest one you own, lubed up and shoved deep inside you, and you just laid there frustrated, feeling empty and wrong. nothing worked. that aphrodisiac quirk fucked you up good, left you aching and desperate and so fucking horny you thought you might actually die.
so you went to the only person dumb enough and desperate enough to say yes.
denki kaminari. certified simp. hopelessly in love with you since first year. you hate how much he wants you. you hate how easy this was.
but right now, you don’t care.
“you’re so fuckin' pathetic,” you hiss, bouncing harder. “look at you. lettin' me use you like this. you love it, don’t you?”
“yes—yes, i do— i love it, i love—”
“don’t.” you slap his chest. “don’t you dare.”
he whimpers, hips bucking up despite himself, and you feel him twitch deep inside you. close. he’s getting close. your own release is building too, a pressure coiling low in your belly, hot and urgent—
and then he gasps, his hands tightening on your hips, and you feel it. the hot rush of his cum flooding you, filling you up, and you scream.
“you fucking—i told you to hold it—i told you, you worthless—”
but the words die in your throat. the feeling of him coming inside you, the heat of it, the way his cock pulses against your walls—it’s what you needed.
the orgasm crashes over you like a wave, hard and sudden, and you feel yourself let go. a gush of liquid sprays from your cunt, splattering across his stomach, his chest, soaking his skin. you keep coming, body shaking, juices dripping down his abs, mixing with his cum.
you collapse forward, panting, forehead pressed to his sweaty chest. denki is frozen beneath you, staring down at the mess on his stomach with wide, dazed eyes.
“holy shit,” he breathes.
you want to hit him. want to scream at him for not holding back. but you’re so tired, so empty, and the aphrodisiac is finally fading, leaving you weak and shaky.
“…you’re cleaning that up,” you mumble against his skin.
he nods, still in a daze. “yeah. yeah, i’ll—i’ll get towels.”
“and if you tell anyone…”
“i won’t. i promise.”
you stay there, tangled together, sticky and exhausted. and when denki presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, you don’t have the energy to push him away. and part of you doesn't want to either.
you’ll yell at him later...and maybe suck his dick to thank him.
the shock of my life.. is finding out you follow torusbabe 🥺
ALSO I THANK MY FOR YOU, YOUR FICS ARE AMAZIN 🙂↕️💕💕
ohhh hii! yes i do follow torusbabe but it took me a moment to realize that was your old acc!!🥹 and thank you soo much, your fics are more than amazing and i love your writing too, i just cant move on from beekeeper!kuna! 🙈😚
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! | okay first off, WHY is this SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL for no absolute reason. damn. consider this a 1000 follower special! likes & reblogs are appreciated!
NOTE: this is 𝐧𝐨𝐭 romanticising blindess if some of y'all didn't get that. quite the opposite, actually. from how i intended it, it's supposed to show that visual impairment is no issue, and love has no boundaries. 𖹭
[𝜗ৎ] 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 : 2.9k
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏! / 2000 𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗟
my husband hates me.
the thought settles deep in your chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, as you lie on the silk sheets of the massive bed.
your fingers trace the embroidered patterns on your robe—some floral design you can't see but can feel beneath your fingertips. the fabric is soft, expensive. everything here is expensive. everything here screams luxury and power and wealth.
but none of it screams love.
you hear nothing from his side of the bed.
the man is so impossibly quiet, it makes your skin prickle with unease. you've been here for three months now. three months as the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, the most feared ruler in all the lands. and in those three months, he has barely spoken a word to you.
at first, you thought it was a game.
some twisted test of patience. you were clever enough to know that political marriages were rarely about love. you'd been prepared for indifference, for coldness, for a husband who saw you as nothing more than a strategic alliance.
but this? this silent treatment that stretches night after night, this deliberate distance he keeps?
it cuts deeper than you expected.
your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.
princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.
they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.
you were used to it.
but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.
and you'd felt hope.
you hate yourself for that hope now.
because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.
but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?
it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.
the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.
but you can't navigate him.
you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.
tonight was bad.
you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.
then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.
and the whispers.
you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.
