he usually treated you like something precious. after everything he’d lost, he didn’t take softness for granted. not yours, not his own. sex with him was slow, careful. his hands lingered. his mouth was reverent. he took his time like he was making sure you wouldn’t vanish if he blinked.
and you loved that. gods, you loved the way he worshipped you in whispers and warm touches. you loved the way he pulled you into his lap after long days and kissed your shoulder with a sigh like you were peace itself.
but tonight something different coiled in your belly. he’d just come out of the shower, hair damp, falling over his shoulders in thick, dark ropes. his scarred chest was still flushed from the heat, towel slung low on his hips. and he was tired, always tired, but he looked at you like you were the cure.
he kissed you slowly. pushed you down onto the mattress and hovered above, whispering your name like it was holy. he started to thrust the way he always did, steady and controlled.
but you couldn’t take it anymore. you reached up and grabbed his hair, yanking just enough to make his eyes snap wide. your mouth pressed to his ear, as you mumbled hungrily, “fuck me hard, daddy.”
he froze. for a full second, nothing moved.
then his pupils dilated. something cracked in him. his breath caught like he’d just short-circuited. and when he pulled back to look at you? you saw the heat, and his restraint shattering.
“say that again,” he rasped.
you grinned, wicked. “you heard me, daddy.”
that was all it took. he growled, low and dark in his chest, before flipping you over like you weighed nothing. his hand pressed between your shoulders, pinning you down. the other gripped your hip hard, pulling you back against him.
“you want it rough?”
“yes.”
“then take it.”
he pounded into you deep and unrelenting, all that quiet discipline gone. his hand tangled in your hair, yanking you back so he could growl filth into your ear. words you’d never heard from him before. things you never knew you wanted him to say.
“you feel that, baby? that’s what you fucking asked for.”
“so needy for daddy’s cock, aren’t you? sweet little thing can’t behave.”
“you asked for it. now take it.”
and you did. you screamed his name. you begged for more. you clung to the sheets while he wrecked you with a fire he’d kept buried too long.
when it was over, you were trembling, dazed. aizawa kissed your spine like it was the first day you met. tucked you close and murmured, “you’re going to get me in trouble, baby.”
but the smirk on his lips said he couldn’t wait to be in trouble again.
| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, shoto x fem!reader, implied! virgin! reader / innocent! reader, heavy sexual tension and suggestive dialogue, experienced partner x shy partner, marking, d/s undertones, praise kink, light begging, teasing, slight possessiveness, size kink? + more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 2.5k+
SYNOPSIS. Asking mha men (Dabi, Aizawa, Hawks) for a hickey for the first time. (this is inspired buy a smau prompt by @nanaslutt )
DABI
You didn’t say anything, not directly. But Dabi knew the look on your fac, the way your eyes lingered on him, a little too long, when he passed by. You were fidgeting more than usual, tugging at the hem of your shirt like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.
Dabi could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of you, but you weren’t giving him the satisfaction of outright asking for anything. Not yet.
He leaned back on the couch, stretching out lazily. You were sitting across from him, legs crossed, head resting on your hand, eyes flickering nervously toward him whenever he caught you. And when he finally did he let a smirk fall upon him as he watched your face flush in embarrassment, "You look like you wanna say something. Or maybe you’re just too shy?"
You blinked, looking away quickly, but Dabi could see the pink creeping up your neck. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt again, eyes glancing back at him. You didn't respond, but that was enough for him.
"You’re acting like a brat," Dabi mused. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
Your cheeks burned as you hesitated, and Dabi watched the way you shifted uncomfortably. It was cute, too cute. "Nothing…" you muttered. He raised an eyeborw. "If you’re not gonna tell me, you know I’m just gonna have to figure it out myself."
You froze. It wasn’t hard for Dabi to see through your act. He knew you were trying to keep your thoughts hidden, but you couldn’t hide the way your body was responding to him.
He leaned forward slowly, watching you flinch as his gaze softened and then hardened again. "You’re nervous," he observed you, enjoying the way you were getting nervous. "But you want something, don’t you?"
Your mouth went dry, but you kept your eyes lowered, too embarrassed to admit it.
"C'mon, you can tell me, doll," Dabi hums in your ear, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his side, and you couldn't help but let out a breathy sigh the moment his lips skim down the nape of your throat.
With a small nibble of your lip, you confessed, "I was just thinking about it and people say it feels really good... and-" Dabi tuned you out as his thoughts slowed down, what was going on in that pretty little head of yours because it was about to make him go feral "-I was wondering if you could give me a hickey."
"Hickey?" Dabi’s tone was almost casual, but the way he leaned closer made the words feel like a command.
You though you said it outright, now that he said it, it felt like the air around you had thickened. "I-"
"Tell me," he cut in quietly, and you shivered as he closed the gap between you againt, his breath warm against your ear. "You want me to mark you, don’t you? To let everyone know you’re mine?"
You were caught. You felt your heart race, your cheeks flush with heat. You couldn’t answer. Not directly. But you nodded, just barely enough for him to notice. "Good girl," he murmured, his hand sliding to your jaw and tilting your face up. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Now hold still for me."
He didn’t wait for more permission before he was on you, his mouth hot against the delicate skin of your neck. The first touch was soft, teasing, just a feather-light brush of his lips over the sensitive flesh. You gasped, barely able to control the shaky breath that escaped you.
Dabi chuckled lowly. "You want it harder, don’t you?" His voice was a low tone as his lips pressed more insistently against your skin, and you moaned softly, not daring to move as he knew exactly what you wanted.
He pulled away just enough to admire the flush spreading across your skin, his fingers tracing the outline of your neck, where he could already feel the warmth of his mark beginning to take shape. Dabi's grip on your waist was tightening, as if you were about to slip away from him and his touch combined with how his lips felt on your body was enough to make you numb of the feeling. "You want everyone to know you're mine, don't you?" he mumurs and you could feel his patience running thinner.
You nodded, feeling that aching pull in your chest, wanting him, but still too shy to ask.
"Good," he whispered, before he descended again, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck just before he bit down gently. The pain was brief, but it was enough to make your breath catch.
He pulled back after a moment, watching the dark bruise form, before he took a step back and leaned against the couch. "There," he muttered, admiring the mark he left on you. "Now you’re mine for everyone to see."
You couldn’t speak. You were too lost in the haze of sensation, your heart racing, skin tingling. Dabi ran a hand through his hair, watching you carefully. "I think you needed that. But don’t think you’re getting away with just one."
AIZAWA
You didn't realise, but you have been squirming around for the past five minutes as you lay beside Aizawa. Both of you are nestled under his blanket, your curled agasint his chest as he lazily combs his fingers through your hair slowly, trying to help you to fall asleep. It was working, at the start, not until you remembered something you saw today.
Your cheeks are flushed red, as you fiddle with the hem of his sweats, he doesn't mind, but he really wants to know what you are thinking about that has you all fidgety. Your heart thuds a little harder the longer you stay quiet. You want to ask, you really do, but you're nervous. You know that Aizawa won't judge anything you say, maybe a little joke and tease, he would never ridicule you.
However, the words can't come out as easily as they should, not when you've been daydreaming about it all day like some lovesick little thing. Aizawa let out a low hum, he couldn't take it anymore. "You're thinking too loud," he says in a quiet tone, making sure not to jump you out of your thoughts too fast.
You could feel your cheeks burning even more as you hid your face in his shirt. Inhaling the soft, clean smell of laundry detergent and faint hints of vanilla, from you, of course. This is what managed to calm you. Well, only just a little bit.
