His cock is hard inside you, twitching within your snug walls without him moving. He just keeps it there – might nudge it back in every once in a while when an inch accidentally manages to slide out.
Other than that, his fingers messily handle your clit, never leaving it – making you clench and drench him, stirring that knot in the pit of your stomach, making it coil and snap and flush, leaving you to quake on his shaft – throttling him so tight he has to bite into the fat of your tit – which is where he rests his head. Like a baby, he suckles your nipple as though he expects milk to come out, despite it only resulting in making you sore.
When you move, he goes so far as to fucking whine. Brows curled and lips pouty with strong hands needly squeezing you until you fall still again.
He’s kneading against your womb, keeping you propped full – cock-warming him so sweetly he’s leaking beads of pre just from the grip – like heaven for his dick – makes him feel so fluffy. He just wants to stay like it forever.
“bring back bullying” no let’s bring back pinning her down by her thighs, making fun of how wet she already is and not letting her cum until she asks nicely.
You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways.
You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you.
He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.
You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.
It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere.
When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you.
If payment is small talk, you can humor him.
But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.
Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.
You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude.
However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.
He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.
You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.
Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your underwear back up without a word.
It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.
You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”
He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.
“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”
The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.
“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.
You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”
He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause.
A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?
“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”
He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.
“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”
This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”
“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”
You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.
He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.
And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…
Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.
♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist
♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist
Full altered fic with smut available here:
Read before bedtime! College Years is a collection of twenty short erotic thrillers, each with a loose theme revolving around college—and co
♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters
♡ FEM reader
A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.
And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…
You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.
Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely.
But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.
The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.
Oh, and they are full of it today.
Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel.
At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen.
Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon.
The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.
With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling.
You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.
You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.
Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude.
Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.
“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.
It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed.
But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain.
But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”
Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.
To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”
You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.
“Good.”
He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”
You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier.
But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.
“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.
“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”
Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.
“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.”
The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his.
“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.”
His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open.
It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.
“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!”
The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.
Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.
“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”
You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down.
“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth.
Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust.
“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”
Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent.
“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”
His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.
With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.
Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.
“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.”
Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier.
“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?”
And a third smack.
“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?
Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.
He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.
“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”
You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.
“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”
Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.
“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”
You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.
“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”
His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.
“Are you pure, magpie?”
Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.
Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.”
He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”
You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.
Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.
He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.
Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.
You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.
“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”
Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”
Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.
You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.
“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”
You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.
“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”
Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow.
Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.
“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”
He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor.
And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.
The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.
“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”
It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.
A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret.
At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.
Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.
“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”
But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar.
Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”
And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.
He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.”
He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.
And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist
♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
Thinking abut the type of boyfriend who just shows up uninvited. At your doorstep, ringing your doorbell with dumb flowers in his hands and a dumb smile on his face. And yeah, it was charming the first couple of times… but you broke up with him over a month ago, and he still won’t leave you alone.
He’s never been one to listen, which is one of the reasons you had to break up with him in the first place. Another reason is his tendency to blatantly disregard how terrified he makes you feel.
The bouquet is left on the floor, flower petals trambled into sad, broken pieces.
The worst part is that he knows it’s wrong—so very wrong—and still, he has the audacity to coo and hush you when he pins you to your bed. “Please don’t cry, please—I’m not gonna hurt you,”
He’s on the verge of tears himself. In fact, he looks even worse off than you, tortured while listening to beg him to stop—crying, “Puh-please—please don’t do this, please—get off me!”
But it’s just so unfair—he wants you back so badly. He never agreed to let you go in the first place. It’s so unfair of you. You loved him once—you can’t just change your mind. You belong to him—you told him as much when you were together. You’re not allowed to take it back. Vows are binding.
“Please don’t cry—I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you—I would never—I love you, I love you so much, I can’t stop.” He keeps vowing, licking your face and sucking your cheeks free of salt, lapping it up as you weep.