"the blind empress."
"does he even notice her?"
"i heard he hasn't touched her once."
"what a waste of a pretty face."
"she must be so lonely."
"she must be so pathetic."
you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.
but inside, you were crumbling.
and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.
does he ever sleep?
you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.
a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.
and you can't take it anymore.
"ryomen?"
your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.
silence.
you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.
just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"what."
it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.
you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.
"i...i want to ask you something."
more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"ask."
you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.
"do you hate me?"
the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.
"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?
"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"
"stop."
the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.
but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.
and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.
you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.
"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"
"quiet."
his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.
"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"
you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.
a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.
"open your eyes."
the command catches you off guard. "what?"
"your eyes. open them."
you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.
"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."
"i can't see you."
"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."
please.
the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?
you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.
"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."
your heart stutters. "then why—"
"because i'm fuckin' terrified."
you blink. "what?"
"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."
"but—"
"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"
his voice drops to a whisper.
"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."
tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.
but he was...
...afraid?
"you don't hate me?" you whisper.
"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."
a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.
"but you never—you never talked to me—"
"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."
"then don't stop."
the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.
"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."
sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.
"you don't know what you're asking."
"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."
"i'll hurt you."
"i don't care."
"i'll break you."
"i don't care."
his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.
the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.
he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.
he pulls back, breathless.
"tell me to stop, and i will."
"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."
he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.
"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."
your breath catches. "ryomen—"
"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."
you nod, unable to speak.
his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.
"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."
you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.
"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."
he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.
"more," you gasp. "please—"
"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."
he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.
"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"
"yes," you whimper. "only you."
he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.
"tell me what you want."
"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."
his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"
"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"
"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."
he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.
and then his tongue touches you.
you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.
"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."
his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.
you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."
his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.
"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"
"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."
he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.
"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"
"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."
he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.
"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise."
he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.
he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.
"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."
you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.
just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.
"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."
he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—
a sharp pain.
fuck...you forgot.
you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.
"did i hurt ya'?"
you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.
blood.
his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.
"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"
you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"
"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."
"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."
"you're fuckin' bleeding."
"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.
he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."
but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.
when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.
"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."
"move," you beg. "please."
he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"
"yes—yes—"
his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.
"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."
he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.
"more," you gasp. "harder—"
"y'sure?"
"yes—please—"
he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.
"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"
"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"
he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.
at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.
he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.
"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."
you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
"i love you too."
a long moment passes. then another. and then—
"we're going to do that again."
you laugh, breathless.
"right now?"
"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."
"promise?"
he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.
"promise."
you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.
"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."
this is a 𝘀𝗮𝗳𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲, and 𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗜𝗦𝗠 ; 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗢𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔 ; 𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗘 ; 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗦 and other forms of cyberbullying to me or my community will be 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 from my page.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! 💌 | i wrote this before dance practice! 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 & 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱! likes and reblogs are appreciated! 𖹭
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏!