"M'not thinking anything," you mumble, obviously lying, you can't slip anything past him.
Aizawa hums, he doesn't like to push answers out of you, he never does, but you know that he is waiting for a truthful reply.
You take a breath, lifting your head from his chest, "Shou'...?" Your voice comes out in a whisper so quiet you're surprised he heard you.
He tilts his head slightly to look at you, hair falling over his tired eyes. "Yeah?"
As long as you say it, it's fine. You don't think you could make yourself look him in the eyes as you say it.
“Uhm… could you…” Your fingers twist tighter on the hem of his sweats. “Could you maybe… give me a… h-hickey?”
"Look at me," Aizawa encourages gently. You glance up shyly, blinking at him through your lashes. You feel so silly. But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you melt. “Say it again,” he murmurs. “Slowly.”
“I… I want you to give me a hickey…”
His eyes were half-lidded. He’s quiet for a moment. And then he hums again, deeper this time, like he’s pleased with you. He has told you multiple times that you don't need to feel embarrassed talking to him about stuff like this.
“You want me to mark you,” he says more than asks. “Let everyone see who you belong to.”
You nod, heart racing. He shifts, his hand sliding up to gently cup the side of your throat. Not tight, just enough to hold you still. To make you feel how big his hands are. How much control he has. And how careful he is with it. And Lord, you loved how it made you feel.
“Where do you want it, sweetheart?”
Your eyes dart down to your collarbone. A vulnerable little spot that would peek out if you wore a tank top tomorrow. He chuckles softly, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you, dirty girl," he degrades softly and a heat began to grow between your legs. You couldn't even answer him, you're already trembling from how he's making you feel. He smirks, just a little. "Stay nice and still, sweetheart."
And then his mouth is on your skin, warm, slow, open, and you whimper when his teeth scrape lightly along your collarbone, followed by the soft, aching pull of his lips as he sucks your skin into bruising heat. It's overwhelming your senses with heat, and it feels so good. You feel like you’re burning and melting at the same time.
"That’s it," he murmurs against your throat. “So sweet for me..."
HAWKS
The evening started like no other. You were curled up next to Hawks, his wing holding you close to him as both of you watched a movie. Keigo had an arm around your shoulder as you snuggled closer into him, his finger massaging your scalp, running through your hair.
You feel safe with Keigo, and you couldn't ask for anything else. He never pressured you to do anything you weren't comfortable with, and you love him for that.
However, something was pressing heavily on your mind, which left you aching. You tapped restlessly agasint Kiego's shirt, mindlessly as you shift every so often. Hawks knew something was up, but he really didn't want to press it out of you. Every time he took a glance at you, you quickly looked away, trying to suppress the urge gnawing at your stomach.
You knew what you wanted, but you didn't know how to ask for it.
Hawks couldn't take it anymore, letting out a soft sigh, hand moving from your hair to soothingly rub your shoulder, he says, "You're fidgeting a lot, baby? Got something on your mind?"
Your cheeks began to heat up with embarrassment, and you avoided his gaze, aiming to look at his shirt rather than him. "Would it be... I... Could you give me a hickey?" you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you nervously bite your bottom lip.
"A hickey, huh?" Keigo teases, holding you tighter as he teases you, "You're asking me to mark you, baby? To make sure everyone knows you're mine? You want that?" Everyone who fell out of his mouth only furthered your embarrassment.
You didn't know what you were expecting. The teasing was a given, but it felt a lot more embarrassing when he actually said it out loud. Although his teasing made your breath catch in your throat, it was this that made your body heat up in places you weren't used to.
A playful frown makes its way onto his face as he lowers his head to meet yours. "C'mon, baby, what's wrong? What do you want?"
You said softly, “I… I want to feel it. Want to feel you. My best friend was talking about how good it felt and I just," you continued, going on a whole ramble but that was all going in ear and out the other to Keigo, all he was thinking about was was making sure he stayed under control.
He leaned in slowly, interrupting your ramble, causing you to freeze when you felt his lips brushing against your ear. "You’re so cute when you’re shy, baby. You want me to make you feel good?"
You bit your lip, too nervous to answer, but he didn’t wait for you to respond. His fingers trailed along your jaw, gently tilting your head back just enough for him to press his lips to the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin and it made a dull throb slide down between your legs.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all night, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing against the delicate skin below your ear. “Tell me you want it, baby bird. Say it.”
You nodded again, a soft whimper escaping you as his lips hovered just above the spot where you wanted him most. He could tell you were practically trembling under his touch.
“Yeah?” He smiled against your skin, teasing you as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you just a little closer.
The pressure in your chest was unbearable. You wanted to ask for it, needed to ask for it, but the words got stuck in your throat. He noticed the hesitation, a quiet laugh escaping him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’m right here. Just say it, and I’ll give it to you.”
Your breath hitched. This was it. The moment you’d been waiting for. You gathered all your courage and whispered, “Please, Kei'… I want you to, too. Please."
You inhale a shaky breath, feeling a sly smile agasint your neck, pushing down a moan that was about to fall out of your lips. "Such a good girl," he praises and a breathy exhale is finally made by you.
He didn’t waste another second. His lips pressed to your neck, sucking gently at first, letting his tongue graze the sensitive skin there. You gasped at the feeling, his warmth, the pressure of his mouth as it moved lower, his hands tightening around your waist to keep you steady. You could feel him smiling against your skin as he worked, knowing how badly you wanted this, how much it was affecting you.
"You like that?" Keigo groans agasint your skin. "You like me marking you?"
You couldn’t form words, just nodding as your heart pounded. His lips continued their slow, steady journey down your neck, leaving a hot trail in their wake. Soft whimpers, the soft moans, any noise that came from you only made Keigo more desperate for you, gods, you sounded so sweet, so innocent.
Finally, after teasing you with just enough pressure to keep you on edge, Keigo sucked hard at a spot just below your ear, marking you with a deep, dark bruise. You let out a soft cry, your fingers gripping his shoulder as your body involuntarily arched toward him.
He pulled back slowly, admiring the mark he left on you. “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this, baby,” he whispered, sighing deeply, feeling his bulge strain against his sweatpants.
Your legs felt weak, the warmth between them now unbearable. "Kei'," you mumbled, flustered, not knowing what to say, too dazed.
"Guess you did like it," he playfully hums, circling his arms around you as you make your way onto his lap, holding him close.
Do not copy, steal, modify, etc.
Relogs and like are appreciated.
There are so many grammar and spelling mistakes, I’ll edit this later x
thinking about retired aizawa adjusting to married life.
he starts sleeping more, which makes his libido soar through the roof. some mornings he's waking you up by kissing down your spine and then hauling your sleepy body over his face.
"lean forward, baby," he says, lips ghosting over your core. he pulls your ass back before burying his face in your folds. "you always taste best in the morning."
you can tell how much he enjoys making you cum this way, his dick leaking and throbbing in his sweats.
he puts on some weight, so he has a nice layer of fat over his muscles. he's self-conscious about it for like 0.2 seconds before you tell him, unprompted, that he looks even more fuckable now than he did when you first met.
now that he has extra time on his hands, he puts time into making his house a space he actually wants to be in—not just somewhere he sleeps. (his home improvement projects come out with varying degrees of success.)
no degree of persuasion could make this man stray.
when he isn't reading or cooking or napping (he's still shouta), he's at your side. you're his source of comfort as much as he is yours.
oh.
almost forgot.
the extra energy has him suggesting free use for a day.
"for me or you?" you clarify.
he slips an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him.
