Minaa

Jeffrey woods wifey

[happy-mimin]

Hey- so my comms are open !!!

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[mortyvongola2-0]

Sacrificed

Pairing: God!Hasirama Senju x Reader

Genre: Oneshot, dirty smut

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: afab!reader, rough sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, oral sex female receiving, creampie, unprotected sex, aphrodisiacs, praise kink, hung Hashirama, overstimulation, cum marking, kind of tentacles, no refractory period, Yandere Hashirama, strong language

A/N: This one took a bit longer than intended, for multiple reasons but I'm glad to finally have it out. I definitely wasn't expecting it to be this much longer than Madara's version but this did have a bit more plot going for it. Not that the plot is really all that important. As far as their personalities go I feel like god Madara would fuck anyone who moves and Hashirama would be too nice to be that way so there had to be a bit more build up.

Another HUGE thank you to the incredible, wonderful, amazing, genius @therantingfangirl for helping me edit and refine this one and for being the bestest of best friends. I really love her, she's an incredible writer, and if you guys liked my Madara Sacrificed then you should check out her Madara mirror fic. Its awesome.

And a huge thank you to all of you for showing Sacrificed so much love! I only hope this one pleases you all just as much!

Without further ado, please enjoy Sacrificed (Forest)

Read it on AO3

It was hot that day, the sun boiling and bearing down on you like it intended to kill you. Heh, maybe the sun god is mad at me, you thought, a snicker leaving you at the thought. You didn’t believe in the gods, didn’t need to. And why would you? They hadn’t done anything worth believing in, after all. Your village in particular had an obsession with the god of the forests. He had one large statue in the village center, and another two that guard the entrance to the forest surrounding the village; most people placed their offerings before those specific statues.

You wondered why; it wasn’t like there were any fantastical stories about him that you had heard. As far as you were aware he hadn’t done anything to merit such reverence, though there was the legend of his rivalry with the god of sun, but you didn’t find that particularly interesting either. What did interest you was science, medicine, those sorts of things. The villagers often called you a quack, but they did it endearingly. Afterall, without you, there would be no one to tend to the wounded. The original clinician had retired as soon as he thought you were good enough to take over. And you were damn good.

Be it morning or night, you catered to anyone in need, only closing the clinic two days a week but still making exceptions for emergencies. On days where you closed the clinic you went into the forest and nearby mountain to gather herbs for medicine. You loved the forest and all it had to offer. If you could spend all of your time there, you would. You took a deep, relaxing breath in and released it with ease.

“Woah!” You fell, your hands and knees hitting the ground first. There was a mild sting, and you clicked your tongue in annoyance. After standing and brushing the dirt off, you turned to see what your foot had gotten caught on. It looked to be a root, a long one that came from the direction you knew to be a small lake. “The end of a root,” you muttered to yourself. It looked unique and thin, odd for the flora you knew to grow here. “Hmm,” you scratched at the side of your head as you contemplated what to do. “Well, no harm in checking, right? Maybe its something I can use.”

Following the roots trail, you noticed more roots, almost identical in size and color. They all seemed to be from the same plant. “This has got to be one big tree,” you muttered. You picked up your pace, running in your eagerness to sate your curiosity. “How have I not seen it before?”

The sound of the lake reached your ears and when you finally saw the clear waters you paused to catch your breath. As you attempted to refill your lungs, you glanced around for any odd-looking plants, big ones, but the only unusual thing you saw was a large bundle of those roots. Carefully, still a bit out of breath, you made your way over to said roots. “How does this happen?” You crouched down to try and get a look at it from all angles. It looked almost like a cocoon. Puzzled, you stood back up and placed your hands on your hips. “Should I cut some of it?”

You reached into your satchel and pulled out the hunting knife you had for cutting tough plants and in the rare instance of wild animal attacks. “Sorry, I’ll only cut a little,” you apologized to the plant as you knelt and began to cut out a small section of the roots. They were tough, taking quite a bit of effort to saw through, but you were finally able to break off a length that was satisfactory. It oozed a golden sap, almost the same consistency as blood. It was a bit off putting. You glanced back at the hole you had created only to be completely taken aback. “Is that a hand,” you exclaimed. You reached in and touched the tan hand; it was large and dwarfed yours, but it was cold. You gasped, “A dead body?”

Thankfully you were able to manipulate the hand enough to reach the wrist and feel for a pulse. Your heart pounded in your chest. Please be a pulse, please be a pulse, please, please, plea- there it was. A weak but still there thud against your fingers. “I’m going to get you out of there, just hold on.”

Letting go of the hand, you began to hack away at the roots, adrenaline fueling you. You were going to save them, you had to. Your role as a caregiver wouldn’t let you abandon this task. It took a lot out of you, and you were covered in the strange golden sap by the time you were done, but you had made a hole large enough to drag the man out. He was also covered in the golden sap, and it almost looked like it was leaking from the wounds he was covered in. His long black hair was matted and caked, his masculine face bruised, and his jaw misaligned. As you struggled to drag him out of the roots more and more injuries began to show themselves. “Shit,” you grunted with effort. You usually weren’t one to curse. “Shit, shit, shit!”

You felt a bit overwhelmed, definitely under prepared. You had some of herbs that you had collected earlier, your eyes looked back and forth for a vessel to use to mix the medicine and make a paste. “I’m sorry sir, I’m going to have to undress you. I hope you understand,” you told him. You began with his armor; it was unlike any armor you’d seen before. A warrior maybe? It was strong and well made. Great, some rich guy. After his armor was removed, albeit not intact, you looked around to try and get a better idea of his wounds, however that golden sap wasn’t giving you a clear idea.

