No thoughts just price knowing damn well secretary!reader has a thing for him...
He doesn't intend to act on it, despite how tempting the idea is. No, a captain sleeping with his much younger secretary is a surefire way to cause trouble price is sure laswell won't be willing to cover up.
But...he still indulges, just a bit, in teasing you.
"Excuse me, kid," you jolt as a sudden shadow is cast over your desk chair, beefy arms coming around to bracket your head. Price is leaning over your chair, hands braced on your desk, to use your computer "forgot to edit some stuff, I'll be just a moment."
You swear you can feel his body heat even with the backrest separating you. His biceps honest to god squish around your head when price leans in further to type into his keyboard. "I trust you won't peak, right?"
The fact price is currently typing in his extremely sensitive password right in front of you hardly registers because he chooses that exact moment to rest his chin on your head.
Time goes a bit fuzzy, all your focus on your captains body around you. The way he takes up space, fills out your once roomy desk with his presence. The fact he's your literal boss and twice your age– You really hope he hasn't noticed the way you rub your thighs together as he sighs in annoyance, rough and low, over some email he's reading.
Finally, after....you're not sure how long, price steps away. He ruffles your hair, his scent still lingering for a moment, "thanks, kid. I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow with those slides, right?"
Price takes one last moment to enjoy your flustered expression before he turns to leave, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he does so.
getting fucked to sleep by toji would be so nice i think. you’ve come once at least probably twice by the time your eyes start fluttering shut and he’s slowed down to a dirty grind that feels sooo good but is also rocking you gently in a way that makes you even sleepier. you don’t even realize that you’re actually falling asleep until you wake up the next morning clean and tucked in
i'm just imagining after this that kirishima is going home to tell denki, like—
"what is that? is that like a sex thing?"
"okay, okay," kaminari shakes his head and holds both his arms out, like they need to stop what they're doing until it's figured out. "what exactly was said?"
kirishima frowns, thinking. "it was like, 'after everyone leaves, we can play princess in a castle and you can be my knight in shining armor', or something. does that sound like a sex thing to you?"
and denki is silent for a good minute, considering, and then he's laughing and running a hand over his face, exasperated. "dude, you should'a canceled dnd."
oh my god, fine, i didn't go to bed because 🥺 what about nerd kirishima 🥺
like it's sero's fault that you even meet him, because he keeps flinging shit at you across your shared desk, and you get into this stupid war with office supplies that turns VIOLENT, until one of you — him, for sure — gets their foot caught in the web of wires under the table and yanks them all out, causing both your computer screens to go dark.
"you idiot, you're gonna get us fired!"
and he's like, "chill, chill, chill, i can fix this."
and his idea of "fixing it" is calling the company's support desk and asking for his buddy kirishima to come down to your department because he's got something cool to show him. and the "something cool" is the absolute disaster of dusty, unplugged cables that are hanging loose on the floor.
the first thing you notice about him — because how couldn't you — is how big he is ????? this little dweeb from support, who is actually not little at all. six foot something, with a white button-up that's clearly too tight on him, his red hair pulled back into a bun, and some STUPID. LITTLE. GLASSES. WAAAAAHHH.
and he gets on his knees — slacks straining over his thighs — to look under your desk to fix this mess, and he keeps having to readjust his STUPID. GLASSES. and you're just sitting perched on the edge 😌 watching him 😌
you ask him, "want me to hold that for you??" and he SMACKS his head into the underside of your desk, hissing out a little "ow, shit!" before rearing back to look up at you, a lil wide-eyed, pink-cheeked !!!
very quickly, his eyes cut to where your legs are crossed in your skirt, right by his head, before he's asking, "sorry, what?"
and he's just so stinking AKFHFUSLALHDLALA that you nod to his shirt pocket where he's got his phone, the flashlight on, struggling to see under the desk. "i said, do you want me to hold that for you?"
"oh, no, no!" kirishima is quick to look away, down to his wide, now-dusty hands. "that's—no, i don't want you to have to do that! thanks, though!"
"you should," sero pipes up, sitting in the chair at his desk, useless. and he's probably got, like, twizzlers or something from the vending machine, chewing on them as he grins at kirishima. "should get down on your knees and—"
"dude!" kirishima grits, neck bobbing as he swallows. and now even his ears are pink, so you can't help but to ask—
"you don't want me to help you?"
and he's like, stressed !!! like, "oh, no, no, that's not what i meant! if you wanna get down here, then i'd be glad—or, y'know, if you—"
but the more he keeps talking, the more nervous you can see him getting, and the more your smile stretches until he's just ducking back under the desk before you can tell that he's starting to sweat akfjeisjdjalndhak
someone should put me down because i think izu n kats would lowkey bully each other while they both try to sink into your hole :( come on guys listen like “can feel you twitchin’ against me…gonna cum already kacchan?” n it’s izuku’s mean whisper against your ear from on top, heavy hips bucking into you so he can push his cock further inside.