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who always watches you from his balcony while you're watering your plants. he acts like he's doing work for the job he doesn't have...but in reality he's lazily stroking his cock under the table to the sight of you bent over in your panties.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who answers the door with no shame. shirtless, sweatpants so low you can see the defined v-line disappearing into his pants and a lazy, knowing smirk on his lips. you'd come to ask for some sugar, but had left with a terrible blush and an embarassingly wet cunt.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who doesn't even try being quiet while jerking off, he knows the walls are thin. his thick fingers are wrapped around his huge cock, already dripping pre-cum as his groans echo through the walls. he gets faster once he hears your vibrator turn on from across the wall, your sweet whimpers travelling into his ears as he finally cums to the thought of your pretty cunt.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who loves listening to you masterbate. sometimes leaving his cock untouched as he listens to the buzzing of your vibrator and your frustrated whines, letting the bulge in his pants grow thicker and thicker. and just when he can hear you getting close he goes and knocks at your door, asking a dumb question like "hey, do ya' know when trash pick up is comin'?" and 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 off your annoyed and panicked expression. he doesn't even do anything about his boner, his size giving you a 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 view of the huge tent leaking a dark patch through his pants. he can see your eyes widen when it grows, the way you're blushing and stuttering while you try to avoid looking turns him on even more.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who likes sneaking pics of you through his balcony window. the way you always sit in your living room, legs wide with your laptop between you, your bright pink panties illuminated by the light. he uses them to jerk of later, printing pretty little polaroids and sticking them to the base of his fleshlight, imagining it's your cunt he's pounding open.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who finds you drunkenly trying to get up the stairs, stumbling forward. he offers to get you home, opening the lock to your apartment and setting you carefully down onto the sofa. you're out cold in no time, his fingers slipping under your skirt, wrapping around the waistline of your panties and snagging them down. he takes them home, rubbing his dick with the little wet patch you've made.
𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!neighbor!t𝗈𝗃𝗂 who's twice your age, convincing you that older men do it better while he's brutally fucking your tight little cunt, stretching it out with his 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 cock. you're crying, whining, whimpering...you can't help it, he's right. 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝙙𝙤 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! | 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼! gawdddd it's so fucking hot in germany, plz kill me...also, this is probably the last time y'all will hear from me in a looonggg time, cause i'm super busy. i'll be putting fics to be published in the waiting list every 3 to 4 weeks... 𖹭
[𝜗ৎ] 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 : 1.6k
𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧.
the clock on your nightstand glows 2:47am when your bedroom door eases open with a barely-there creak.
gojo satoru knows the rhythm of this house better than his own apartment now—which floorboards complain, which hinges act up, exactly how hard to twist the lock so it doesn't click too loud.
your sister's room is three doors down, and he spent the last hour listening to her talk about wedding venues and matching china patterns like they had a future beyond this joke of a bet.
he won that bet three months ago. two hundred thousand yen and bragging rights for the rest of the semester.
but every time he tries to figure out how to end it, he imagines her crying to the whole campus, spinning stories about how the great gojo satoru used her, how he's a heartless bastard.
his reputation would take a hit he can't afford. so he stays, nodding along to her plans, letting her cling to his arm in the hallways, pretending he doesn't want to tear his hair out every time she opens her mouth.
but then there's you.
you're the only one who talks back to her.
the only one who rolls your eyes when she gets bossy, who tells her to shut up when she's being ridiculous. he noticed you that first week, sitting across from him at dinner, poking at your food while your sister monologued about summer internships.
you didn't flinch when he caught you staring. just raised an eyebrow and went back to your phone like he wasn't the most popular guy on campus.
that drove him insane.
in the best way possible.
now he's here. again.
like every other night for the past two months. the moonlight spills through your curtain, catching the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the way your satin camisole has ridden up to show a sliver of your stomach. the blanket's low on your torso, revealing the outline of your nipples pressing against the fabric—hard from the cold air or maybe from something else, something your sleeping body can't control.
he doesn't bother being quiet anymore. you never wake up until he wants you to.
his joggers come off first, then his shirt. he's already half-hard just from the sight of you, the way your lips are slightly parted, the soft sound of your breathing filling the room. his boxers hang low on his hips, and he's not even worried—he never is when he comes here. despite the fact that if he would be caught, he would be beyond fucked.
the blanket lifts soundlessly as he slides underneath, the warmth of your body hitting him immediately. he positions himself between your legs, his knees pressing into the mattress, and his fingers find the waistband of your panties.
black lace tonight. he files that detail away, the way he files away every small thing about you.
he slides them down your thighs with a practiced ease. you shift slightly, a soft sound escaping your throat, but you don't wake. you never do. not until he's inside you, not until the friction builds to something your sleeping body can't ignore.
you're already wet. fucking soaked, actually.
he can feel the slickness against his fingers as he traces along your slit, gathering your arousal on his fingertips. his jaw clenches as he brings them to his mouth, tasting you—that familiar sweetness mixed with salt, the taste he's been addicted to for months.