Beyond desperate and heaving for breath, you still use all your strength trying to tug your wrists loose from the strong fist keeping them pinned—but to no avail. Only left choking on your cries while feeling his other hand wander about between your trembling thighs.
“You said you were mine…”
“No, please—please don’t, please!”
But he doesn’t listen.
He’s stuck between hating you for not loving him back and hating himself for not being able to let you go. He’s always been so selfish, but he just can’t seem to help himself.
I wish i had a big werewolf boyfriend who buried his snout between my legs insisting it was just because it was the perfect spot for his nap. I know something else will happen but still i spread my thighs and lay back in bed. I pretend not to notice as he shifts, nose pressing against my cunt through my panties, huffing softly before i feel his hot tongue drag across there fabric covering my mound. I would stay silent, my breaths shuddering as his tongue slides under my now wet panties. From there it’s hard to stay mad. Not when his large hands grip my thighs as he eats me out, claws pricking my flesh. Not when his heavy balls slap against my clit while he fucks me with my head shoved into the pillows- and certainly not when he’s cumming deep inside of me, locking me up with his knot as he whimpers softly in my ear.
You hardly remember how you met your boyfriend, but you do remember waking up in his cold dark basement, ankle chained to the wall. You used to be so afraid of him and his rough hands and silver tongued words. He was just so big and intimidating, and when you made him mad with all your scared babbling he’d get mean and even scarier.
He’d tell you how much he didn’t like hurting you, digging the tips of sharp blades against your soft skin, or hitting you over the ass with a thick leather switch until you bled, he didn’t like any of it! But you grew to love the stinging hits or the dull aches as he dug his knife into your flesh. You loved how soft his voice got when he hurt you, gentle “There you go, baby, i know it hurts but you did this to yourself.” Being whispered into your ear as blood welled against your skin.
You also used to be so scared by the size of his cock. At first he only pleasured you, prying your legs apart as you cried and begged him to stop, cumming reluctantly around his thick fingers. When you started to give in to the pleasure he slowly started to introduce you to his throbbing member. You could barely wrap your hand around him, how did he expect you to house it inside of you? But of course he made it work. He used to spend hours working you open with his fingers and mouth, only to then tease your abused hole with the tip of his cock until he felt you give slightly. When with all your prep you still felt that awful stretch. It felt like he was tearing you apart, pussy straining to allow him any entry at all. And when he did finally manage to bottom out you were nearly unconscious. You’ve cum too may times and had to deal with the painfully slow stretch- but he worked to hard to stop now. He didn’t even allow you a second to breathe before he was thrusting wildly in and out of you, ripping you apart from the inside out.
Now? Now you love the pain. Some days hell come down, body trembling with anger as he takes it out on you. Large hands wrapped around your throat as he fucks into you, head of his cock slamming against your cervix with each wild thrust. And you loooove it. You consider it a good sign when you wake up with a few handprint shaped bruises on your body.
You love how you made this prison you’re home. The base it used to be so cold and isolating, but now you’ve made it cozy. Warm blankets and a nice bed and paintings full of color and light. When he allows himself to stay the night down here with you you’ll always hide his shirts to sniff later when he’s left you all alone with nothing but the scent of him and your own fingers to keep you satisfied.
CW: manipulative!luke castellan, hot & cold relationship, situationship, mention of sex, p in v mention, misleading fluff
Word count: 0.5k
A/n: Something abt the golden boy who's revered and known for his sweetness in camp being such a dick to you behind closed doors & sickeningly sweetly manupulative😋😋(this is what drew me to him in the first place #tbh)
•Mean!Luke correcting your posture/form on EVERYTHINGGG especially with sparring, since he's the best swordsman at camp in so many yrs.
Even if you're the kid of Apollo, he's still adjusting your stance with a bow- just so you know subconsciously that you're inferior, that you know less than him. Maybe you'll even start looking to him for guidance in the future, and he knows exactly what kind he'll provide.