Picking the knife back up you began to tear through his black shirt. His chest was in as bad shape as his face, but that golden sap had soaked through to his skin. You tore the left sleeve off your shirt and made sure he was in a comfortable position before quickly walking up to the lake and soaking the impromptu cloth. “I will save you,” you promised, more to yourself than anyone else.

As the sun began to set you were finally finished with his first aide treatment. You sat with your back leaned against a tree trunk and his head resting in your lap as the adrenaline finally wore off. With your eyes closed you sighed and carded your fingers through his hair, attempting to untangle the matts and twigs in it. “I’m sorry if this is a bit too intimate for you,” you whispered to the unconscious man. “But I have nothing better to do while we wait for the village’s watchmen to come and find us.”

His black tresses gave way to your fingers easily, and the action reminded you of how your mother used to comb her fingers through your own hair. You smiled softly and began to sing the same tune that she had taught you. The birds chirped and everything was peaceful for a moment, but as the sun went down the horizon you grew concerned about the dangers the forest had to offer at night. “You have such a lovely voice.”

You jolted in surprise and looked down at the man you’d just spent hours bringing from the brink of death. He shouldn’t be conscious yet, let alone smiling up at you so carefree. “You,” you began, hesitant. “How are you-“

“I’m a fast healer,” he cut you off, and even began to sit up. You panicked.

“No! Don’t sit up!”

“Why? I’m fine,” he said easily. He pulled off some of the bandages you had placed on his chest, the bandages were made from torn pieces of your dress. The man glanced down curiously at the goo that coated the cloth and brought it to his nose. “Mm, echinacea, excellent idea.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The cuts along his chest now just mere bruises and closed scars. “How is that possible?” He let out a laugh, lighthearted. He turned back to face you, his dark eyes full of life and mirth. Heat began to creep up from your neck to your ears. He was so handsome, even covered in dirt, golden sap, and half-assed bandages. His smile was arm and one of his big hands reached out and caressed your cheek gently. “What are you?”

“I’m Hashirama,” he responded softly. “And you?”

Before you could tell him your name, it was shouted. You turned to look in the direction of the voices, Hashirama’s hand still connected with your cheek. The watchmen, you thought. As you opened your mouth to respond to your fellow villagers, that warm hand moved to cover your mouth; you looked back at him, fright contorting your face. Using his other hand he placed a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to remain silent. “Wait until I leave, then you may go.”

Was he a rogue of some sort? You nodded your head; his smile was a bit more strained. “Don’t tell them you saw me.”

He removed his palm from your lips and stood to his full height, he offered a hand to help you up as well. Hashirama was tall and broad, much larger than you. As you stood you watched him warily and he gave a small wave. “Goodbye for now,” he said before jumping up, high up, and away. You were left stunned and confused.

A few weeks later found you back in the forest, humming along as you collected your weekly supply of herbs. Since that incident, you hadn’t seen hide nor tail of Hashirama. It was a shame really, despite his oddities and unexplained origins you found yourself rather attracted to his toned muscles and bright smile. Unconsciously, you smiled just thinking about him.

You had kept some of the cut ruts and golden sap for analyses but hadn’t found anything that would explain what you saw. The only thing you had discovered was that the golden sap had reactions that were identical to blood. It congealed over time but stayed liquid with the assistance of specific herbs. The similarities in consistency had been one of the first things you noticed. It both scared and intrigued you. You wondered what type of plants bled? Were there other trees that had the same golden sap? Maybe I should go back and- “Oh! It’s you again!”

“Ah!” You jumped, Hashirama’s deep voice startling you. He was squatting down in front of you, blinking at your startled face like he wasn’t the reason for it. “Hashirama,” you started softly. Had you been so focused on your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed him?

“You remembered my name,” he said excitedly.

“Of course I did. How many strange men do you think I meet in the woods?”

He placed a hand to his chin and acted like he was giving it some thought. “Maybe two?”

“No, only you,” you responded dryly.

“Ah,” he responded, a sultry smirk molding his full lips. His voice seemed a touch deeper as he said, “I’m honored.”

Your face felt hot, and you looked away from him and back to the plants in front of you. His looks are dangerous, you thought. “Who are you, really?”

“I told you, I’m Hashirama.”

“You’re not going to tell me anymore, are you?” You paused, giving him time to respond. When he didn’t you sighed and looked back at him warily. “Will you at least tell me if you’re some kind of criminal?”

“And if I am? Will you turn me in?” A tease.

“Yes,” you said back with a huff. “I could use the money.”

“Oh,” he muttered, his entire continence crumbling. His head was down between his knees, which had been brought up to his chest, even the air around him seemed to exude sadness. You stared at him for a few seconds before laughter began to bubble through you. He looks like a pouting kid! He sniffled and sunk further into his depressed position. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

“Sorry, sorry!” You giggled uncontrollably, one of your hands at your mouth while the other you placed on his tanned hand. “I won’t turn you in, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” With that he sprung back up, bright smile back; that only made you laugh harder.

Every week after that you’d continue your trips to the forest, and every time he’d find you. It became a routine, your time with him full of laughter and learning. Hashirama knew so much about plants and medicine, he told you things that you had never heard of, let alone thought to try. He told you what worked best for illness, what worked best for injury, herbs to strengthen constitution, and so much more. He was an untapped wealth of knowledge and you hung on his every word.