"fuck," he breathes, barely audible. "you're always soaked f'me sweetie..."
his boxers come down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking. he strokes himself once, twice, spreading the precum along the shaft, watching your sleeping face as he positions himself at your entrance. the head catches on your wetness, and he pushes forward, sinking into you in one slow, devastating motion.
the heat of you wraps around him like a vice, and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning loud enough to wake the whole house.
your body accepts him without hesitation, your hips tilting slightly even in sleep, making room for him. he bottoms out with his pelvis pressed against yours, and he stays there for a moment, just feeling you clench around him.
"god, y'feel that?" he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. "taking me sooo good and you're not even awake. what does that say about you, huh? that your body knows my cock better than your sister ever will?"
he starts moving—slow, deep thrusts that rock your body against the mattress. the satin of your camisole rubs against his chest with every movement, and he watches your face, waiting for that first flutter of consciousness.
you always make the same sound when you start to wake—a little whimper, a crease between your brows, your fingers twitching against the sheets.
"that's it," he murmurs, picking up the pace. "come on, beautiful. wake up f'me. wanna see those eyes."
your breathing changes. hitches.
your eyelids flutter, and he feels your walls tighten around him as your body catches up to what's happening.
"mm…wha…" your voice is thick with sleep, confused and hazy.
"shh, it's me," he says, his thrusts never slowing. "just me, baby. you know who it is."
your eyes open, bleary and unfocused, and they find his face hovering above you. recognition floods in, followed by that mix of annoyance and arousal he's learned to read in the darkness.
"'toru," you breathe, and the way his name falls from your lips sends a shiver down his spine. "you're…again? i-it's the middle of the—haaah—n-night…"
"i know what time it is," he grins, that signature lazy smile pulling at his lips.
he snaps his hips forward, harder, and watches your eyes roll back. "ya' think i care about time when i can't stop thinking about y'pussy?. been jerking off the whole day thinking of ya'."
your hands find his shoulders, nails digging in as he drives into you. "y-you're insane. you know that? my sister is—nngh—right down t-the hall."
"don't care," he says, and he means it. he leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he fucks you into the mattress. when he pulls back, there's a string of saliva connecting your lips. "don't care about your sister, don't care about the bet, don't care 'bout anything that ain't y'cunt."
the word 'bet' hangs in the air, and he sees something flicker in your eyes. you know about it. you've always known. it's part of the unspoken agreement between you—that this is dirty, and wrong, and built on something rotten, but neither of you can stop.
"fuuuckkkk," you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hits an especially deep spot, pulling him deeper. "just…fuuuckk...j-just f-fuck me...shut u-up, ngh."
he doesn't shut up. he fucks you like he's been waiting for permission, like every night he's done this without your conscious consent has been leading to this moment. his pace is brutal, relentless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
the bed creaks in rhythm, and he's dimly aware that your sister might hear, might wake up, might walk in and see her boyfriend buried inside her little sister.
the thought makes him swell up even more inside your hole.
"y'like this, don't you?" he rasps, his forehead pressed against yours. "like being fucked in secret like a whore...like knowing i choose your cunt over her whole, unghh, relationship."
your answer is a moan that turns into his name, broken and desperate. your body is shaking, your nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. he'll wear them tomorrow, under his shirt, a reminder of you every time he moves.
"i'm close," you whimper, and the sound goes straight to his cock. "'t-toru, i'm—haaah—i can't, m'gonna—"
"cum for me," he murmurs, his large hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit. he circles it with his thumb, pressing down hard, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "cum on my cock like you do every night."
your orgasm crashes through you, and he watches it happen—the way your back arches, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your walls milking him with rhythmic pulses that threaten to push him over the edge.
but he holds back. he's not done yet.