"for you." he nips the side of your neck. "always wanted to know what it'd be like to make my wife cum whenever they want."
if aizawa sees the outline of your pussy through your underwear, expect him to get ballistically horny in 0.2 seconds
he clocks the curve of your pussy lips and immediately scoops you up in his strong arms to straddle you over his thigh. oh he wants her drooling, gummy and swollen and so sensitive he can just blow on your clit to make you cum. fisting the hair at the base of your scalp, he crushes you to his chest, chuckling into your mouth as you grind down on the bulging muscle of his thigh
you've been a cocktease all day, pressing your ass against his groin, palming his cock when people aren't looking, all the usual things you know will get him to collar you around the throat and put you through the mattress.
when you get home, he doesn't even take your underwear all the way off; just pushes it to the side and rocks into you from behind, trapping your smaller body under his in prone bone.
"if you act like a slut you're gonna get used like a slut." his bicep rests under your throat. you feel it bulge with every grind of his cock inside you. "you know that by now, don't you?"
(you do, in fact. it's exactly why you acted the way you did.)
"you always act like this when you haven't had your pussy played with."
he pulls on your underwear and it rubs against your clit. you keen and buck up into him, the coil of your orgasm already spinning loose. he's all around you, the weight of his body pressing yours down, making you take him.
it's out of your mouth before you can stop it.
"daddy please - "
he's silent for a beat too long, and even in your fucked-out state, you nearly walk it back, explain it away -
"oh?"
his voice curls like smoke against your ear, and you flush hot.
"if you like being daddy's little slut, all you had to do was ask."
older boyfriend!aizawa who spoils you rotten. who treats you like his princess, who always knows what to say to you and how to say it. he’s the best you’ve ever had, he’s patient and kind and boy is he hot.
older boyfriend!aizawa who looks and feels like a man. who’s so fucking yummy in the early mornings, getting up with untamed hair and half moon eyes, his stubble thicker, his happy trail showing as his shirt lifts up while he stretches. his hands are rough and big, yet his touch feels like heaven - and every time he grazes you, you think you’ve found religion at his hands.
older boyfriend!aizawa who doesn’t care how tired he is or how horrible his day has been, he will always fuck the stress out of you if needed, or eat you out so achingly slow and good that you forget all your problems at his touch.
older boyfriend!aizawa who strokes your head and runs his fingers through your hair while he’s talking to you, attentively listening to anything and everything you have to say.
older boyfriend!aizawa who loves to get out of bed in the morning to you making him breakfast. mostly to fuck you on the kitchen table, though. (you’re the only meal he needs anyway)
older boyfriend!aizawa who lets you crawl into his lap whenever you want. he’s grading assignments? he’s doing work things on his laptop? he’s reading? he doesn’t care. his lap is the only seat you need.
older boyfriend!aizawa who loves to look you in the eyes while he fucks you.
older boyfriend!aizawa who especially loves to gaze into your tear-stricken eyes while you choke on his cock. you’re just so pretty, he can’t help it. you’re so good. and you’re all his. and he fucking loves it.
older boyfriend! aizawa who’s the man of my dreams !!!!
thinking about cockwarming aizawa as he grades papers. it’s late at night and he looks extra handsome in the dimly lit room, hair tied up, his face serious, jaw tight. he props you onto his lap and has you facing him while he slides his cock into you and tells you to keep still and be a good girl for him - and you can definitely feel him relax the second he’s inside you. he’s so big that you swear you can feel him in your guts, and it’s sooo hard to resist the urge to move your hips and fuck yourself on his cock. still, shouta swears that he’ll fuck you later if you behave (and you know he will even if you don’t), so you keep quiet and cuddle up against him, your cheek squished against his shoulder as you lean your head on it. he’s got a pen in one hand, the other coming to caress your back, his calloused fingers so deliciously soft against you - as if he’s afraid he’ll break you.
it drives you crazy.
then, an idea pops up into your mind. you grab his arm, guiding the same hand that was cradling you to your lips. he pretends to pay no mind to it, but even the slightest of your movements doesn’t go unnoticed. you eye him for a couple of seconds, trying to study him. he isn’t looking at you, but his index and middle fingers are grazing your lips, almost like a reflex. amused, you open your mouth, sliding his digits inside all the way down to your throat as you suck on them.
“what do you think you’re doing?”
his gaze immediately shifts to you, and when you two lock eyes and he sees you looking at him like that, doe-eyed and seemingly innocent as you stare at him through your pretty lashes, he can’t help but give up. he doesn’t show it immediately, but you know you won the second you feel his cock twitch inside you - he’s done for.
well, actually, you’re the one who’s done for.
since you like to use your mouth so much, he might as well just give you something to keep it busy. two minutes later you’re on your knees under his desk, choking on his cock as he fucks your throat, his big hand bobbing your head up and down his length, soft tears clinging to your lashes, mascara smudging. you look so soft and sweet, the most beautiful sight ever, his angel. the way you sound, the way a mix of drool and his pre drips down your mouth, how obscenely filthy and ruined you look right now, all because of him - it’s perfect. you’re perfect. what’d he think about not wanting to break you?
oh, well.
and shouta knows that he should play nicer with his beloved, darling girl. but since you like to act like that, he might as well be as rough as he wants. right?
he knows you love it, anyway.
@yamsfrecklvs - i’m just very down bad for him mmm i need him so bad also this was very vaguely proofread pls ignore any errors i’m lazy
| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, shoto x fem!reader, slight somnophilia!, pet names 'doll' 'baby' 'good girl' 'slut', voice kink, hair tugging, implied d/s in aizawas, praise, oral -> male recieving, possession + more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 2.7k
⋆·˚ ༘ *REQUEST :: Could you please write a headcannon about you wake the mha boys in the middle of the night because u are horny and wanna fuck but they have a mission in the morning. But reader is being a needy slut and they cant resist her. (pls with dabi,katsuki,Aizawa and maybe shoto or anyone you like). Could u please write is very nsfw/suggestive👉👈🙂↔️Thaaank u so muuch! - @carokitten
DABI
This man is knocked out, when he says he is going to sleep, he is going to sleep and not waking up unless it's important. What's important right now for him? Waking up for his mission tomorrow which (to him) is an ungodly time in the morning (7am). What's important to you? Quenching that heat that's blooming in your lower abdomen as you had just woken up from a particularly nasty dream with Dabi. He's dead asleep, sprawled shirtless, half the blanket kicked off, scarred chest rising and falling steadily.
You couldn't help yourself crawl over him, straddling his waist, kissing his neck and tugging at his pants, whispering, "Please, Dabi... I need you."
He groans, cracking one eye open with a lazy smirk. "You’re fuckin’ serious right now, doll? Got a raid at 7 AM."
Your hips grind against him and your voice turns breathy, whispering, "Can’t help it… you’re so warm and I just wanna be full of you…"
His hand grabs your throat gently, lips curling up. "Tch. You’re lucky I like when you beg."
He flips you over, mouth hot on your skin. "Guess they can wait a little longer for me, huh?" And his didn't waste a second longer pulling up your black silk night gown and pulling your thong to the side, arousal connecting to the cotton. The smirk on Dabi's face deepens, "Needy slut, you are," he murmurs against your neck. "Good thing you're all mine."
All you could do was helplessly nod as a whimper spills past your lips when you feel scared hands tightly hold the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up beside your head, folding your body into a tight mating press. It didn't take him a second longer to take his semi hard cock out. and to push it into your sopping cunt.