•Mean!Luke will press sweet, soft kisses to your face, warm and lingering, just to hear you sigh in contentment. Just to butter you up before he asks for something else. Luke has learned that doing that combined with just laying with you for a minute is enough to get you to bend to his whims. So, for the long run, he doesn't mind.
•On the days where he doesn't need something from you, he's rolling his eyes whenever you have a valid complaint (like how he left in the middle of the night after hooking up with you).
He just scoffs and retorts, "since when did you get so needy? Did I ever say I was going to play boyfriend? Huh?" His tone is so sharp that it makes you glance down at your shoes and shake your head. Experiencing his two vastly different personalities gave you whiplash.
●Mean!Luke was perfect at knowing exactly what to say so that he could twist the narrative later however he wants. He never used the word boyfriend, but he acted like it sometimes.
When you were having a rough day, his fingers would card through your hair, and he'd murmur something soft at you as you melted into his lap. When you hit a perfect bulls-eye on the target, your eyes always found him first, just like he'd hoped, and he always nodded and smiled back at you. Like he was proud. When he poured his charm on thick and turned his big brown eyes towards you, shining with what almost looked like love.
But he leaves the specific words loose enough to where he can throw it in your face later on. After all, he never officially signed up for anything.
●And when you come crying to him about it, he'll just play dumb. Act like he's shocked that you even have to clarify it. It at least makes him feel better when your legs are spread directly afterwards.
•Mean!Luke who shows his friends his new "pet" and his special trick of you coming exactly when you're called. "Guys, watch this," he murmurs, eyes slanting from them to your form in the grass half the field away.
"Hey!" He calls, pitching his voice to be sweeter. He clicks his tongue, like one would call a dog, and to his everlasting bemusement, you, wide-eyed, walk all the way over to him without skipping a beat. You even smile brightly at him when you get there.
Luke stuffs his hands in his pockets, sharing a quick smirk with his buddies, who stifle a snicker. "Wanna meet in the woods tonight?" He asks smoothly. Everyone knows that couples in camp go there for a makeout spot (at least). You bite your bottom lip hesitantly, but nod. You always did what Luke wanted.
That night, when he has you up against the tree, thrusts jostling you into the bark, he swears it never felt so good.
Warnings: MDNI, NONCON -> DUBCON (coerced), F!Reader, noncon face sitting, forced orgasm, edging, cunnilingus, captivity, yandere themes, obsession, possessiveness, oral f. receiving, clit play, teasing, block me if uncomfortable + not proofread.
do not romanticize or normalize dark content irl.
Yandere!Captor who forces you to sit on his face, he absolutely loves it, being smothered by your cunt is an absolute dream for him.
Your hands are tied behind your back as he tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down, pressing his lips against the fleshy pads of your cunt before he makes contact with your clit, giving it a few smooches that make you visibly flinch before he captures it into his mouth.
You let out a bunch of protests, struggling against his face as he holds you tight, he would forcefully drag you down whenever you'd lift your hips— breaking contact between your cunt and his lips. It earns a dissatisfactory groan from him, brows furrowed as he grips you tighter until his knuckles were turning white.
He connects his lips to your cunt again, dragging his tongue from your slit to your clit slowly before swirling it around the bud.
When he feels you trying to break away again— even though you can't— he'll use his teeth, clamping his teeth down onto your clit not too harsh that it'll hurt you, but just enough to cause pain which makes your thighs give up reflexively, causing you to lose balance and sit snuggly on his face.
You quickly try to lift yourself up, but you fail when he nibbles on your sensitive bud, making your thighs tremble and your hips move in an effort to soothe the jolts of pain travelling through your spine.
You could feel his smirk before he stops nibbling on it, giving it small flicks with his tongue before he presses it flat against your clit and closes his mouth around it, slowly licking up and down as he tries relieve the same pain he caused.