"good girl," he pants, slowing his thrusts to let you ride it out. "that's it, that's a good fucking girl."
you're trembling underneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. he gives you a moment, then starts moving again, the sudden burn making you whimper.
"c'mon, gimme one more," he says, and it's not a request. "i need one more from you. and then m'gonna fill you up s'full you'll be dripping my cum tomorrow."
"satoru, i can't—"
"you can." he grips your hips, angling them higher, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes cross like a little slut. "you've done it before, y'can do it again. come on, pretty girl..."
his thrusts are losing rhythm now, his own control fraying.
he's so close, so fucking close, and he needs you to come with him. needs to feel you pulse around him as he empties himself inside you.
"cum with me," he grunts, his voice strained. "c'mon, cum with me right n-now."
your second orgasm hits like a wave, pulling a cry from your throat that he catches with his mouth. he follows a second later, his hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can go, his release hot and thick inside you. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum deeper, making sure not a dropof his release escapes.
when he finally stills, the room is filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint smell of sex. he pulls out slowly with a lewd 'plop', watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy, mixing with your arousal that's dripping onto the sheets.
"y'gonna clean me out in the bathroom," he says, his voice low and husky. "and then m'gonna come back and do it again before the sun comes up."
your eyes are half-lidded, your body limp and satisfied. "you're gonna get us caught."
"worth it." he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "soo fucking worth it."
he settles beside you, pulling you against his chest, your back to his front. his hand rests on your stomach, possessive, claiming. outside, the house is silent. your sister sleeps three doors down, probably dreaming of some bullshit wedding.
"satoru?" you murmur, looking up.
his long fingers run through your hair soothingly, white lashes framing those infinite cerulean eyes. "hmmm?"
the phone is propped on the pillows, screen glowing while katsuki’s flushed face fills one side and the camera stays pointed straight down at your wrecked body.
eijiro’s been pounding you for hours now, thick cock still buried deep, every thrust making wet, squelching noises as it pushes more of his earlier loads out of your swollen cunt. your thighs are shiny with slick and cum, the sheets beneath you soaked through, and your voice is already hoarse from all the moaning.
katsuki’s breathing hard on the other end, fist working his cock in quick, rough strokes. “look at that messy fucking pussy,” he growls, voice low and ragged. “you two have been going at it for hours and you’re still dripping everywhere. shit, i can see fucking puffy she is, eiji. keep fucking her f'me.”
eijiro’s hips snap harder, the creamy ring around his base getting thicker with every thrust. “fuuuck, baby, you’re taking it so good,” he pants, big hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “been letting me use this cunt all night and you’re still so tight. mmph, sweetie—yeah, just like that. good girl.”
your head lolls back, tongue hanging out, eyes glassy and unfocused. every brutal thrust knocks another broken sound out of you. “eiji—haaahh—t-too much, i can’t—kats, p-please, it’s s'deep—i’m—m'gonna—” your words dissolve into high, pathetic whimpers as he keeps fucking you through it.
“you can take it,” eijiro groans, leaning down to mouth at your neck while his pace stays relentless. “gonna make y'squirt again, pretty girl. i know you got more in you. mmph, soak my cock—fuuuckk. come on, let it out.”
katsuki’s fist blurs faster on screen. “moaning like a fuckin' slut...eiji, make her cum while i watch. fuck, i’m so hard it hurts—wish i was there pounding your hole open with him.”
eijiro’s fingers find your swollen nub and he rubs fast, messy circles. the pressure builds fast, your whole body tensing up before you explode again. clear fluid sprays out around his cock, soaking his abs and chest in hot bursts while your cunt spasms wildly. “cumming mnghh—cumming again—haaaahh—f-fuuuckkk...eiji, katsuki, p-please—!”