n then katsuki’s underneath, thrusting up hard while he pants against your shoulder — lips pulled into a smug smirk, cock grinding against soaked walls and izu’s aching shaft. “can say the same for you, nerd. can’t tell if she’s just that fuckin’ wet or if it’s your dick droolin’ all over mine.”
as you moan and gasp between them katsuki grins and nips at your jaw, says "i know who's cummin' first," and you whine and weakly push at his face in faux annoyance.
izuku tuts, says "don't tease her, she's doing so well right now," but you n kats can't help but notice the way his pace picks up, thrusts getting deeper and meaner, bullying you both down into the mattress.
but even though they’re starting to assume their roles, play good cop and bad cop — izuku snakes a hand between your tangled mess of limbs to pinch at your swollen clit, draw his name nice and slow against it n even goes as far as to let his fingertips brush over katsuki’s shaft every time it pushes into you. “be nice kacchan, play fair…”
he warns the blonde, dragging his tongue over your pulse points, moving to attack katsuki’s hot mouth next.
n in the same vein, bakugou reaches round to tweak your nipples, pinching and pulling at the sensitive little nubs as they brush up against izuku’s — his deep chuckle vibrating through your back as their harsh, feverish thrusts pick up the pace n nearly split you open between them. “just followin’ your lead, izuku. she can take it.”
and they’re both teasing you, izuku hiding it beneath soft praises that come out a little condescending whilst katsuki pushes your limits, testing the latter’s patience — and your orgasm hangs in the balance, whoever gets it to happen first becoming a contest between the two.
Price genuinely chokes on his tea when he sees it, face red and heart thundering.
Because you, the young secretary the team works with, just sent price a photo he is sure you didn't mean to send.
What can only be described as a slutty pair of shorts, with mind-numbing white lace peaking over the waist, your hips and thighs the centre of the shot. Attached to the photo is a comment.
"I've been thinking of you, sir ;3"
For the longest moment, price doesn't do anything. Shocked, and a bit conflicted because certainly he wasn't meant to see this photo but...but the fat on your hips pinch in slightly and those shorts show more skin than he's ever seen–
Price clears his throat, adjusts his posture, and shakily types out "wrong number, kid?"
A pause, then a flurry of texts. All of them in capslock and extremely mortified. Price can practically taste the embarrassment through the screen.
Somewhere in some shitty apartment you are freaking out, price is sure, so he responds "don't worry about it, kid. Just check who you're texting next time..."
And that should be the end of it, right? Price should delete the photo and forget everything.
...he's been staring at it for twenty minutes now. With a defeated groan, he unzips his pants. No harm done if no one finds out he's jerking off to the secretary half his age...right?
Porn star nik makes me dizzy even thinking about. Giant hairy old timer with a fat cock and heavy balls and specialty in spoiling his partners with his hands and mouth before fucking them stupid. He smells like cigarettes and a cologne edging on intolerably potent. He has done it all and he’ll never get tired of breaking in the new kids.
He also has been trying to get price to come out of retirement for some threesome pieces for years as if their casual sex wasn’t enough.
The man was simply made for the industry.
he works you with his hand so expertly that you can't do anything but pant, open mouthed against his lips. squeaking and creaking on the breaths you manage to take with his fat fingers fucking into you, crooked to hit exactly where he wants. your body is rigid, locked in an electric position where you can't do anything but hold onto the man as he fucks his fingers into you hard and faster, the heel of his hand slapping your clit to jolt a little spark of pain pleasure through you alongside the throbbing thrum that twists like a coiled spring in the pit of your stomach.
and snaps all at once as your back arches and you scream for him, squirting your release over his hairy forearm as he smiles and coos down at you.
"making papochka so proud," nik hums, leaning down to kiss your throbbing clit as you pant against the sheets, body already sticky with sweat. "one more, on my mouth this time."
my mia!!! no pressure to answer, but out of bkdk x reader, who is more likely to finger her mouth and who is more likely to finger her .. you know..
ur so silly "no pressure to answer" in what universe would i not answer this amazing question???
i think that the answer depends on two things: context and intention.