He seemed just as excited to see you as you did him every time the two of you met. He’d ask you mundane questions, like how you grew up and the things you liked. Hashirama seemed rather impressed when you told him about your position as the village clinician. He understood the weight your position as a woman carried, and it was almost inevitable that you’d develop feelings for him. And the more time you spent with him the deeper your feelings went.

You had invited Hashirama to stay in the village with you, many times, but he refused. It hurt a bit, though your head knew the difference your heart treated it like he was rejecting you. You had no idea how he felt about you, other than he liked to talk with you. He never gave any inclination about reciprocating your feelings and the longer you spent with him the more that stung. Should I give up? You thought. He’s just some wanted criminal anyway, right? I should just move on and marry someone from the village. But then you’d see him, his large smile causing crinkles under his eyes, his warm hands squeezing yours tightly as he led you excitedly to some new tree, and all your resolve to forget about him would crumble.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” you responded, not quite meeting his dark eyes. He was swimming in the lake. The man was trying to kill you, you were sure. His torso bare, the water making his momohiki cling to his lower body, his dark hair stuck to his face, neck, and back. Definitely trying to kill me. You gulped and began to look at some of the lake’s smooth stones. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Hm,” he tilted his head to the side, leaning on a rock close to the edge of the water. “If you’re willing to talk, I’ll listen.”

If only I could. Another sigh escaped you before you formed an idea. Maybe? “Well, lately I’ve had a few men try to court me.”

“Oh?”

“They’re not ideal, but I am passed marriageable age. I’m wondering if I should accept them or not.” Your heart pounded in your chest. Would he take the bait? You chanced a glance in his direction, but he was still smiling, it looked a bit smaller, a bit tighter, but other than that there was no difference. Your heart sunk. Right, you thought. How could I be so stupid.

Four weeks after that meeting, and things had begun to change in the village. There was a large increase in sick villagers visiting your clinic. You were so busy you hadn’t had the chance to see Hashirama since then. Many were beginning to show signs of malnutrition, especially the children. “Wasn’t our harvest good? What’s changed?”

“We haven’t been able to hunt in weeks, and our crops have all but died,” the village leader responded. You looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the god of the forests,” another elder suggested. “He’s angry with us, we must placate him immediately.”

“Shall we give him more offerings?” Another asked.

You clenched your fists. “Enough with the gods, we need to do something about this quickly.”

“We will give our food reserves to the children first,” the leader decided. “And if this continues the women will come next. If we continue to lack in supplies, I will contact other villages for help.”

But the food shortage continued, and you hardly had enough supplies to feed yourself, let alone your patients. You began to chew on appetite suppressing plants to push past the hunger. “Make way! We have wounded!”

You ran out of your clinic, toward the commotion. Four of the village’s best hunters lay incapacitated, carried toward you by their injured companions. “What happened?”

“It’s the forest,” one called, a look of terror on his face. “It attacked us as we tried to get in!”

The other villagers began to whisper, “If we can’t hunt then we’re doomed!”, “What have we done to offend the gods so?”, “What do we do now?”.

Shit, you thought, leaf hanging from your lips. What can we do?

Everything was starting to fall apart. You had gone to the forest entrance to see what the hunters were talking about, and just like they said the trees pushed their branches together to force you from getting in. You tried another not so public entrance and met the same resistance. One of the trees had even cut your shoulder. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You were low on supplies, low on food, and Hashirama was still in the forest as far as you knew. You couldn’t imagine he’d be better off. “Hashirama,” you called out into the trees. “Please be okay.”

When the situation seemed dire, the village leader ordered a meeting. With all in attendance, he claimed to have a solution to all the suffering. “We will offer our gracious deity a sacrifice,” he announced. “A sacrifice of flesh and blood. One of our own.”

Outrage began to spill from the villagers’ lips. How can we stoop so low? “Silence,” called an elder. “At dusk we will give our offering. This will bring everything back to how it should be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Please don’t choose my daughter, please not my daughter!”

“Can’t we just leave for another village?”

“You’re asking for too much!”

But the ones in charge weren’t listening to any of the back talk. The village leader’s eyes met yours, and a chill went down your spine. His gaze lingered a bit too long for your liking before he looked away. “Everyone go home and stay there, we will get the sacrifice when its time. While you wait, pray. That is all that can be done now.”

As soon as you got back to your home you began to pace. You had a sinking feeling that you were the one that was about to be sacrificed. But that would be ridiculous, you were the village’s only healer. Getting rid of you would bring far more harm than good. But your mind kept going back to that stare, to the way the village leader’s eyes held yours is if he was sorry, like you were some creature to be pitied. A swift knock at your door all but confirmed your suspicions, and when you opened the door, you felt like throwing up.

“We’re sorry dear,” said the leader’s wife. The two women beside her kept their heads down as if ashamed. “But we’ve come to prepare you for the sacrifice.”

“Shit,” came your breathless reply.

All three were the wives of the heads of the village, all three kind souls who had wanted nothing but the best for you growing up. Your heart pounded as they took their time in grooming you. They bathed you in warmed water, poured expensive oils onto your skin, combed your hair, and decorated it with gold decorations made to look like flowers, and painted your lips with red dyes. The clothing they dressed you in could hardly be called clothing. The material was expensive and white, but sheer. The top stopped just below your breasts and the bottoms were a skirt that showed much more than it covered. “No wrappings?” You asked, hoping against hope for some coverage. They shook their heads.

“Before we go dear, please, eat this.”

“But this is-“ Ginseng, and in this context it was hard not remember its aphrodisiacal qualities. The eldest woman just placed her hand on your shoulder, her face only displayed pity. You ate the ginseng without another word. It tasted different from normal ginseng, it could’ve been your hunger talking, but it tasted much, much, sweeter; like the sweetness would melt you from the inside. A band of gold was placed around your waist and sandals of a similar color were placed on your feet with care.