A loud moan emits from your throat from the sudden contact, and feeling his cock grow hard inside you, pressing immediately against that soft spot inside your cunt, making your silky walls clench tight around his length. "Fuck," you whimper, trying to squirm away but you couldn't, you were to tight under him.
Your poor body being folded in such a position this early in the morning was not ideal.. but you did ask for it, so you can't do too much complaining. "Ah ah ah," he tuts, slowly thrusting into your pussy, a lewd squelching noise sounding through your shared room. Your knees were already beginning to ache but you can't move, not until he gets off you. "You're going to take all of it, doll. Every single inch of me."
"M'kay," you mumble, whines spilling in with your words, your hair sprawled out on the bed as you could feel a coil tighten in your stomach as he continued to make an absolute mess of you.
Dabi lowers down to your trembling body, tingles were getting sent all throughout your body from the kiss, he was being so rough yet deep. The breath was stolen from your lungs every time he moaned into your own, and you had the same effect on him.
"Such a good slut," he hums against your skin, inhaling your naturally sweet scent.
"Feels s' full though, Touya," you sob. "Don't think I can anymore."
"You asked for this, so you're going to take it all."
BAKUGOU
Bakugou is out cold, his face buried in the pillow and his hair is a mess as he snores very softly, only just a little bit. While you have tried to get yourself to finish, twice, but you haven't even gotten close to how your man does it to you, your fingers don't compare to his own and you weren't going to come down from your pleasure. You weren't, not until you had your release. Katsuki has ruined that pleasure for you because now you can't even do anything yourself anymore, you need to have him help you.
You couldn't take it anymore as a frustrated whimper softly escapes your lips, pressing your bare chest against his back, hand slipping under the covers to palm him.
He jolts awake, confused as he rolls onto his back. "The fuck you doin’? It’s-" Katsuki checks the digital clock on his bedside table and he lets out a sigh. "-3 in the fuckin’ morning, baby."
Two of your fingers hook around his boxers, a pout rising on your lips as you tug gently on the cotton. "I’m sorry... I just... need you... so bad, Kats'."
His breath stutters when your fingers move from the hem, going lower, and trace his semi hard cock causing sparks to flow through his veins at your gentle touch. "You tryna kill me before this goddamn mission?" he says before letting out a deep breathy sigh, his dick fully hardened under your hand.
You were about to say something in reply before you were quickly grabbed by the hips, throws you under him, your breasts squished up against the bed and your legs spread my Katsuki's knees, leaving you completely immobile as you couldn't even attempt to squirm out the position. "Hope you’re ready to take responsibility then, baby."
If there was one thing you knew, it was that Bakugou is rougher when he's tired, less patient with you and he will not stop until you're crying out his name. And that's exactly what he was doing.
Fat, hot, tears stream from your eyes and all Bakugou could do was smirk at the sight. If you wanted to be needy and get fucked, that is exactly what he was going to give you. The only gracious thing he had done so far was putting a pillow under your hips before letting your body rest fully down on the bed. This was more so for him rather than you... he needed a good angle to fuck you good.
Bakugou's mass pressing down against your back. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. Bakugou's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you.
Bakugou's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. A content sigh leaves your mouth when Bakugou raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, filled with his cum from previous rounds.
"I'll make sure you're filled up real nice," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at the collagen, you let out a gasp at the sudden action.
Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit once more and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't as Bakugou knew your body more than you did yourself, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.
You held your breath when Bakugou sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Bakugou's length nudged the deepest spot within you.
"That's it, your cunt knows me so well," Bakugou moans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good. "Still taking me so good, baby." The praise makes your brain go fuzzy, numb from the pleasure. Yes, this is exactly what you needed.
SHOTO
If Shoto is anything, he is 100% a light sleeper, so you can't even get out some enjoyment, so the second you shift from his hold and place your hands onto his chest, he doesn't miss it, slowly he blinks open his eyes. The first thing he can register, is the lusted gaze that has coated your face and the arousal soaking his body, yours and his own.
"Is something wrong?" he asks groggily. You look up at him with flushed cheeks and teary eyes.
"No, I just… I can’t sleep. I need you so bad, Sho'…"
His breath hitches, and his hand instinctively cups your cheek.
"You… want to do that right now?" You lean down closer to him, lips barely grazing his own as you nod, grinding hard against him through your panties. Moans string from your moan when you feel him grow beneath you and Shoto closes his eyes, strewn in pleasure an his thoughts about the mission he has tomorrow.
His cheeks tint a soft red as he pauses his thoughts- mission? what mission?-he thinks sarcastically as he pulls your hips down harder. Number 2 heroing can come later...
"Okay. I’ll take care of you. Just try not to scream too loud… we still have to wake up early."
Shoto flips you around, pinning you to the bed with your arms and spreading your legs with his knees before capturing your lips into a deep and heavy kiss. He can feel your chest stuttering against his own with every breath he steals from you, along with the whimpers that escape your lips. Whimpers not only from the kiss but how his clothed cock perfectly slots against your bare cunt.
You didn't know how long you were going to hold out for...
But lets just say he definitely didn't disappoint you.
AIZAWA
With Aizawa, you have to be careful around him, or else it wouldn't be a surprise, you have to be sneaking around to catch him off guard. So here you are, carefully straddling him, pressing slow kisses to his chest while he breaths deeply, still taken over by sleep, completely unaware of your advances.
You suck gently over his abs, then go lower, peppering kisses around and on the tuffs of his happy trail. A sigh of satisfaction leaves your mouth, if you had to do anything for the last time, this would be it because lord, you love his cock (and him).
A shift is felt beneath you and Aizawa's cock jumps beneath your throat before you felt fingers lacing through your hair. Aizawa tugs your hair, lifting your head up from his lower abdomen to meet his eyes, a moan falls past your lips at the gesture, your panties getting further soaked with arousal.
"And what are you doing?" he asks slowly, his voice rough and slightly scratchy from sleep which just made the heat grow bigger. Gods, you love his voice.
A sweet, sinful smile coats your lips and your hand trails down to his sweats, palming his semi-hard bulge through the fabric, "Just want you. Just for a bit. I’ll be good, I promise."
He sighs, already getting hard at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, eyes wide and needy. He desperately wanted to say he had a mission in five hours but he couldn't because he can't resist you, not at all. Aizawa lets out a sigh, mumbling, "What am I going to do with you?" before sitting up, back resting against the headboard.
A sharp tug of your hair from Aizawa caused you to let out a pained moan, sending a pleasured shock to your heated core. Your face only a few mere inches away from his clothed, hard cock.
"Fine. But I'm using you. You started this- so you better not cry when I ruin that pretty throat of yours."
"I won't," you say, thighs clenching together, trying to relief the ache in your pussy, arousal slicking your thighs. As your doe eyes stare up into Aizawa's deep slate iris' you couldn't help but a pout befall your lips. "I promise," your fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of his sweats.
Aizawa lets a gentle smirk rise before his free hand cups your jaw, thumb rubbing your bottom lips sensually before slipping his digit inside your mouth. Your tongue immediately wraps around his thumb, sucking slowly. "Such a good girl."
"Now get to work, sweetheart," Aizawa huffs, removing his thumb from your mouth.
Lowering your head, per your control and Aizawa's as his grip tightened around your hair, you pepper slow kisses over his hard cock, feeling the twitch come from his length after every kiss. "Don't tease," he grunts.
The roots of your head began to sting softly but it made you feel so good, and pleasuring Aizawa was more than you could ask for. Taking one last glance up, you watched him swallow the lump in his throat, eyes shut, waiting. You knew that if you pushed his too far, he'd use you in a way that have your neighbours worried from your screams.