٠࣪⭑ cw: 18+, dk x bk x fem!reader, fingers in orifices, spit, cum, choking etc., ummm orgasm control? uh idk i didn't proofread this literally at all, general smut contents LOL
katsuki likes to put his fingers in your mouth and pretend they’re his cock. he presses down on the center of your tongue, inching back until he nudges the back of your throat, watching with lidded, heavy eyes as you choke, just a little! he’ll hold them there for a second, swallowing thickly as you bob on them, up n down with hollow cheeks. when you swirl your tongue around the digits like they’re something else, he groans “such a good fuckin’ girl, my good girl.”
or, when he’s inside and buried to the hilt, heart pounding, trying not to squeeze his eyes shut because he’s so close to cumming but he doesn’t wanna miss single second of the pretty faces you’re making…. you beg him, “k-kiss, katsuki, please, something,” but he knows if he grants your request it’ll push him right over the edge and he needs to hold on because he’s too engrossed by you, too locked in to the feeling of your messy cunt squeezing him for all he’s worth. so he grunts, caresses the side of your face before slipping a thumb past your parted lips, giving your mouth something to do as he fucks you through.
izuku is.... less sweet about it. think that he likes his fingers in your mouth because he likes how it overwhelms you. he wants to be in control of each of your five senses, wants you to consume him and be consumed in return. he likes to fill your entire field of vision, faces nearly pressed together so his eyes are the only thing you see, likes it when you nose along his skin to smell the sweat and musk and sex; he likes when you shiver at his touch, leaning in for more, likes it when he whispers praises and filthy things in your ear and he can feel you clench around him. so why shouldn't he like to watch you taste him too?
he'll slide the pads of his fingers across your lips, heart soaring and smile beaming when they fall open without any further instruction. it's nice when you're feeling all soft and pliant and needy, makes you extra submissive to his whims. he isn't so much fingering as exploring. he wants to feel the ridges of your teeth as they scrape his flesh, wants to see how far back he can go before you start to gag. he wants to see drool on your chin.
when it comes to.... other places, i think it's actually just katsuki to be honest. that is, he's more likely to use his fingers for your pleasure. he uses them to coax you to a peak, prodding and molding until you soften like warm putty in his hands. and i think he likes his hands a lot, and knowing they can pull such delicious reactions from you fills him with a sense of pride.
if you asked him which he prefers, giving you head or giving you fingers, i think it's a toss up; you're addictive to him either way, and when he's down face to face with your glistening pussy, he could die a happy man.
the thing is, when he fingers you he gets to be closer to you. i think katsuki likes to study every minuscule change in your expression as he pumps his fingers gently, likes to hear the gasp that starts in your chest and works it's way up to your head when he adds another finger, satisfied smirk plastered on his already too smug face. you don't become the very best unless you do your due diligence, and he's gotta know the results of every single action he takes. he wants his body to surround yours, wrapping an arm around your torso to hold you up when you start to lose your strength, begging you to give him just one more. so what if that's what he's said already? it felt true then too...
whereas izuku... yeah idk. i think it doesn't matter to him. it's spur of the moment, it's whatever he feels like right then.
still, i think he likes giving you his tongue more than his fingers sometimes because it allows him to use his hands for other things, like teasing and groping at your flesh, or keeping your knees pressed nice and wide.
if you're short on time, or whatever, he'll slip his fingers inside and within a stunningly brief timeframe he's cooing as you clench and spasm around him while you cum, slick arousal dripping on to his wrist – he won't relent, won't give you a moment, already asking for another, another. fingering you is almost a show of skill, like he's proving how well he knows all the little things that get you there.
when he settles his head between your legs though, he gets nice and comfortable, eats like a man starved, and adding a few fingers just adds to the experience, makes it messier. i think he eats your pussy for himself just as much as for you, if not more. he isn't coaxing orgasms out of you, he's taking them.
some food for thought: you're straddling katsuki's lap, facing him with your knees extended so he can play with your pretty pussy. your stance is forced wide by his body beneath you. izuku is wrapped around him from behind, one of his hands stroking the blonde's length with a torturously slow pace as the other hand grips your cheeks and keeps you upright and forward facing.
"stay still," he murmurs, and you know he's talking to both of you by the way katsuki's breathing grows heavier but his body stills, save for the way his fingers are still knuckle deep inside your warmth, stroking lovingly against your walls. izuku has his head propped on katsuki's shoulder so he can watch – all three of your faces are so close, sharing the same air and swallowing each other's gasps.
when he kisses a line up katsuki's neck and you feel him shudder, it makes you crave a kiss, too. you lean forward, all needy and selfish, and izuku slides two fingers in your mouth to stop you and tide you over.
"our baby sure is greedy, isn't she kacchan?"
katsuki's eyes are low as they slide across your face, which is adorned with an almost comically lewd expression, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you lap at izuku's fingers. "doesn't know how to wait her turn."
"no, she doesn't," izuku hums in agreement, sliding his fingers even deeper, and they both chuckle when you moan pathetically.
"fuck, she's gushin' all over me," katsuki pants, pressing his thumb to your clit because he knows it's going to make you cry out. when it does, he glances to izuku and smirks before looking back at you. "you like our fingers in both your holes, huh?"
"of course she does," izuku quips, "such a messy, needy girl." his eyes are locked on your face now; your cheeks burn at their comments. you go to lean back again, but izuku says, "hold her, please."
katsuki's hand comes up to palm the back of your head, keeping you in place so izuku can watch you gurgle around his impossibly thick fingers.