You let out a sigh of relief as the sharp pain slowly fades, involuntarily bucking your hips against his face without realisation as it feels very soothing.
The wetness seeps out of you in embarassing amounts, which only serves as a device to mock you later when he does this all over again.
“Oh fuck— she's soaking f'me.” You hear his muffled voice, his breath felt warm in between your thights.
You drop your head in shame, because you can hear how disgustingly wet you've gotten due to his actions, the slurrping noises echo in your ears like a mockery and a reminder of how your body chooses to betray you everytime.
All because of him.
He feels his cock twitch in his pants, getting harder and harder each and every second. But he stays focused, continuing to devour your cunt like a man starved.
He groans into it, causing vibrations to shoot up in your core, making you shiver in an unwelcomed satisfaction.
He drinks up all the juices you were leaking like it was nectar, letting out satisfactory noises as if he's eating a fancy meal. You're chest breaks out involuntary moans no matter how much you try to contain them, which only makes him feral knowing that he's the reason, it makes him feel very validated to and egoistic.
“Mhm? At least some part of you is honest with me.” He mutters, rubbing salt into your wound, adding more to the shame you were feeling.
He presses kisses all over it, sighing when he feels your clit flutter in his mouth when he traps it in his mouth.
“Fuck, you're so divine baby. I love you so so so so so much.” He adds breathlessly, face flustered as he dines on your cunt.
You swallow the lump in your throat, toes curling in pleasure when you feel a familiar knot tighten in your stomach. You start squirming again, not wanting the knot in your stomach to snap and betray you wholly.
But it was impossible not when he's below you, working his mouth like he's desperate.
You brace yourself for the impact.
Yet, nothing happens, in fact, you feel the absence of his mouth which makes you look down, he had pulled away right before you could cum.
The feeling in your stomach fades, but not in a way that you expected it to, it left behind a frustrating ache that gnawed in your gut, it made you irritated. You let out a huff in disappointment reflexively.
You thought maybe he'd stop, maybe he's had his fill? whatever that means.
You expect him to pull you off him, but he doesn't do that, he reattaches himself again, once again capturing your cunt wholly, tongue prodding at your entrance as he slowly tries shoving the wet muscles in.
You're left confused, wondering what he's planning, but nonetheless you feel the knot form in your stomach again.
You expect it to snap, but once again, it's abruptly interrupted, leaving a sense of frustration behind. You open your mouth to question— but you're quickly shut up when you feel his mouth on you again.
He repeats it everytime you're near a few more times.
It leaves you more frustrated than ever, overriding every other emotion. You whine in disappointment as your orgasm is abruptly stolen once again.
You let out a frustrated cry, brows furrowed as you feel tears welling up in your eyes, you press your hips down, pushing your cunt against his mouth involuntarily as the irritation of being denied your bliss was driving you insane.
“What is it baby? Wanna cum?” He asked, huffing against your bud. You looked down, staring into his eyes as he gave you a smirk.
He was doing this on purpose.
“If you don't use your voice, I'll just have to keep on doing this.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your bottom lips.
You stayed quiet, trying to break away from his grip, hands tugging against the rope to loosen it but it doesn't work.
He starts his shenanigan once again, maneuvering you down and pressing you flush to his face.
You gasp, feeling your high build up slowly, you squirm against his face, pressing your cunt flat against his mouth but he turns his head away, causing you to almost collapse forward in exasperation.
“Please...” You bite your lip, voice coming out meekly.
“Please what baby?” He asks, smooching your inner thigh. “You want to cum?” He adds.
You nod, head moving up and down as you look at him with a neediness you've never experienced before.
“Beg.” He comands, thumb drawing circles on your thigh.
He is so fucking mean, asking you to beg for something you didn't want in the first place— usually he'd make you cum without asking you for anything, but today, he shifted his plans, dead set on making you betray your own self.