The position you were in now, though, is perfect to suck him dry. You tug down the hem of his pants just enough to let his cock loose, long and thick, hitting just at his belly button. Gently, you grip his base, your free hand cupping his heavy balls, squeezing softly causing a a deep groan resonate from him.
Angling his throbbing length towards you, you place a wet kiss on his tip, making sure your saliva drips down, wetting his cock. "That's it, good girl," Aizawa praises, and it only fuels your desire, your lower abdomen fluttering in response, pleasuring him makes you feel pleasured as well, because your oral fixation goes crazy.
Dragging the flat of your tongue up the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins that sprung up to the head of his cock, deep groans are the only noises you hear, along with the wet slicking noises from the contact between your mouth and him. You spread the pre cum spilling from his slit before taking his throbbing length into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his swollen pink tip before you took his cock further into your mouth.
"Deeper, sweetheart," he says, his hips trying not to thrust into your face. Aizawa was trying desperately not to fuck your mouth, wanting to see your lashes well with tears. A hum is muffled by his dick, the vibrations causing him to let out a deep moan. "Shit," he sighs, fuck.
Aizawa couldn't handle it anymore. If you're going to wake him up in the middle of the night, then you're getting what he gives. You gag on his length when he pushes your head down all the way to his base, your nose tickling his hair around his cock, your hand quickly makes contact with his thigh.
"That's it," he praises, moving your head at a pace he enjoyed, letting him take control. Aizawa started moving more quickly, which made you start crying even more. When you hollowed out your cheeks, he let out a stifled sigh that made him hesitate to approach further. He pulls away from you, his load spilling into your mouth. "Let me see."
You lift yourself up from his cock and stick out your tongue just for him, he lets two of his own fingers massage his cum on your tongue. "Good girl," he praises. "Swallow."
You nod, doing what he says.
"Are you feeling better?" Aizawa asks and you nod.
"Yeah!"
Do not copy, steal, modify, etc.
Relogs and like are appreciated.
honey's a/note:: i hope this was okay lmao, there def is grammar and punc mistakes in this but oh well, 3am is peak writing time for me, i should be working on my presentation thats due in a fornight but oh well. if anyone has any other characters for this idea lmk :) or maybe the reverse role 👀 i know that some of these were half asses but ill get back to them i swear
PL⛧NET HER: WHEN SIN ORBITS YOUR PU$$Y.ᐟ
𝐒𝐈𝐍#𝟑 𝐆⛧𝐄𝐄𝐃 — 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞
𐕣 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧: what I claim, I keep. even if it breaks in my hands, it will never belong to anyone else.
𐕣 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: corruption kink + car sex + sugar daddy dynamics + orgasm denial + riding + edging + coercion + sassy!reader
𐕣 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4824
tw: very dark yandere themes & heavy monopolizing
𝐬𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Have you ever met someone who clutches too tightly? Not just to money, but to love, attention, even air itself?
That’s Aventurine, a man who can’t tell the difference between having something and owning it.
You don’t have a life anymore.
He made sure of that. Every breath you take is financed by him—every bill, every beauty appointment, every heartbeat under his name.
You can’t even buy coffee without his fingerprint already authorized on the register. Once, you tried to pay first, just to feel normal. He didn’t yell, didn’t curse.
He only looked at you—smiling that banker’s smile that never reaches his eyes—and said, “Don’t do that again.”
Your phone plan? His name.
Your apartment lease? His signature.
Your mornings? Bought and scheduled like stocks in his portfolio.
He plans your life with the precision of a man balancing ledgers. Hair, nails, doctor, gym—all prepaid. When you open your closet, it gleams with designer silks and lingerie he chose himself, tags still attached, receipts filed neatly in his office like proof of ownership.
You weren’t always like this.
Before Aventurine, there was the stage.
Penacony’s top-floor clubs glowed like open jewelry boxes, and you were the diamond everyone came to see. The floor below the poles was always crowded—suits and heiresses pressed shoulder to shoulder, throwing chips and cash until the air itself smelled like perfume and money.
You didn’t just dance.
You conducted the room.
Lights bent to your rhythm; spotlights skimmed over oiled skin, glittering bracelets, and the heavy gold chains draped across your hips.
Every twist of your body sent bills fluttering down like holy confetti. The DJ shouted your name between sets, and a line curled around the block just to get a glimpse.
When you spun upside down and the jewels on your ankles caught the light, the crowd howled.
Someone once called you “the Saint of Lust and Luxury.” You liked that. Earning you your stage name: Deluxe
You built yourself from shimmer and smoke, made men beg just for the privilege of tipping you.
Here, you weren’t a worker—you were a brand.
And that’s where he found you.
Aventurine sat high in the VIP private balcony, the one reserved for gamblers with more credits than conscience.
He didn’t whistle or throw money; he just watched, eyes half-lidded, calculating.
You thought he was another investor, bored and looking for something shiny.
But he wasn’t watching your body—he was watching how the crowd reacted to you, the way they spent for you.
To him, you weren’t just beautiful; you were profitable.
He found you again a few nights later, when the crowd had thinned and the lights were fading into that soft champagne haze that meant closing time.
Moving like he already owned the place, “I’ll give you everything you want,” he said.
“All I ask for in return… is you.” He spoke with the ease of a man who had never heard the word no.
He didn’t try to charm you; he simply offered numbers.
Rent. Debts. A car. The total of your freedom written on a napkin.
You really laughed — thought he meant attention, a few dates, maybe a picture to show off.
You needing a man? Please. You are the man, the woman, and the legend.
You weren’t looking for love; you were looking for security. And who better than a man who could buy the sky if he wanted to?
So you said yes because it sounded easy.
Well at first, it was.
He lavished you with gifts, paid off every lingering bill, and stacked your vanity with perfumes that cost more than your old rent. He spoiled you until you gleamed—until even the mirrors seemed to blush at the reflection.
You weren’t in love; you were practical. You reminded yourself of that every time you caught his eyes lingering a second too long.
“You used to dance for scraps,” he teased, running a thumb over your jaw. “Now you dance for me. Isn’t that better, princess?”
“Boy, please,” you shot back. “I was fine without you. You just wanted to play Captain Save-a-hoe.”
He laughed—low, indulgent—then slid a diamond bracelet onto your wrist, cool against your skin.
“You don’t have to love me,” he said. “Just wear what I give you. That’s all I ask.”
But the gifts grew heavier.
He stopped asking—started deciding.
Payments became permissions.
The car he bought you came with a tracker “for safety.”
The new phone logged your location “so he could send drivers faster.”
Every piece of generosity hid a leash.
When he handed you a new set of lingerie—black silk trimmed in gold thread—he called it curation.
“I like seeing what’s mine look perfect.”
You laughed it off at first. It was better than shaking ass to pay rent, right?
But the pattern crept in.
He began timing your replies, demanding photos of where you were, of what you were wearing.
Miss a text, and the accounts froze.
The cards declined.
The silence from him was louder than a shout.
When you confronted him, he only smiled that casino-bright smile, lying flat on the bed, blonde hair falling back, and said, “Hmm?~ Actions have costs, sweetheart.”
And that’s when you realized: every coin he’d ever given you was already spent—on you.
Kakavasha tells you pieces of his past the way he tells every lie—like a secret he’s selling. He doesn’t even flinch when he says his real name, the one nobody uses anymore.
The syllables roll off his tongue soft and low, rehearsed and dangerous, like he’s testing how it sounds in your mouth.