"bein' so good and taking us so well," katsuki praises. his words send a shiver down your spine and make you clench around him, your mind blank with the heightened pleasure and attention you feel.
izuku locks eyes with you and you can see, he has his stern face on so he's about to give an instruction. "you like kacchan's fingers?" he asks, and you do your best to nod. the coil in your gut is taught, ready to snap, but you know what happens when you cum without permission.
he smiles, deciding to be generous and give you what you want, then says, "alright baby, prove it. cum all over them for us."
Wish I had that Nik zest when it came to hookups. Instead I'm Simon if he didn't have the boys with him.
It takes a special kind of man to saddle up next to someone at the bar and forego ordering a drink in favor of propositioning them. Popping open the top few buttons on his shirt and laying a thick hairy arm on the liquor-stained wood to lean close and murmur about the nice leather seats in his car, how pretty you'd look with you face pressed against them, drool pooling under your parted lips. Doesn't that sound lovely? Nice big cock filling you full to bursting, punching that soft little womb of yours until you're shaking and sobbing? No? Oh, he's being rude? How about for 400 bucks?
Mmhm, yeah he thought that might do the trick.
The mythology of your friend group expands to include a rich russian dude who paid for your drinks all night, at the expense of getting eating out in the back of a luxury vehicle.
Nikolai first strikes up a conversation with you while you're sitting alone in a bar. Your friends have made their way outside for a smoke, and you—ever so thoughtful—volunteered to stay back to keep an eye on the table's drinks and purses. You're so polite—nodding along when he speaks, interjecting with meaningful questions and letting out delightful snorts when he cracks wise.
He realizes just how pliant you are once he's fucking you with your face pressed into the pillow. There's no pesky squirming, just sweet muffled moans and the way your back arches obediently when he presses on it.
After a while it dawns on him just how long your air-supply has been suppressed by the pillow and he's quick to reach down and turn your head to the side. A kind of morbid fascination fills him when he watches you reflexively gasp for the fresh oxygen. Christ, do you not have any self-preservation instinct? What would have happened if he hadn't intervened? Would you have passed out beneath him without warning or complaint?
Nikolai recognizes that someone like you isn't to be taken for granted. Others would take advantage of your desire to please, hurting you in the process. He couldn't have that now, could he? You deserve a firm, loving hand and he deserves a devoted pet. It's like he has no choice but to keep you.
Now whenever Nik has to endure stories of his friend's failed flings he just laughs and shakes his head. "Couldn't be me, my любимая is so sweet for me. Isn't that right, моя умница?"
Hunting is a young man's game, it's why Nikolai prefers fishing. Silent and meditative, waiting for the fish to find his bait before he reals them in. He likes you the same way: gasping for air, eyes glassy, floundering against his grip with no hope of escape. A single well placed slice behind the gills. It's so much more... humane.
You're not suited for self-preservation, not in this world at least. You wander about with legs that shake like a fawn's, finding your place in the world under someone else's protection, a fish out of water. It's his fault really, he knows there's no point in something as pretty as you having to breed decisions behind those wet eyes, knows that soft things like you live better as treasured pets. There was a time when you wouldn't have had anything to do with your body but sit and look pretty, softened and plied with food and drink by hands gifted the divine right of kings. This modern world is too much for something like you.
It's lucky you fell into Nik's hands when you did, lucky that he recognized you for what you were before anyone else did. He needs nothing more than to feel you wrap your arms around his shoulders, than to feel the weight of you settle in his lap, than to listen to the soft breaths you take as you fall asleep, safe and sound, in the circle of his influence.
Quite a smart thing, finding him the same way butterflies find a crocodile's tears. Symbiotic. He could no more survive without you, than you could survive without him. You even out his edges, scrape away the filth that he tracks through life. You pull his head to your breast and coo your own praises with a slurred tongue. You don't flinch when he sinks his teeth into you, when he wraps his hand around your throat and watches your lashes flutter.
There is no reassurance like the glaze of your eyes, the part of your lips, the clutch of your sweet cunt, when he presses the sharp edge of a posture collar to your jaw. It could be anything, a knife, a gun, rusted metal or freshly oiled pistons, you'd trust him all the same, allow the treatment all the same. He doesn't need you to prove yourself to him, no grand gesture could echo as proudly as the way you suffocate yourself in pillows.
You poor thing. Need Nikolai to give you the air in your lungs too, huh? He's already taken care of everything else, so why not one more thing? Leave brains and ambition for the mammals, little fish.
Uuuuhhhh the porn that princess and nik make…. Uuhhhh Describe it
not fancy and yet decadent in a way that feels sinful even watching.
there's a reason nik likes sweet things like you, you give yourself to him completely, let him play how he likes, and relish in the reward of it.
he rubs your pretty cunt against his thigh, hands on your hips to make sure you don't stutter in the rhythm he's set, while he kisses you. lets you come down from the high of squirting with something slow and exploring. he likes the way your wetness slicks the thick dark hair of his thigh down, the way you sigh and moan against his lips, the way your hips twitch when he catches your clit just right. you hold his face so nicely, as if it were you keeping him in place. it's good for the camera, makes you look eager for more.
which nik supposes isn't entirely true, you're desperate for it.