You didn't want to, but you know that he'll torture you like this for hours if you didn't.
“P-please, I want to cum.” You murmer, voice shaky as he drags his tongue across your slit after hearing that.
“More.” He tuts.
“Please, I wanna cum, I want to cum so badly. Please let me cum.” You beg, humiliation churning in your gut. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your words when he pushes his tongue inside you. You could feel the warm muscle invade your depths causing you to see stars, your cunt clenches around it, trying to grip it but it causes the soft muscle to be pushed out instead.
He continues working his mouth, soft pants leaving from him too as he makes out with your pussy.
“Tell me you love me.” He utters, fingers digging into your flesh, causing a little amount of pain.
You shut your eyes, feeling the same knot build up in your stomach for the nth time.
“I'll stop if you don't. I can play the long game.” He threatens, slowing down but you panic, shaking your head.
“No! Please, I love you, I love you.” You chant frantically, not wanting him to stop as the knot begins to feel like it's about to rip apart.
“I love you— I love you so much! please please please,” You repeat it over and over again, earning a satisfactory groan from him. “Ahh! oh!— fuck fuck—” You choke, letting out a loud moan as your high crashes down on you.
It hit harder than any other orgasm you've experienced before, you collapsed forward due to the sheer intensity, face landing into the soft mattress of the bed that you learnt to call your home.
Your body twitched as you collected yourself, hips bucking into his face, riding your orgasm out. Your thighs trembled, body shaking visibly due to the aftermath of your orgasm.
His hands slide up your waist gently before they come down, he lifts one of your thighs planted on the side of his head to pull himself away from beneath and sits up straight as he turns to look at you.
You collapse to your side, hands still behind your back as you gasp for air, chest back and forth.
He smiles cruelly, pushing you onto your back before undoing his pants and lining himself against your freshly abused cunt, he could see the way it was still swollen, still throbbing in desperation.
“I love you too.” He cooes before pushing himself inside without a warning.
— gojo satoru, geto suguru, yuta okkotsu, yuji itadori, tamsy caines, dabi, katuski bakugo, + feel free to imagine any character you like!
all characters mentioned are all obviously aged up.
"Are you close princess ?" they ask when I'm practically going cum all over the bed sheets. I can barely manage to bring out a yes just messy whimpers "It’s okay baby I can tell , you’ve been such a good girl now" I hear the praise go to my core, Three long fingers thrusting inside me , my throbbing clit can barely handle the overwhelming pressure , "Ngh~ " I whimper, legs starting to tremble. "Keep quiet darling~ can’t have another noise complaint now ." They say chucking adding another finger," Tho your wet sounds will give us away alone ! Burying my face into the pillow , ass in the air fucking begging for more. There grin at my state . I whimper, moan, beg, everything. Their finger slowly circles the head of my clit, "you're such a good girl , you haven’t touched yourself since I’ve been gone have you? " they whisper to me kissing my ear and neck as they go deeper into my sloppy cunt, "n-no, I’ve waited like you- Ngh~ said ." I can barely finish my sentence I’m so close my mind filled with lust. They laugh with a low voice “ okay baby , if you say so…..go on . “Cum~”
I need a free use trans guy that I can use whenever I’m bored. And I mean bored not horny cause if I was horny I’d just lift his legs up and pound that hole but if I’m bored I’m hustling looking for something to do with my hands. I just wanna keep him horny and toy with his dick, flicking the head, pull on his foreskin, hold it in between my fingers and wag it back and forth. Rubbing my palm over the tip until he’s about to cum and then I wanna slip my fingers inside him just to feel him clench, and spread him open so I can spit on his dick and make it him sloppier.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Nanami fucks you like he hates you ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
Husband Nanami who loves everything about you! From your moles to your stretch marks! But there truly was something he wanted this Christmas, another child.