“They took everything from me once,” he says. “So now I take everything back.”
You don’t know whether he wants sympathy or worship.
Maybe both.
He keeps trophies—little shrines to you, to his victories. Panties, hair, your lipstick smudged on glass. All labeled, dated, locked away. You’d think he was curating an exhibit called Proof I Was Loved.
And in a way, he is.
Lately, he’s been keeping records. A sleek, black ledger that used to hold business deals is now filled with you.
Moment of Midnight: — breath on my neck, 23:52.
Moment of Dusk— moans, 3:04, priceless.
Golden Hour — perfume on pillowcase, lingering, $0 but irreplaceable.
He writes like a man praying—numbers traded for sensations, currency replaced by obsession.
And when he looks up from that book, there’s no trace of remorse—“Funny,” he murmurs, flipping another page. “Even your sins look beautiful on paper.”
Then come the “accidents”.
Your ex-boyfriend, gone.
The client who flirted too boldly vanished.
He sighs like it’s tedious work, wiping the blood from his cheek, another balance sheet to settle.
When he’s done cutting off your friends, your family, your options, he kisses your forehead like it’s affection.
“You don’t need them,” he says. “You have me. You have everything.”
And he means it—because in Aventurine's world, love and possession mean the same thing.
Currently, you sit on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, acrylics tapping against the glass screen like nervous clock-ticks. The penthouse sprawls around you in gold and stars, the city glittering below like a pile of loose diamonds.
Everything smells expensive—amber cologne, crisp linen, the faint bite of champagne gone flat.
And still, you can’t breathe.
You rehearse the words again: I’m done.
Simple. Firm. Final.
He’s crossed a line this time—sold your likeness for a fake brand deal, “an investment,” he called it, that quietly moved every cent of your money into his accounts. He even changed the password to your own phone plan.
You’re the accessory now. The doll that matches the décor.
As much as you adore the taste of money—Aeons, the Orison, the Feldspar, the Reverie—it’s starting to feel like a cage.
The flatscreen murmurs in the background, volume low. Some late-night news anchor drones:
“—authorities continue to search for a missing college student believed to be connected to Professor R—”
You glance up, pulse quickening for no reason you can name. The words fade under a luxury-car commercial.
You change the channel. You’ve got your own problems.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, legs crossed, voice wobbling. “Just say it and walk away.”
The elevator dings.
Your stomach drops.
Aventurine’s footsteps are soft, measured, and deliberate. That same rhythm that makes your pulse sync whether you want it to or not.
When he appears in the doorway, he looks as immaculate as always: dark shirt open at the chest, rings glittering, smile smooth enough to sell mercy itself.
He leans against the frame, eyes catching the city lights. “You look tense, sweetheart. Did one of your cards decline again?”
You inhale through your nose, trying not to crack. “You know exactly what happened.”
“Oh?” He feigns innocence, adjusting his collar as he steps closer. “You mean the account adjustments? I told you—it’s easier if everything’s under one name. Ours.”
“There is no ours,” you snap, voice sharp.
“You—” your words tremble, “—you’re controlling everything. My rent, my car, my phone. Even the fucking keycards have your name on them.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t raise his voice. Just smiles, patient, patronizing.
“Control? No, no, darling. It’s called protection. I’m taking care of you.”
You stand, fists balled at your sides. “I want out, Aventurine. I’m serious this time.”
A pause. Too long. The city hums behind the tinted glass.
Then—soft laughter, quiet enough to make your skin crawl.
“Out?” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “And go where, exactly?”
You fold your arms. “Anywhere that’s mine.”
He hums, like he’s considering it.
“Alright,” he says finally, smiling wider. “If you want to leave, you can. But you’ll need to pay me back first.”
You blink. “What?”
He gestures toward the tablet on the nightstand. The screen lights up—rows of transactions, gifts, transfers. The total at the bottom looks fake, obscene.
“Everything I’ve ever given you. Rent, clothes, jewelry, tuition… it adds up.”
You laugh, disbelieving. “You’re fucking joking.”
He doesn’t laugh back.
The silence is heavy—thick with perfume and danger. His smile doesn’t falter, but it sharpens around the edges.
“Freedom has a price, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “And you, of all people, should know I don’t make bad investments.”
You stare at the glowing tablet. The number at the bottom looks more like a joke than a bill—eight digits, followed by two decimals and a signature line.
“...You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious,” he jokes softly, setting down his coat. “You like to spend, bunny. Don’t look so shocked when the bill arrives.”
You shoved the tablet back toward him. “I never asked you to—”
“To what?” He cuts you off with a smooth grin. “Buy you things? Feed you? Keep you safe?”
“You don’t keep people safe by owning them.”
That earns a quiet laugh. The kind that doesn’t sound amused at all.
“You think freedom is free? You’d starve without me. The moment you leave this place, your cards decline, your accounts freeze, and your name vanishes from every lease and record I ever signed you onto. You want out?”
He tilts his head, magenta and cyan eyes gleaming gold under the low light. “Then pay me back.”
You cross your arms. “I don’t have that kind of money, and you damn well know it.”
Aventurine exhales through his nose, the faintest sigh—patient, indulgent, like he’s explaining arithmetic to a stubborn child. “I didn’t expect you to. Not in cash, anyway.”
He walks closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing right in front of you. You can smell his cologne, the faint mineral warmth that always reminds you of new coins.
His gloved hand lifts, the soft leather tracing your chin. “There are other currencies, you know.”
You freeze. “Don’t.”
He hums, ignoring the warning. “Time. Devotion. Flesh.” His thumb presses against your lower lip until it parts. “I could take payment in kind. Think of it as… a physical arrangement.”
You laugh bitterly. “So what? You want me to fuck you until I’m debt-free?”
“Until I feel compensated,” he corrects smoothly. “A fair exchange.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
He snickered again, low and velvety. “No, I’m realistic. You think men like me waste money on something they don’t plan to keep? You were an investment from the start. I gave you a life most people can’t even dream of—and now you’re having buyer’s remorse?”
You step back, but he follows, predator-close. “I’m done with this.”
He smiles wider, teeth catching the light. “You’re not.”
“Bet.”
Aventurine's gaze flickers downward—slow, heavy, proprietary. When he looks back up, that easy charm of his cracks at the edges, revealing something colder. “Don’t mistake generosity for weakness, baby. You can’t walk away from what you owe.”
You flinch as his hand comes up to your face again—gentle this time, tracing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.
“I’d hate to see you out there,” he murmurs, almost tender. “Alone. Hungry. Dressed in last season’s clothes.”
The soft mockery in his tone makes your stomach twist.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, “I’m not unreasonable. I’ll let you work off your debt. Little by little. We can start tonight.”
⭐︎
The ride down the elevator is silent, velvet-lined, and suffocating. The city shines beneath you, a thousand lights flickering like chips on a casino table. Aventurine's hand never leaves the small of your back.
He’s still smiling, but his mind is unraveling behind it. You won’t look at him—won’t even breathe in sync—and that shouldn’t sting the way it does.
He's Aventurine: everything the world wants. Money, charm, questionable reputation polished to gold. Desire wrapped in designer.
So why does he feel like a beggar every time you pull away?
He tells himself you should want him. You do want him. Just not the way he needs you to. It isn’t him you crave; it’s the glitter, the safety, the expensive distraction he keeps buying you.
And that realization bruises deeper than he’ll ever admit.
Hasn’t he given enough? Bled enough to be worshiped?
The elevator hums, a heartbeat too slow. He watches the floor numbers fall, wonders how affection can slip through fingers lined with diamonds.