"tell me what you like, milaya" nik purrs laying you down on the soft sheets. he never stops touching you, never stops seeking out your pleasure, hands wandering over your breasts, fingers rubbing at your clit, mouth against your neck, teeth sinking into your thigh. his callused hands make you shiver and stretch, languid in his bed, pampered like you deserve.
you're so beautifully responsive, you give him everything an old man could want, he gets greedy, fucks the fat length of his cock into you and asks,
"tell camera who you belong to."
your lip wobbles a little, eyes wet, he presses your legs higher, fucks you deeper, forces the word out of you. damn the consequences, he wants to hear his name on your swollen lips.
I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader
rating: explicit (18+ mdni)
word count: 3.4k
summary: you’re always there, waiting on him
warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff
notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.
You don’t hear him come in.
Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.
Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home.
His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else.
There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry.
Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar.
You’re glad you’d left that life behind.
Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass.
“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks.
His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead.
“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.”
You pour him a glass regardless.
He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh.
“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him.
“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down.
His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home.
You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them.
For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood.
You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition.
Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.
You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres.
When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.
I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.
“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace.
“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces.
You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for.
“They’re alright.”
You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm.
Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up.
He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head.
You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer.
He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause:
“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost.
“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”
You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment.
Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral.
“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.
“Need you.” He says.
The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway.
“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you.
His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs.
You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles.
He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything.
He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back – was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign.
You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any.
“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips.
His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?”
It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him.
“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up.
“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time.
Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain.
His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth.
“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base.
He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head.
A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,
“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”
With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring.
You don’t have to try as hard to believe it.
Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster.
Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you.
A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in.
“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair.
When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust.
“Go ahead.” You coax.
He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement.
Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain.
Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.
He guides you to straddle his thigh.
You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact.
Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you.
“A-Ah! Simon, y–”
“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.”
Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood.
You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing.
Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you.
“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple.
He slowly removes the mask.
The balaclava follows soon after.
Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow.
And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid.
He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man.
“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him.
You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.
since i've only written for star wars previously, if you're on this list and want to be moved to a character specific one instead, i've added the option on my form!
warnings » nsfw. minors dni. squirting, overstimulation, light dacryphilia.
he makes you squirt once and thinks it’s a new quirk. eyes darkening when he realizes he did that and all that’s clouding his mind is doing it again. wanting nothing more than showing off this new quirk by making you gush over and over again until no more comes out. it’s not like he can help it, he’s just so impressed with himself. and this pretty sight of a mess that’s either on his fingers, his tongue, or his cock— drives him feral. never once doubting his abilities to make you cum. also absolutely in love with the sight of your expressions through it, tears flooding your cheeks and it makes him coo. he’s still very loving through it, but his pride doesn’t let him stop.
“woah, babe— do you think you could do that again?”
he’s very confident in his ability to make you squirt and is not surprised in the slightest when he finds himself being able to do it to the point you’re a whining mess. in fact, he’d want to do it as much as he can to feed into his already inflated ego. he’s so mean too. you’d be clutching anywhere on his skin and leaving scratches to project how overstimulated you are and that you can’t possibly come undone again. and he’s so cocky with it. because he knows he can make you do it over and over each time you beg him and say that you can’t possibly cum again. it’s as if making you cum as many times as possible is a bonus challenge. he’s a menace because he knows just how good his cock, fingers, or be it tongue can do work and make you a mess. as if it's easy game for him.
“let’s see how many times i can make you do it before i get bored.”
pussy inspection with kita while you're being edged for a week for bratting too much and he wants to make sure you're not making yourself come without his permission... you're laying on your back, he's either making you keep your hands behind your knees to keep them spread or maybe even cuffing your hands behind your knees so that you can't hide from his eyes... him lazily playing with your pussy and even slapping it sometimes just to tease you... maybe even lightly scolding you for being so needy and reminding you that you could've come multiple times already had you not bratted...
- 🌕
you accidentally have an orgasm—albeit, a ruined one—from a particularly full-handed pussy slap, and there's the barest hint of a smile that tips at the edges of kita's lips as he shakes his head and watches the way your scrunch your eyes shut and shudder in frustration.