“Darling~” “you’re doing so well”. “Can you last a little longer?” “Hmm?” “Speak up please my love” he said but all he could hear was your constant babbling. Eyes rolled back, freshly done nails leaving scars in his back. Because his pretty little wife can’t handle him.
His mean bully cock buried deep inside your soaking pussy. The brutal speed being too much for you to handle. Nanami had you in a mean mating press. His cock throbbing and twitching inside you. The sound of skin slapping against each other could probably be heard from all the way next door.
“One round he said” what a lie. You couldn't keep count on how many times he had filled you up. He kissed up the tears that where falling from your, his whispers of sweet, sweet words didn’t make since due to the way his cock was slammed inside you!
carrying you into the corner of this classic american kitchen, music playing from the living room behind us. I sit you down on the cold island. It’s the end of the night, the party is winding down but there’s still a few people left scattered around the space.
you’re trying your best to pretend you aren’t bothered but it’s hard to keep up that act when my fingers come back dripping wet from between your legs. showing them to you, watching your eyes dart toward the three or four people standing around near the fridge, just a few feet away. "you're focused on the wrong things princess" i whisper "you're worrying about who might see us, instead of focusing on how pathetic you look for me right now, how bad you need this” I’m pressing those same wet fingers against your lips, making you suck them clean while I reach into my pocket for that little vibrator you know so well.
you’re gasping, trying desperately to press your legs together to hide but I’m using my free hand to shove your thighs apart, hiking your skirt up until you’re completely exposed to the kitchen. we are giving them a show sweetheart.
I can feel the weight of their eyes on us, the slow dance track in the next room making the atmosphere too intimate for anyone to actually look away. clicking the toy on, the buzz sounding way too loud in the quiet kitchen and I’m pressing it right against your clit "don't be rude baby. be nice for me and keep those sounds down" watching your face turn red. you’re squirming, your hands gripping the edge of the counter to stay upright. I’m sinking two fingers inside you while the toy hums against you, your legs trembling.
I love how out of it you look, I know you enjoy this but you’re too embarrassed to admit it. the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you, you love showing off don’t you, you love the humiliation. and I love showing you off just as much. glass eyed and trembling, caught between the feeling of how wrong this is and how much you’re craving it.
I want every single person in this room to see that you belong exactly where i put you. leaning in closer, my lips brushing yours but never quite kissing you, making you chase the contact. "you're so gone aren't you? my little attention seeker. so desperate to be ruined in a room full of people, you’re such a slut" turning the setting up on the toy, watching your back arch and your toes curl as your body finally prepares to cum. "that's it take it. show them who owns you. give it up for mommy" keeping my focus entirely on you though.
the way your eyes flutter shut and your breath shutters, the way you’re holding me, cheeks red, legs trembling as you clench around my fingers. it’s all perfect. It’s not just a show baby. let everyone witness the depth of the connection i have with you. let me claim you in front of these people, make sure every one of them understands who is responsible for that look on your face. I want to show everyone what a good girl you are. don’t pretend to be embarrassed angel, I know how much you’re enjoying this.
wanna be gaped so bad but i also think that it's hot to be tight. like my insides are forced to take you and yield to the size of your cock. all my pussy can do is spasm and pulse around your thickness, milking it. the more pain i'm in, the better it feels for you.
creepy boys who stare for a little too long, who touch you like they're trying to see what they can get away with, who always remember little things about you that you don't even remember telling them... stalker boys, weird boys, obsessive boys ughhh the world needs more of them i think
Using AI hypnosis videos kinda defeats the humanity of this kink, no? Because aside from the obvious brainwashing AI is commiting against users by addicting them to continue using it --- hypno is supposed to be a symbiosis between Tist and Subject?? Right? Am i insane?
Anyways fuck AI and i wish data centers a very mysterious electrical fire daily.
yeah yeah yeah flame me about how its helping you create if you gotta. But block me before i block you.
♡ Yandere Fanatic ♡ @darkdecendentdecending - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