By the time the doors part, the decision’s already made—he’ll drive you home himself. Keep you close. Convince you he’s worth loving, even if it kills both of you.
He leads you into the waiting limo—doors closing with a soft, hydraulic hiss. Gold trim, crystal flutes, low jazz humming through hidden speakers. The sort of car meant for power deals and confessions.
You cross your legs, refusing to look at him. “I’m not doing this,”
“Oh, you are,” he says easily, pouring champagne into two glasses. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”
The car slides onto the strip, glass buildings flashing by. He lounges beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, diamond cufflinks catching every passing light.
“Let’s play a game,” he suggested.
“Hell no.”
His smile deepens. “If you can hold off—don’t cum before I do—I’ll clear your debt. Wipe it clean. You’ll be free.”
You scoff, but your pulse jumps.
He shrugs, sipping his drink. “Call it gambling. You used to like watching me win.”
He presses a button on the console. The partition slides up, sealing you both off from the driver. The soundproof glass clicks into place.
Your throat tightens. “Unlock the door.”
Aventurine leans close enough for his breath to ghost your ear.
“Freedom’s right there,” he whispers, “all you have to do is earn it.”
When you twist away, his gloved hand catches your wrist, firm but not rough—yet. “Stop fighting me, darling. You’ll wrinkle the dress.”
“I don’t care about the damn—”
The fabric tears. Silk rips like paper, slipping off your shoulders in a shimmer of gold. You gasp, half-rage, half-shock. He tuts softly, eyes glinting.
“A shame. It was custom.”
His hand traces up your thigh, catching the thin strap of your g-string. One tug, and it snaps. The sound is obscene in the quiet cabin.
“Look at you,” he says, voice low, reverent. “Even when you’re furious, you’re beautiful. You really were made to be spoiled.”
Electricity courses through your veins as his fingers slide between your legs, slow circles on your clit that make you shiver despite yourself. “Stop it—”
He hums, pretending to consider. “Stop? But you’re trembling, love. Is that fear… or excitement?”
Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his thumb harder, rhythm precise, merciless. “There,” he whispers. “That’s honesty. That little gasp—worth a thousand dollars.”
You try to escape, but his other hand catches your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Don’t look away when I’m collecting.”
The limo sways gently with the turns; every movement rolls you closer into him until you’re half-straddling his lap.
His slacks are already open, revealing a leaking cock, standing proud and achingly hard, the tip flushed a shade of pretty pink.
With prominent veins glistening with precum that dribbles down his balls, glinting faintly in the passing light.
He bites his lips, lounges back in the cushy limo seat leisurely, hand picking up champagne, relishing the way you watch, annoyed, while his hand begins moving in small, unhurried motions up and down his rock-hard length.
“Bunny,” he breathes, dragging the word out, “if you want to pay me back, this is where you start.”
You shake your head, but he’s already guiding you down, the tip pressing against your slick entrance.
“This is the game, sweetheart.” His mouth brushes your jaw, his grin audible in the dark. “You want to be free? Then don’t lose control.”
And before you even had a second thought, not bothering to ease you into it, before he’s thrusting into you, stealing the air from your lungs.
Shittt. The feeling is almost painful.
Your face screws up, discomfort and pleasure tangled together as your head drops onto his shoulder.
His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer with every brutal snap of his hips. Each breath leaves you ragged; every movement drags another noise from him, low and hungry in your ear.
You try to pull away, but he only follows—relentless, needy. “I need this,” he breathes, the words breaking apart on a moan. “Need to feel you, to mark you, to make you mine.” Every phrase lands like a shackle.
Despite his constant objectification, there's a twisted sincerity in his words. He loves every inch of you, a twisted worship that’s almost tender.
He imagines you as his trophy wife — a prize to be displayed and cherished.
“Your pussy belongs on a pedestal,” he murmurs, sucking your neck reverently, deranged.
Wet sounds fill the cabin; hips piston even faster now, your ass jiggles with each thrust. The limo rocks with the rhythm. You choke on a gasp, shame curling tight as your body betrays you.
The partition rattles, glass trembling with each thrust.
Tears blur your mascara. Your gummy walls clench around him, desperate for release—and then he stops.
The abrupt cessation leaves you on edge, the withdrawal a painful numbness that’s almost worse than the pleasure itself.
He chuckles, “Ah, ah, ah. Remember the deal, sweetheart,” Aventurine says, low and cruel.
You glare, humiliated, but he only strokes you again, slow and taunting. “Let’s see how long you last,” voice velvet over iron.
He began to move again, thrusting slowly, balls tightening, each one deliberate and punishing. “Brats don't get paid in pleasure,” he taunts, his words a reminder of the twisted rules of this game.
You're trapped, caught between your disgust and your body's undeniable response to him.
"Come on," he whispers, his voice a tempting devil in your ear. "You don't want to cum, do you? You don't want to lose." His words drip with mockery, each syllable twisting the knife of your desire.
“Asshole.”
The word cuts through the heat like glass, but it only makes him laugh. The limo rocks with every movement, the air thick with sweat and champagne. His pace turns merciless, every thrust a demand for surrender.
The slick sounds of his balls snapping against your ass fill the confined space, each sound mocking your attempts at control.
Aventurine's grip bruises the fat of your ass and hips; it wouldn’t scar, but it would certainly add to the inevitable bruising. "Hnngh! AH–FAHHH—" You cry out, the noise breaking in your throat.
He pants against your ear, voice raw, frayed at the edges. “You’re doing so well,” he moans, the praise a weapon. “Your debt’s going down fast, dear.”
Tears blur your vision, mixing with the mascara that streams down your cheeks. Your raw walls surge around him, your body clawing for release.
It was honestly pathetic how quickly you were already about to come undone again. You clench your teeth, tears spilling freely.
His rhythm punishing—measured, precise, each motion designed to drag you closer. “Cum for me,” he pants. “Let go, and I’ll let you go. If you resist…” his smirk ghosts your cheek, “I’ll make this last forever.”
Just as you reach the precipice, he withdraws, leaving you empty and gasping. The denial is cruel, a harsh punishment that leaves you trembling with frustration.
Shit, how is this man still not close to cumming.
Your body trembles, traitorous and overstimulated. “No,” you gasp, the word barely audible. “You’re delusional. I’ll never be yours.”
“Oh, but you are,” he says, greed twisting his tone into something worshipful. “You’re already halfway there.” His hand slides up your throat, holding you still. “I love you so much,” he whispers—half confession, half curse.
“Let me prove it.”
⭐︎
The world narrows to breath and sound — the wet slap of skin, the creak of leather, the dizzy rush in your ears.
Time dissolves into motion and breath. The limo shakes under you both; the sound of skin, leather, and glass blends into a nauseous rhythm.
Minutes—or maybe hours—later, the driver stands at a polite distance, pretending not to hear.
By the fourth round, he’s not even pretending this is about debt anymore. His thrusts turn ragged, his dick bullying itself in your cunt deeper, his voice breaking with every exhale.
“Mine,” he growls into your throat, again and again, until the word doesn’t sound human anymore. You can barely breathe; your nails rake his back, leaving thin red crescents that only make him move harder. “Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “You wanna leave? Then earn it.”
By the sixth round, sweat slicks your skin, thighs trembling from how many times he’s dragged you to the edge and yanked you back. Drowning in his cologne, you’re folded beneath him, hips caught in his merciless rhythm. “Don’t you dare cum,” he growls, fisting your hair as he drives into you. “You wanna come? Then beg for it. Tell me what you’re worth.”