Ghoul, you can't just drop Hush on me and then not expect me to not react. Soap might not appreciate him but I do. *waves bag of treats to entice him* Please Hush, I'd be so much better than Soap
it is absolute hell on earth watching the way hush pins you against the mattress, big hand holding your skull firm as his thumb brushes over your cheek. he drags his tongue over his teeth, rolling his hips into each thrust, as steady as a machine, precise and measured and driving you absolutely mad.
if you'd watched his videos (and let's face it, who in this line of work hasn't?) you'd know he likes the people fortunate enough to be under him to beg. strange, because he'd given you explicit instructions not to before Soap started the cameras rolling. you think he might have been fucking with you, no you know he was fucking with you. there's no other reason for him to be drawing his out the way he is if not to make you sob and plead for him to fuck you harder.
otherwise its just cruelty that makes him slow, makes you feel every thick inch of his cock as it sinks in and in and into you, burning at the edges of your hole as he stretches you out and pushes deep into the pit of your stomach oh god he is in your fucking stomach.
"please," you whine, pushing your hips back as he slides his hand off your head to slip between your legs, "please, god-" you make a choked noise as he rubs his fingers against you, the first time he's touch something other than your ass since you've started.
"there it is," hush hums, "knew you were holding out on me."
you let out a puff of breath, a murmured, "you said-" that he cuts off with a low promising chuckle. hush's pace changes, his thrusts fast and hard; you claw at the sheets, noise catching your throat where he fucks you breathless.
"aw, you thought I was serious, that's cute." you garble out a moan and get a louder laugh, "Nah baby, scream for me, let 'im hear you beg."
okay vampire Kenma that you just ... aren't afraid of. you should be -he's a vampire, for God's sake- but everything about him is so lowkey, so nonchalant. he lacks the grandeur of the other vampires, doesn't have their builds or bite....
which is why you ask to touch his teeth. he simply indulges your wants; opening his mouth and letting you crawl into his lap. His gums are pink, his breath is metallic.
"They're sharp." You run your teeth across his front teeth and almost slice open your skin. His fangs are long, sharp, coming to a needle-like tip. You prod it slightly, testing the give. They seem so fragile, so easy to shatter, but you know it could cut through your flesh without any resistance-
A droplet hits your pant leg. You pull away enough to look at it and realizenits drool, dripping down from kenma's maw. When you look back up, you're met with slitted irises, black against deep, deep, deep red-
Fear trills up your gut.
"Take your fingers out of my mouth," he whispers, a warning.
this snippet snapped me back into writing AND into being a kenma stan so im adding to this bc op said it'd be okay (go back and read their extension of this though its much different so so good)
2.5k of vampire!kenma smut for the new year ig🕺🏽
The feeling isn't new. Not at all; the feeling of pure, hot fear in your gut. But it's new around Kenma. Something in the air changes as you stare at each other, your own eyes flickering between his unblinking gaze and your thumb in his mouth. Aside from the curl of fear in your tummy, theres something deeper. Lower. A lick of something else, dull that you feel even in the back of your mind that makes you tense after a moment. A gasp gets caught in your throat, your thighs squeeze together on either side of his narrow hips, and your posture becomes rigid in a slight jump that presses your thumb riiiight into the sure needle of his fang.
Before the pain even registers, his mouth closes tight over the bead of blood off the tip of your finger. The air is hot, the room is humid, and a bead of sweat builds at your hairline at the vaccum sealed wetness around your thumb instantly. The squeaky noise that comes out of you is consumed by the guttural purr that startles through Kenma and quakes through the both of you.
You recognize that dull lick as... pleasure.
Deep red eyes flutter shut as his nails dig into the meat of your hips and he suckles upon your digit with an urgency. Small, plump lips puckered almost cutely as he does so. So many emotions run through you that you don't even notice the subtle rocking you've begun in his lap. It's so minuscule it could almost be described as a tremble or even a twitch that presses the crotch of your jeans against the tight seam of his own.
He would never hurt you, of course, he couldn't. But.. this is a side of this man you've never seen before. It took you months to even catch on to him being a vampire because he's just so normal. No coffin, no hissing at the sunlight - even him bringing up his need to drink blood was completely calm, collected, and casual. His composure has never faltered like this.
He skims the point of his teeth atop the pad of your thumb. The dizzying pressure in between your thighs versus the minor blood loss makes your body start to feel light and tingly in his lap. When he pulls back, it feels like hours have gone by watching his pink lips wrapped around you taking what he wants for once, thinking about all the things his mouth has done gets you going even more. You blink rapidly to shake the visions of everywhere that mouth his touched you previously and just how dangerous it's always been before now. He's lapping lightly at where the blood arose as his own eyes fight to remain open to meet your own and they are so, so dark.
His hands don't move from your hips either as Kenma starts to meet your motions firmly, with more purpose than just a strong buck when the taste of your blood becomes too much. Your gasps and pants turn heavy as he speaks to you softly from his own ragged breaths around the very tip of your thumb. "....Sorry.. s-sorry, you're so good - t... tastes so good, what... the fuck ...?"