“Alright,” the eldest said, a dour look on her face. “That’s everything,” she paused and pressed her lips together. She approached you, leaned on her tip toes, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You felt like you wanted to cry. “Please, come back safely.”

The bitterness of betrayal settled on your tongue. Come back? You thought, the idea of it giving you mixed feelings. After being abandoned like this would I even want to come back?

Like a funeral procession, the village leader’s and their wives, were all silent with grave faces as they lead you to the main entrance to the forest. You looked up at the two statues, their faces eroded by time, and suddenly they felt a lot more foreboding. You didn’t believe in the gods, but you do know that something strange was going on in those woods. Would it even let you in this time?

As the trees seemed to part their branches to allow your entry, you began to form a plan. I’ll find Hashirama and we’ll run away, you nodded to yourself. Find Hashirama, run away, easy as that. It’ll be fine. You took a sharp breath in as you saw the state of the woods. It had been once been so bright, with animals and insects making constant noise, but at that moment all you heard was the wind rustling leaves. The flora looked so wilted, like they were on the brink of death. “Please, accept our humble offering,” the leader said. They all bowed, and you felt like you were on a precipice.

No matter what you did, your next step would change everything. If you ran back into the village, even if the villagers didn’t become upset with you, they were still doomed without food and medicine; if you stepped into the forest that you used to make you feel at ease, there was no telling what would happen. You squeezed your eyes shut; your heart felt like it was being split in two. The best choice is probably to just run away. But there he was again, his overly cheerful smile flashing through your mind, and a sigh left your lips as you made up your mind. “Always coming to your rescue,” you muttered, beginning to walk forward.

The path was different, the sky was dark, the trees had blocked the entrance behind you. Everything about this made your skin crawl. You had no idea what part of the forest you had been led to, but you could see the shadow of a manmade structure. As you approached, rain began to fall. It drizzled at first, gave you a minute to look at the odd building before you had to run inside due to a downpour.

It looked to be a forgotten temple of sorts. A large building covered in vines and weeds that were decaying with the rest of the woods. The walls and columns which you believed to once be pristine and white were dyed yellow with wear and hunks of stone missing. The inside was largely the same, though there were two large skylights which you were sure were beautiful with moonlight, but they also allowed the downpour to follow you inside. Between the two skylights in the center of the room was a raised table, a large decorative throne a ways behind it and against the backwall. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked toward the throne what little clothing you were wearing was soaked through and clung to your skin, it embarrassed you how visible your breasts were.

“Well, this is just great,” you grumbled, pulling the golden decorations from your wet hair. You placed them on a raised table at the rooms center. The rain continued to pour, and you stared down at puddles on the floor you’d have to walk through. “Whoever designed this place really wasn’t thinking.”

There were no visible decorations, only visible distress. How long has this been here? You wondered if it was as old as the village itself. The water had ruined the lovely sandals you wore so you took them off and placed them beside the throne, your bare feet made audible smacks as they walked through the water. After brushing off some dust and vines, not very well, you sat on the throne.

“You’re here!”

You perked up at that voice, its’ baritone echoing even over the sounds of the downpour. “Hashirama,” you called back and stood. “Thank the gods you’re alive.”

“Of course I am,” he responded as he made his approach. The man looked the same as he always did, which was both relieving and distressing. It had been over a month of starvation, illness, and injury for your village, and yet he didn’t show any visible signs of suffering the same ailments. “I am suffering though.”

“Really?” You met him halfway and placed your hands on his face, clinician mindset taking over. His smile softened as he closed his eyes and nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” his tone was teasing. “How could I not suffer?”

“Don’t joke around like that.”

“But I’m serious.” Hashirama wrapped his warm hands around your still wet forearms. You tilted your head to the side. How had you not noticed he was dry? “Not being able to see you was upsetting.”

You had forgotten your state of dress until you watched his eyes look you up and down, his pupils dilated in obvious arousal, and you had to look away. In attempts to cover yourself, you tried to pull your hands away from his face but his grip on your arms was too strong. “Please,” you pleaded, keeping your gaze at his chest to avoid watching those dark eyes devour you. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” Hashirama pulled you closer, he brought your left wrist up to his lips and began to kiss a slow trail down your arm. “You look mouthwatering.”

Weakly you tried to pull away, but it was more of an instinct than anything. His attentions were what you had craved for almost as long as you knew him. Your breath hiccupped as he nibbled at your pulse, his other arm reached behind you to circle the gold band on your waist. “How could I resist such a beautiful offering?”

“Offering?” Your eyelashes fluttered, partially distracted by the tan hand that had began to creep toward your rear. “What do you mean?”

He pressed you further to him, his body almost flush against yours. Your torso was leaned back, reluctant to let your sensitive breasts rub against his armored chest. “Your village offered you to me in order to regain access to the forest.”

You furrowed your brow. “They said that I was a sacrifice for their imaginary forest god.”

Hashirama lifted his lips from your skin to look back at you with a pout. “I’m not imaginary.”

A beat, then two, then three, before your brain finally began working again. Your voice was hesitant, a bit strained as you asked, “What?”

He blinked at you a few times before his eyes widened in surprise, “You didn’t know? But I told you when we first met.”

“No, you didn’t,” you retorted, your nerves building, not quite sure how to handle the new information.

“I told you my name.”

“Yeah, but that was it. You said Hashirama, not Hashirama god of the forests!”