You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Mmf fuck, y-you—”
“Wrong answer.”
His hips still suddenly, cock throbbing deep inside you, and the denial hits like a shockwave — so close, so damn close, and yet gone.
“Patience is profitable, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling out just enough to make you sob. “Don’t make me teach you the hard way.”
By the ninth round there’s no rhythm left — just pure obsession. He’s lost his composure completely, voice cracking with every thrust, breath ragged.
“You think ah! I don’t know what this does to you?” he hisses. “You’re shaking like you’ll die if you don't cum.”
His gloved hand slides between your thighs, thumb finding your clit, rubbing lazy circles that make your body twitch.
You cry out, hips jerking helplessly, but he stops again right before release — cruel, grinning, his teeth dragging along your neck. “Not yet,” he whispers. “You’ll come when I say. You’ll come when I let you.”
By the eleventh round, Aventurine laughs between delirious, ragged moans. “Eleven rounds, eleven million off your debt. You should be proud.”
Holding your legs up, he deliberately plows himself harder against your cervix; your body seizes up, releasing tension into pure white energy that you swore was pumping through your every vein as an extension of your whimpering pussy.
Oh, he’s just in heaven - letting out a deep, guttural moan in your ear, “Every part of you has value. Every moan, every tear—I’ll collect them all.”
The seconds tick by like hours, your mind spiraling into chaos.
Too much, too much, TOO FUCKING MUCH.
Your thoughts blur, consumed by the relentless assault on your senses.
His mercy is nonexistent; each thrust a ruthless drive to claim every part of you.
Your body folds against his chest, hips rolling in feverish desperation. The limo smells like sweat and champagne; gold light flickers off the tinted glass, catching on every slick line of where your bodies meet.
The mess between you two spreads across the leather, glistening with each motion, every thrust painting the car in sin. You clutch the seat for balance, trembling, every breath another gamble between pleasure and collapse.
"O-only– hah, one way to end this, pretty girl~ Admit you are gold, m-mine to hoard forever,” he taunts, tracing a finger up your tummy, pressing down hard where he’s plowing deep, your body jolts. "No shame in confessing."
For a second, you almost laugh — a hollow, broken sound swallowed by the rhythm of his thrusts.
Admit it? As if this was ever about truth.
This was a game rigged from the start, a house built to make you lose.
You told yourself you’d never fold, never let him turn your body into another one of his winnings.
But your thoughts are unraveling, slipping through your fingers like the slick heat between your thighs.
Each drag of his hips steals another piece of defiance, another breath, another lie that you’re still in control. The line between pleasure and punishment blurs until it’s just white noise in your head.
You hate him.
You hate that it feels this good.
And Aeons, you hate that he’s still holding out — not a tremor, not a stutter, like even his own release is just another bet he refuses to lose.
There’s no escaping this. The inevitable consumes you, your resistance collapsing in on itself.
You needed to cum. “I… I admit it,” you whimper, the words pathetic and catching in your throat.
Aventurine freezes — just long enough to let the admission sink in.
Then his control shatters — he drives himself deep, chasing the high he’s been denying for too long.
All you can do is cling to him, nails digging, every breath a shudder of defeat.
He was holding back. The bastard was edging himself just to make sure you broke first.
Body locking around his shaft as the heat hits — a whiteout that swallows thought, sound, everything. The pleasure mingling with shame and despair.
The limo rocks with it, the glass fogging, skin slapping, hearts pounding in sync like the roll of dice that finally lands snake eyes.
Tears prick at his eyes, voice wrecked and reverent all at once, spilling inside you at the exact moment your body convulses around him.
Thick ropes of release paint your walls, wet warmth spilling over his length and balls.
A perfect tie — except you both know what it really means.
He won.
You lay limp against him, both breathless, your bodies entwined in the car seats. The weight of defeat presses down on you as heavily as the arm he’s draped over your waist.
Only the engine’s hum and the faint clink of glasses break the silence.
He grunted, head leaning on yours, nuzzling into your hair, “First and foremost, bunny,” he drawled, smug and tender all at once, “you belong to me. Every part of you—your body, your time, your loyalty—it’s all mine now.”
You can feel the smile in his voice as he strokes your hip, casual, possessive. “You’ll live in my estate, under my roof. No more running, no more games. You’ll be my little treasure, kept safe where no one can touch you.”
He exhales, content. “And your debt?” he chuckles cruelly. “Consider it restructured. You’ll pay it off in full… as my wife.”
Your breath catches, horror sinking in. He cups your chin, forces your eyes to meet his.
The gleam in his gaze is victory wrapped in affection. “You lost the gamble,” his voice like silk over a blade. “But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
He kisses your temple gently, then tightens his hold, voice low and final.
“After all,” he murmurs, smiling like he’s granting mercy,
“A jewel doesn’t choose its owner — it only shines for the one who bought it.”
𝐚/𝐧: its givingggg the devil wears prada meets pretty women. yea things are only getting crazier from here, we heading into the psychological nightmare sloth - jing yuan next!
reblogs and comments helps you escape this designer hell ★
Smut writers i am begging you to stop stealing queer terms for your straight smut. She's not a pillow princess if she's straight that's a queer term, he's not a twink if he's a straight bottom, that's a queer term. As a queer person, it's really disheartening to see queer only terms being used with straight couples, it's just getting really tiring Seeing queer lingo being stolen. And before anybody says yes, it is actually that deep 🥀
cw: stalking, obviously. body type inclusive. afab! gn! reader. panty stealing. HEAVY dubcon. non established relationship. non consensual filming. hidden cameras. just gross depraved sunday.
the second sunday laid his eyes on you, he just couldn’t help but make you the object of his obsessions. he’s a smart man, it wouldn’t be hard for him to track every camera that caught your movements in public. he just needs to make sure you’re safe, that’s all! after all, it’s not like he’s found a way to steal your panties and jerks off into them every day!
as soon as he was alone and his bedroom door was locked, he opened his phone again. wallpaper was a picture of you, of course. he was already hard just thinking about you, thinking about all the hidden cameras he had in your home, hidden in plushies that were gifted anonymously and walls, in cupboards, on shelves that he used to watch your every move. sunday always kept a folded pair of your panties in his pocket, sniffing them when he got stressed or worried. if only he could just bury his face between your thighs to inhale your natural scent whenever he got stressed.
and that’s not even mentioning the way he jerks off into your used panties, watching his cum stain the fabric and wishing it was on you, wishing he was just rubbing his dick against your dripping pussy until he cums all over your pussy and lower stomach…
cw: afab! gn! reader (no gender mentioned), body type inclusive. blood kink. pathetic choso. periods & cramps. BREEDING. i have a headache rn so idk how comprehensive this is gonna be.
“cho, i’m on my period, we can’t…” were the only words that left your mouth, barely above a whisper. he whimpered ever so softly, pleading with those puppy eyes to just please let him do it, just let him fuck you. please?
of course he would have stopped begging if you put your foot down and said no, but you relenting and letting him made his eyes absolutely light up. your pussy just felt so warm, so slick with blood that he had to put real effort into not cumming immediately. seeing his dick covered with your warm blood was just too much, scratching this deep-seated itch in his brain that choso didn’t even know he had.
he just buried his head in the crook of your neck, eyes screwed shut while he whimpered and moaned that it just felt so fucking good please just hold on a little longer baby please!
choso really didn’t last long at all, letting out a little cry when he came. but god if the sight of his cum mixed with your blood dripping out of your pussy didn’t make him so hard again he just had to go for another round.
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