His words slur together and his brows furrow in confusion on why and how you're affecting him this much, hips pumping steadily against the hot seat of your pants. The two of you have been together for a few months and never has the thought of your blood gotten him this wired or out of character. Because Kenma has control... usually. You match his steady pace in favor of ignoring his inner turmoil for the time being, sharing breaths over a slick digit that seems glued to the plushness of his bottom lip as it shines in the low light of the living room. The living room. Of all places - with a game menu playing upbeat music behind you, this is where the two of you start finding things out about each other.
Neither of you are thinking clearly anymore is the type of rationing that leads you to press your thumb against his razor sharp teeth swiftly. This draws a deep moan from Kenma and hiss from yourself as you continue to smear the bead of blood and excess drool across his mouth as you dive in to crash your lips together. The action causes a shiver to race down Kenma's own spine as he surges forward to meet your lips hungrily.
The kiss stings and sings with passion as you wrap your arms around his neck tightly and tip yourself back to recline against the too small arm of the couch. The creak of the old springs is drowned out but the wet, whiny noises the two of you share between frantic kisses. You feel almost like prey beneath his lithe body, covered in your own blood and writhing to meet his quick thrusts against your core. Huffing and mumbling in between kisses, you realize how quickly you're starting to lose yourself over the taste of your immortal boyfriend covered in your own blood. There is something so absurdly attractive about it all that just makes your body sing.
Frotting like animals, you try to articulate against his fang filled mouth in between kisses. It comes out as less coherent than you would hope, just begging as you lace your fingers in his dyed hair and pull hard enough to separate your bloodied lips on a wet smack. "Kenma... please, m-more... I-...I need .."
One hard thrust, the tear of stitches in your jeans, and a growl that reverberates through him is what seizes your next breath and cuts your sentence off as he easily fights off your hold to kiss you again. If he was still alive, you're sure that his heart would beat out his chest to meet yours. You moan shakily as you come to realize that your pleasure is still laced with fear of the power that he possesses. The strength in his grip and the press of his much more sinister teeth against your mouth makes you so... wet. He paws at the button of your jeans as he continues to kiss you hard and clumsy, every lapped over cut on your lips is accompanied with a new one as his fangs glide through the supple skin there like butter. Your tongues press and slip against each other in the messiest kiss you've ever shared.
Kenma only pulls away to further shred through your jeans, giving you a break to breathe in the scent of the two of you like this: metallic, sweet, and earthy as you take in heaving breaths gazing at the sight he makes over you. The look of pure want the two of you share on this cramped couch is too much, deep red eyes locked against your own as he sees straight through you. His eyes are dark and wild, with your blood smeared across his chin he looks like a proper predator after all these months you've been together. He trembles lightly in restraint as his eyes flicker over you as well, something dormant inside of him screaming and pressing at the seams of his frame. Everything telling him to take, take, take before promptly flipping you over onto your stomach. The swift movement has you land with a grunt as the breath you were holding rushes out of you, face pressed uncomfortably against the cushions in a way you can't even pretend to care about as you anxiously await for him to touch you again.
This part isn't new to you in the slightest but the position? Primal and unheard of enough to make you gasp as he applies pressure to the back of your neck, the grip has his pointed nails pressed to the flesh just light enough to feel like a warning to stay put so he can take in the pretty picture you make. Jeans torn in messy halves, underwear sliced through and pushed to the side enough to expose your pussy, and tank top shoved high enough to be caught in the grip at your nape. It's overwhelming to feel this suffocated and numb after all he's done is kiss you.
A still moment passes between the two of you. Heavy breaths and shaking bodies as he takes in the sight of you from this angle, lightly rutting his clothed cock into the cleft of your ass. Helpless. Horny. You take a moment to revel in the cool feeling of his grip as his fully clothed stature follows to blanket over your back, keeping you still and pinned because it seems even in moments like this he cant stand to not be pressed against you.
His words comes out low and unsteady, big dark eyes fighting to stay open just to see you like this and commit to memory. His breath washes over the side of your face as fangs graze your ear, he speaks to you almost as if its a secret. "... You're not.. a great l-listener."
Theres no time to retort and not enough brain power to even muster up a response before your eyes roll back at the feel of Kenma spitting harshly at your entrance. The foreign sensation is followed by clawed fingers coated in drool and possibly dried remnants of your blood prodding against your opening and caressing your clit in a way that is truly toe-curling. It's quick and courteous how he curls two fingers into you just the way you like but it's clear in the shake of those fingers that he can't wait much longer either. You keen at the feeling, pressing back against his hold at your neck but it's already over too soon before he starts to spear his cock through you.
"Kenma!"
His thrusts are deep, grounding but slow like he's savoring the animalistic charged feeling in the air. They are less thrusts and more of a grind, a filthy roll of his hips on instinct and muscle memory alone. His hand on your hips pulls you back precisely so the tip of his cock drags over the gummy g-spot inside of you every time. The sensation is all too much, too powerful; you whine and squirm in immense pleasure , clawing at the couch every time he bottoms out in an effort to get away. "Come h-here... gimme..." His hand at the back of your neck reaches around and drags over your sloppy face and chin clumsily. Mixing the dried slick from your pussy and collecting the remnants of your bloody make out with frevor before taking those same fingers and stuffing them in his own mouth like he's missed the taste of you. He loves the taste of you. God, how he loves you.