“The village you come from has been loyal to me for centuries.” The black-haired man seemed to refocus on your body, he placed the arm he had been showing affection on over his shoulders and moved both hands to grab your ass. You yelped and wrapped your legs around his hips, he held you up with ease. “A god’s name is an invaluable part of the teachings. I am the only one allowed to be called Hashirama.”

Closing your eyes, you thought back to when you were younger and tried to remember ever hearing that name, but your mind quickly went blank as he leaned his head forward and began to place sloppy kisses against your neck. The movement caused your skirt to raise up, bearing your sex against his clothed erection. A gasp tore through you. “Ah, you’re driving me mad.”

Your brain tried to rationalize it, alright even if he has the title it doesn’t mean he’s actually a god. Hashirama licked a stripe along the column of your neck, and you shivered, your hands gripped at his shoulders before moving to wrap around his neck and comb through his hair. “I still don’t believe in the gods,” you muttered breathlessly, his hands tightened their grip on the flesh of your ass.

He straightened his neck and smirked at you. His dark eyes filled with lust and confidence. A strange texture brushed against your legs before gripping your ankles with immense strength. You clung to Hashirama’s neck like your life depended on it, “W-What is that?”

“Relax,” he shushed you. The things began to pull your legs apart, removing them from his hips. Similar things wrapped around your wrists, but these you could see. They looked almost like vines, but with a more wooden texture, like the roots that he had been wrapped in the day you met. As the roots began to remove your arms from his neck you looked at him in a panic, he shushed you gently. The roots at your ankles rose you as the ones on your wrists suspended you, your arms above your head. He took your chin in his hand gently and whispered, “They’re apart of me, there’s no need to worry.”

His plush lips pressed against yours and you groaned. His tongue immediately sought entrance and you obliged. You moaned as he slid it against yours, he allowed you to take the lead after that. With ease he allowed your tongue to explore his mouth, he tasted like herbs, fresh and crisp with a hint of bitterness. Hashirama’s hands moved along your body, ghost like touches all along your frame. The tips of his index fingers pressed against your clothed nipples before he rubbed them in circular motions.

A grunt left your mouth and he swallowed it. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and he began to palm at the full weight of your breasts as he pulled away. “Your breasts are so perfect,” he groaned. The roots on your ankles began to spread your legs further apart and he brought his thigh up to place against your heated core. “So pretty, spread and at my mercy. I’ve wanted to have you like this since I first laid eyes on you.”

The roots around your raised wrists pushed you down and onto his thick thigh. You ground down on it unconsciously, the promise of stimulation too great to resist. “Are you getting impatient, dear? Sorry, I’ll take better care of you.”

Hashirama ripped the wet cloth from your breasts, the fabric tattered as it fell open and hung by its sleeves. That had startled you. He began sucking and licking at your neck again, making sure to nibble at the places that made your breath hitch. His right hand continued to tease your breast. That left hand, though, began to trail downward. It fiddled with the golden band, “I like it, like a handle,” he muttered against your skin. Handle?! His left hand finally reached your thigh and began to creep inward toward your wet sex. The body heat from his hand brought anticipation with it. He gently touched your outer labia, his thigh moving away for a moment, you let out a soft moan.

His deft fingers began to spread one side of your outer lips and then the roots pulled you back down to his thigh. You squeaked. The friction was more intense, the cloth rubbing against your clit almost painfully. “Ha-Hashirama,” you panted. The dark-haired man kissed his way to your neglected breast and flicked the hardened nipple with his tongue. Another flick, again, only after you whined did he wrap his lips around the abused fresh and you almost sighed in relief.

Another root seemed to make its way up your leg and slipped between your slick folds and the forest god’s thigh. “Ah! Too much,” you cried, the feeling of the root alien to you. It was very textured, groves and abnormal lumps, a tapered tip, and you could feel every bit of it. It slid against you, your fluids more than enough to give it easy passage. The tip pressed against your already throbbing bud with each thrust forward, and his thigh only pushed it further against you.

You wished you could grab a hold of him, dig your nails into his tanned flesh as he made you cum in such an abnormal way. The knot in your stomach tightened, his mouth switched breasts, and his right hand gripped your hip and began to make you rock against the assault on your sex. “That’s it, pretty thing, let go. Soak my thigh,” he said after he pulled away from your skin, his voice deep and a bit hoarse. One more hit from that tapered root tip and you were coming undone, groaning as you did so.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, the roots began to lower you, his hands coming up to take you from them gently. “Do you think you can go over to that table there? I’ll be right behind you.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, your legs felt like jelly. He chuckled and kissed your forehead before giving you a push in that direction. You stumbled but righted yourself and slowly made your way. The table was wet from the rain that had seemed to stop, it was cold, but you wanted to sit down. The table was slippery, your hair decorations still rested on the edge, the moist chill of the stone felt like a balm against your recovering sex. But you weren’t ready to be done and as you watched Hashirama’s naked form approach you, you clenched your thighs.

He was gorgeous, you had always thought so. The warm color of his, the toned muscles along his arms and pecks, even his abs were well defined. Your eyes drank in the sharp v of his hips as it led into a patch of curly black and a rather generous erection. His cock was long and thick with a delicious curve. Hashirama seemed rather proud of your attentions. His approach was slow with and with intention, when he reached you, he placed his arms on either side of you before his lips fell to yours once again.