“that’s it, good fucking girl,” eijiro praises, still pounding through your orgasm, cock glistening. “look at you squirting all over me again. such a messy little slut for us.”
katsuki’s breathing turns into rough grunts. “g'nna cum—fuuck—making me cum with that fucking greedy little pussy.” thick ropes of cum spurt across his phone camera, blurring the view in white streaks as he groans your name.
you’re still twitching and babbling, voice cracking. “kats… eiji… love you—hahh, love when you watch me get fucked like this…”
eijiro slows but stays buried deep, kissing your temple while his hips give lazy, shallow thrusts. “we got you, sweetheart. just keep on being good for us.”
you're straddling sae's thick, beefy thigh, your soaked panties clinging to your folds as a shiny wet patch spreads wider with every desperate grind.
your hips roll in frantic little circles, chasing that high while your clit drags against the firm muscle beneath you, leaving a slick trail across his pants. sae sits back relaxed, fully dressed, one hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth works over your bare tits, tongue swirling and sucking like a man starved.
"look at you, humping my thigh like a needy little slut," he murmurs against your nipple before sucking it hard between his lips. "mm, so fuckin' desperate, aren't you? that pussy's dripping all over me and you don't even feel any shame."
he switches to your other breast, tongue flicking the stiff peak before he bites down gently and tugs. "keep going, princesa. rub that soaked cunt all over my thigh. i wanna feel you drip all over those panties."
your whimpers fill the room as you rock faster, the friction building hotter with every pass. "h-haahh... s-sae... feels s-s'good," you moan breathlessly, your voice shaky and needy, your hips stuttering frantically against him.
sae groans low as his lips drag across your skin. "fuck, these tits are perfect, princesa. love how they bounce while you fuck yourself on me. such a messy girl, making a mess on my pants like a little slut."
he sucks harder his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of your nipple as his free hand grasps your waist firmly. "that's it, cariño...come on, keep whimpering f'me. let me hear how bad you need it. gonna cum just from humping my thigh like the filthy little thing you are? go on, princesa. soak my pants."
your movements grow sloppy, panties clinging wetly as you chase your orgasm, sae's mouth never leaving your chest while he continues degrading you in that low, steady voice.
"m-mmphh s-sae... m'gonna h-haah, cum!" you cry out, voice breaking into a desperate scream as your thighs tremble and your hips jerk faster, your knee brushing against the thick bulge in his pants.
sae groans against your skin, biting down on your nipple, making you scream louder. "fuckin' cum f'me right now, dirty little thigh-humper...mm, gonna pound your greedy little cunt stupid after this."
you're splayed out on atsumu, back pressed to his chest, fully naked with your backside grinding against his thick bulge. he keeps pressing slow kisses to your shoulder, murmuring right against your skin. "fuck, look at ya, all spread out for us like this. so fuckin' pretty when ya moan like that. ya feel how hard my cock is against your ass? keep rubbin' on it, baby."
osamu is down between your legs, two fingers already pumping in and out of your dripping hole while his tongue laps messily at your clit.
he's loud about it, slurping every drop of your juices, adding a third finger without warning and stretching you open wider. "shit, she's so wet, 'tsumu. keep talkin' to her, she's clenching hard around my fingers. taste so fuckin' sweet, can't get enough."
atsumu chuckles low, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while his lips stay busy on your neck. "hear that, baby? osamu's makin' such a mess down there. ya like bein' our little toy, huh? keep those legs open for him. gonna have ya squirting all over his face before we even unzip."
osamu groans into your cunt, sucking your clit between his lips as his three fingers thrust deeper, curling just right while his free hand grips your thigh to keep you spread. "so fuckin' tight around my fingers. ya gonna cum for me like a good girl? soak my tongue, pretty. let 'tsumu feel ya shake on top of him."
atsumu's hips roll up against your ass, his free hand sliding down to spread your folds wider for osamu. "that's it, grind on my dick while he eats ya out. such a messy little slut for us. keep moanin' like that and we'll both be fuckin' ya stupid once we're done playin' with this pretty pussy."