He groans loudly, hips picking up in speed but the accuracy never faltering as he sucks at his fingers. Pressing slim clawed digits against his own tongue, the slobber dripping between the cracks and on to your pinned shaking body. He sits up with the same arm wrapped tight around your neck to get an angle that makes your knees slip on the cushions of the couch, the position feels impossible on your insides. Breath limited and your back in a deep arch, you try to meet his thrusts better with a grip on forearm that's pathetic in comparison to the grip Kenma has on you. Struggling to speak around his own fingers but desperate for the taste of you.
"I told you, god , I told you.. you are so - uh!"
The high whine is trapped in your throat in this position despite your mouth hanging open in pants as he ruins you. You can't even think about how he blames you for this when p the one who decided to be scary for once. "K-...kenma... bite me, bite me, b...," Your body shakes and thrums in the tatters of your own clothes, face messy, and tummy tightening after every thrust you cant meet.
His groans turn over into growls at your request around his own fingers, hips kicking up in inhuman speed as he bites down on his slippery knuckles and curls around your frame. These thrusts feel like punishment as every other one kisses your cervix, the contrast of his cold body against your own blazing hot frame pushing you further towards the edge. You damn near scream and writhe, digging your nails into his arm and the cushions as he continues to fuck you into them precisely. Tilting your head to bare your neck to the best of your ability at the exact moment you hit your climax, begging and babbling and shaking violently as you wait for a bite that won't come. Your full body jerks and your mouth falls open as your eyes flutter closed, you look absolutely debauched to Kenma even from this angle - half dressed and glistening in a position that he put you in as you take whatever he gives you.
He gives a lot, doesn't let up at all. Fucking you through your orgasm with a red eyed haze over it, the pacing and depth of his thrusts echo against the meat of your ass and mix with the slippery sounds of your completion. He stutters a few words out against your throat about you being hardheaded and annoying, teeth grazing up along the side but he doesn't sink them in. It's enough of a tease to match the wet, hot squelch of your pussy that tips him over the edge. Despite his immortality, for the briefest of moments Kenma feels like he's died just bit inside of you and he honestly couldn't be happier. The arm curled around your neck slacks as his own sticky fingers slip from his gaping maw and the strength in his marble thighs quivers the most minuscule amount.
When he finally cums hot and deep inside of you, his whole body stalls at the feel as you clench around him for one good measure taking everything he has to offer. He slumps against your pliant, sweaty frame nuzzling and licking at the base of your neck as he comes down from his high. It takes a few minutes of the two of you just pressed against each other, complacent in just being there no matter how sticky before he says something softly into your hairline.
König has big “guy who you went to high school with who was bullied but you befriended anyway because you felt bad but now it’s 10 years later and he’s two heads taller and 100lbs heavier and you’ve become the singular focal point of his life because of how you showed him affection when he was starved of it and now that he has the means and resources he’s come back for you” vibes
omg does he maybe show up to the high school reunion just to see her again, even though he’s terrified to see everyone else… realizes how much he missed her when she beams as soon she spots him :( spends the whole night glued to her side and decides he’s got to find some way to keep her when she goes up on her very tippy toes to try and hug him and she still can’t properly do it :(
maybe he spent a year or something abroad in high school because of bullying back home, but it just got worse when he moved to school (location unimportant, just so that there's a reason he and you were split up). he's always had fond memories of the girl at that school who sat with him at lunch and stood up to some of the other kids who tried to make his life hell. remembers you as this angel-like figure in his head, maybe you were even a bit taller than him before he had his growth spurt, so he just remembers you this glowing guardian-like presence in his life.
cut to ten years later, and you're down on your luck for whatever reason. things just haven't been working out for you, so you pack up and move to a new country, and somehow your paths cross again. könig's in the country on an assignment and he recognizes you nearly instantly, but you're different than he remembers. smaller. more delicate. he's grown like three times in size since high school and now instead of looking to you for support and comfort, he thinks that maybe it's his turn to take care of his angel.
especially if he thinks you don't know any better, you're not taking care of yourself properly. not like he would; not like you deserve for everything you did for him. you're the reason he had the confidence to pursue his dreams, to enlist. you were there in his thoughts every single time he hit a plateau in his training, when he thought there was no way he could do more, get stronger, make a certain rank - and now he gets to use all of that to keep you happy and safe :) he can finally do for you what you did for him all those years ago :)) it's a shame you think things like 'autonomy' and 'independence' and 'self-sufficiency' are important because he disagrees. but you'll see it his way eventually.