This kiss was different, slower, but his twitching cock gave away his excitement. It was strange if you thought about it, you were being extremely intimate with a god, who’s abilities you doubted until he literally all but fucked you with them, and who you hadn’t believed in until the tryst began. But there was no time to think with his tongue back in your mouth and moving toward your throat. Your arousal drove you as you began to run your hands through his hair, down his back- he shivered at your light scratches. His hands moved, one rubbing the gold band again and the other boldly touching at your soaked folds. His pecks had the perfect amount of firmness, you liked squeezing them, and his abs quivered under your touch.

He broke the kiss again, his hand retreating from the apex of your thighs, you would have been embarrassed by the sticky trail that followed his fingers if Hashirama hadn’t looked so pleased. “Can I taste you?” You thought he meant his fingers, so you nodded, but when he knelt and spread your knees you were glad that hadn’t been what he meant.

The dark-haired man licked one long stripe along your lower lips before pushing your legs further apart to lap at your entrance. It felt like heaven. His tongue moved in opposite manners, started bottom to top then on the next lap it was top to bottom. He kissed your clit before sucking on it, your hips bucked automatically. His fingers came back and began to rub that bundle of nerves after his lips left it in favor of tonguing at your entrance. Your fingers went to his head, gripping his long tresses with urgency as you began to wholeheartedly ride his face. Hashirama groaned as you did, his tongue wriggling against your walls and driving you to the edge of sanity.

“Ha-Hashi,” you finish, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm approached yet again. His fingers began to rub your clit faster, going back and forth as opposed to the circular motions they originally were. The noises that were coming from his mouth were debauched. He was groaning and moaning, almost as much as you were, his vigor like that of a man starved. Your fingers tightened in his hair, you would have worried that you were pulling too hard had your peak not hit you. “Mmm,” you whined, your eyes tearing up. Your hips kept moving, as did his tongue and fingers, and you rode out your orgasm until it hurt.

“Stop,” you begged softly. “Please, please, no more.”

He pulled away slowly, like he would go in for more at any moment. His chest heaved and his chin was covered in your slick. “You taste divine,” he told you, he looked as if he was the one who had reached his peak. “I don’t think I could ever tire of your taste.” The man stood back to his full height and began to position himself between your thighs. “Like the sweetest honey, haha, I’ll probably crave it again very soon. But unfortunately, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” You felt his tip begin to stretch your opening and you squeezed your eyes shut, but he didn’t move any further. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you nodded, your eyes opened once again. “I am yours.”

“That you’ll stay with me here, in the forest.”

“Stay in the forest?” You struggled to not give in, to not go along with everything just to feel more of him.

“That’s right, with me, forever,” Hashirama confirmed, his own breathing labored and arms shaking with restraint. “Say it.”

As you opened your mouth to respond he slid just a bit more inside and you groaned. “Yes,” you grunted, desperate in your need for more. More of him, inside you, enveloping you, more. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

He groaned and pushed in slowly. “Good,” he grunted. It felt like you were being split open, your mouth open in a silent gasp. He continued to push in, slow and steady, until he bottomed out and you could feel him in the deepest parts of you. His glans touched your cervix and your toes curled.

It was torturous, he hadn’t moved. You wanted him hard and fast, like he was going to break you in half, but when he pulled his hips back it was slow and methodical, like he wanted you to feel every inch drag against your walls, and oh did you. His hips snapped into yours and suddenly you were stuffed full again. You buried your face in his neck. “You feel so good, the way you rub and squeeze me, it makes me want nothing more than to pump you full of cum.”

With every snap inside, your sensitive breasts jostled against his chest and with every slow drag out you bit into his shoulder. “What’s wrong pretty?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he meant it. “If you need something you have to ask for it.”

He felt so good, but the slow methodical drag almost hurt. The stimulation was intense, like an itch that needed to be scratched. But it was still so good, you felt so full when he thrust inside and so empty as he took himself away. You felt a keening whine beginning in the back of your throat. You needed him faster.

“Please,” your fingernails began to dig into his back.

“Please what?” Another excruciatingly slow drag out.

“Hashirama, faster please,” you exclaimed. “Harder, please, fuck me until I can’t walk straight just- more please!”

He placed one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist. “There’s a good girl, so pretty when you beg.” His hips began a brutal pace, his chest rumbled with his groans, his eyes closed as he also began to feel the pleasurable friction of his speed. “Such a good girl,” he said in a staccato, timing it with his thrusts. “Do you think anyone else could take my cock as well as you? You’re so special, so perfect.”

His words made your insides tingle, a pleasant sensation that began to build with your peak. You couldn’t help but gasp every time he hit your cervix. The sound of his aching balls smacking against your ass echoed against the stone walls, the mix of your combined sounds furthering your ecstasy. He moved your face to his and kissed you once again, your third climax of the evening crashing through you.

Your walls squeezed around him, and he groaned into your mouth as you began to milk him. He came as well, and the warmth of his seed made you gasp. Hashirama continued to pump himself into you until you began to feel overstimulated, until all spurts of his hot sperm had finished. He pulled out, his semen immediately began to trickle out of you, but instead of having a softened member, as was typical, he was still fully erect. You blinked up at him in surprise.

A chuckle left him, and he backed away for a moment, one of his hands reached between your legs to collect your combined fluids before he began to rub them along your skin. He rubbed it onto your breasts, your stomach, along the gold band, and the fat of your thigh. “Get on all fours on the table, pretty.” You scrambled to obey.

The hardness of the stone put pressure on your knees, but that pain flew to the back of your mind as you felt his hand move up your back to between your shoulder blades and his own pressure begin to push you down. With your face down and your ass in the air you shivered. Hashirama rubbed the flesh of your right cheek before giving it a light smack, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your body move. “This is my favorite view. Your ass up, your hole on display and dripping with my cum. Nothing makes me harder.”

He entered you again, his pace fast and merciless. You almost missed the slow and tortuous one he had begun with. The new angle was almost too much, he hit your gspot and a sharp whine left you whenever he did. You thought your eyes might cross from the pleasure. “Touch yourself,” he panted. “Rub your clit for me.”

Eager to obey, you shakily reached a hand down and began to rub your abused clit. Tears stung your eyes; it was almost too much. It hurt but it also felt so good. “You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I can’t imagine anyone would fit you better. No one could make you feel as good. Only me!”

“Ha,” you swallowed, your saliva thick in your throat. You were already at your peak again. It would have to be the last one, the pleasure was already more than you could handle. “Hashirama, I can’t, I,” you whined, loudly. It was too much, it felt too different. Something above the average orgasm was coming. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he told you, his own voice strained as he felt your walls begin to twitch around him. “Go on, cum on my cock again.”

You rubbed your clit a little harder and after two more thrusts of his godly member and you came for the fourth time. It felt like rapture. A loud gasp tore through you, and you could feel the gush of fluid leave you. He kept going, you kept coming. It seemed like there would be no end to the high and it made you want to sob. Too much of a good thing. “Such a good girl, you sprayed all over me,” he whispered and licked a stripe down your back, his own hips began to stutter. “Just a bit more.”

One more thrust, then two, then three, and he was pulling out. You felt the warmth of his cum hit your back and he trailed it down to your ass. When he was finished, you were both panting, his hand already rubbing his spend along your skin. In a more labored version of his disheartened voice he announced, “Ahh, I want to cover you in more cum.”

You began to shake your head, throat dry and sore from overusing your voice. There was no way you could take another round, your thighs were still trembling, blood still thrumming. “Don’t shake your head,” he tsked. His hair began to tickle your sides and you felt him press his over warm cheek against your hip. Hashirama placed a gentle kiss on your pelvic bone and put an open palm against your lower belly. “You can relax for now, after all, we have plenty of time for me to continue marking you,” there was his cheery lilt.

You heard it before you saw it, the plants beginning to move and cover the exists, even going so far as to block out any human sized hole in the skylights that could be used to crawl out of. A nervous shiver wracked your spine and goosebumps began to crawl along your skin as he licked a trail up your side from your raised hip. “After all, you said you’d be here with me forever.”

tagged list: @therantingfangirl @justmyownreality

Madara||Tobirama

Season 2

[deadpowol]

[tahthetrickster]

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

gif not mine

Daryl, drunkenly draping himself over Y/N’s lap: Hey.

Y/N: Hey.

Daryl: Y’got a boyfriend?

Y/N: Yeah. He’s currently using me as a sofa.

Daryl, looking up at her in complete shock: Better be treatin' ya right or m’gonna kick his ass.

Y/N: ...

Y/N: Daryl, you’re my boyfriend.

Daryl, slowly smiling crookedly: For real? I bagged ya?!

Y/N: Sure did, tough guy. Sure did.

Daryl: …

Daryl: M’I treatin’ ya right?

Y/N, chuckling: If I said no, what would you do? Kick your own ass?

Daryl: Beat it right into the ground.

[sazustarz]

THOUGHT YOU WERE MAD AT THEM. YOUR PUSSY DISAGREED — various jjk men.

★ SUMMARY : leaving them for a few hours after you had a heated argument, just to see them waiting for you and fucking it into your brain that they want you.

☆ FEATURING : saturo gojo , toji fushiguro , kamo choso , hiromi higuruma , kento nanami , suguru geto , ryomen sukuna , shiu kong , naoya zenin , mahito

★ WARNINGS : fingering, cunnilingus, face riding, oral sex, penetrative sex, wall sex, desk sex, kitchen sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm control, edging, breeding kink, size kink, manhandling, hair pulling, spanking, biting/marking, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, brat taming, dominant men, possessive behavior, power dynamics, pussy drunk, dumbification, size kink, breeding kink, possessive behavior, marking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, face riding, oral fixation, hair pulling, manhandling

☆ WORD COUNT — 12.4k EST. TIME — 1 hour 35 mins

★ NOTE : not proof read i was rushin for u guyss 🥹 THANK YOU FOR 1.5KKK

★ SATURO GOJO

“mmmfgh— baby, don’t do that shit again.” he mumbles it right into the crook of your neck, voice all gravel and wrecked, hot breath fanning over the bite mark he just sucked into your skin.

the bedroom smells like sex and the faint citrus of his shampoo you stole earlier. sheets are already twisted under your knees, headboard knocking the wall every time you drop down hard on his cock.

“you can’t just— fuck— leave after an argument like that,” gojo groans, long fingers digging bruises into your hips like he’s scared you’ll disappear again if he lets go. “had me losin my damn mind waitin’ for you.”

you moan out softly; just a roll your hips slower this time, deliberate, feeling every thick inch stretch you open again. his head tips back against the pillows, throat bobbing, pretty lashes fluttering like he’s about to cry or come or both.

“shit— yeah, just like that,” he hisses. one hand slides up your spine, tangles in your hair, yanks your mouth down to his so he can lick into you messy and desperate. “thought you were really gone this time… left me here achin’ f’ you.”

his other palm cracks against your ass— not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you clench around him. you gasp into his mouth and he drinks it down, tongue curling, whining low in his throat when your walls flutter.

“fuck, baby— tight— s’ like you’re tryna milk me dry,” he pants against your lips. hips jerk up to meet your next grind, sloppy wet sounds filling the dark room. “missed this pussy so bad… missed you ridin me stupid.”

you drag your nails down his chest, catch on the pale pink scratches you left earlier when you first shoved him onto the bed and climbed on top. he shudders under you, cock twitching deep inside.

“gonna— gonna fill you up,” he starts babbling now, filter gone, voice cracking on every other word. “gonna stuff this little cunt full till it’s drippin down your thighs— till you can’t walk tomorrow without feelin me. you hear me?”

you sink down harder just to shut him up. his eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent moan, fingers flexing on your waist like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“m’ sorry— fuck— m’ sorry i yelled,” he chokes out suddenly, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “shouldn’t have— shouldn’t have let you storm out— never again, promise— fuck— baby please…”

he flips you so fast your back hits the mattress, knees shoved up to your chest in one smooth motion. the new angle has him slamming in deeper, tip kissing your cervix on every brutal thrust. you cry out, nails raking his shoulders, legs shaking.

“look at me,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his white hair onto your cheek. blue eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the irises. “look at me while i fuck my apology into you.”

and that’s all you did. can’t look away even if you wanted to. he’s wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, that cocky smirk long gone. just raw need staring back at you.

“g’nna— g’nna cum inside,” he whimpers, pace turning erratic, hips slamming so hard the bed creaks. “g’nna breed this pussy— make sure you feel me for days— fuck— c-can’t stop— can’t— baby—”

his whole body locks up. a broken moan tears out of him as he buries himself, his cock making-out with your cervix, pulsing hot and thick inside you. you feel every spurt, every twitch, walls fluttering around him like they’re trying to pull him deeper.

he keeps grinding through it, overstimming himself, babbling nonsense against your throat. “love you— fuck— love you s’ much— don’t leave again— please— m’ gonna be good— swear—”

he collapses on top of you after, still twitching, still leaking, arms caging you in like he’ll never let go. nose buried in your hair, shaky breaths fanning your ear. “stay,” he whispers, voice small now. cracked. “just… stay.”

you card fingers through damp white strands. feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. “of course, ‘toru.”

he exhales like the weight of the world just slid off his shoulders. then a quiet, almost shy, “round two when you’re ready?”

you laugh. he grins against your skin.

possessive fucker.

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

we all know toji would absolutely haaate you coming home late and try to play it off. he’d be looming over the counter, his facial expression showing all kinds of pissed-the-fawk off but as soon as he sees you he can’t even stay away for more than 5 minutes.

He’d be balls deep making you have your third orgasm scolding you like the naughty girl you are.

“thought you could just stroll in whenever the fuck you want, huh?” his voice is low, right against the shell of your ear while he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter. dishes still in the sink. your coat half-shucked onto the floor. keys somewhere under the table. doesn’t matter. none of it does.

one thick forearm banded across your stomach, pinning you flush so your ass can’t escape the brutal snap of his hips. the other hand’s fisted in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make your spine arch pretty for him.

“late again. no text. no call.” each word punched out with a mean thrust that makes your toes scrape the tile. “had me sittin’ here like some worried bitch waitin’ on his girl.”

“toji—“ you try to moan an apology but it comes out fumbled—muffled against the crook of your own arm.

he’s so deep the head of his cock’s bullying that gummy spot that turns your brain to static. your thighs are already trembling from the first two times he made you come—once on his fingers while he growled about how soaked you were just from hearing his voice on the phone earlier, once more when he shoved you face-down on the couch the second the door clicked shut.

now this. third round. no warmup. no mercy.

“look at you,” he mutters, breath hot on your neck. scarred lips brushing skin. “actin’ all innocent walkin’ in here smellin’ like that bitchy vanilla scent… but this pussy’s still grippin’ me like she missed daddy’s dick.”

he punctuates it with a slow grind—rolling his hips so the fat base drags over your swollen clit. your knees buckle. he catches you easily, hauling you higher onto your toes.

“stay up. you’re gonna take every inch while i remind you who the fuck you belong to.” his free hand cracks down on your ass—once, twice. sharp enough to sting, leaving blooming heat. you clench hard around him on instinct making him hiss through his teeth.

“fuck— there it is. greedy little thing. squeezin’ like you’re tryna apologize with your pussy.”

you’re dripping down your thighs. sticky trails cooling on your skin. the wet slap of his balls against your cunt making you cry out in the quiet kitchen. fridge humming. clock ticking. your pulse hammering in your ears louder than both.

“toji—‘m sorry—”

“sorry ain’t cuttin’ it, doll.” he yanks your head back farther, forces you to look at the dark window—reflection of you two like some filthy portrait. his broad frame swallowing yours. muscles flexing under scarred skin every time he bottoms out. your mouth slack, eyes glassy, mascara smudged from earlier tears of pleasure and pain. that same lewd expression he adores most.

“you see that?” he growls. “see how fuckin’ wrecked you look already? and you still got the nerve to come home late like i won’t do somethin’ about it.” he shifts—hooks one of your knees up onto the counter ledge, spreading you wider. new angle has him carving deeper, tip kissing your cervix on every punishing stroke. your nails scrape uselessly at the granite.

“gonna make this pussy remember,” he rasps. voice cracking just a little now—tell-tale sign he’s losing the cool he pretends to have. “gonna fuck you till you can’t walk straight tomorrow. till every step reminds you who waited up.”

his rhythm stutters when you flutter around him again—walls spasming, trying to pull him under. he curses low, filthy.

“shit— already? you’re comin’ again?” he chuckles.

you can’t answer. can only whimper high, broken—while the coil snaps for the third time. thighs shaking violently. gush of slick coating his cock, dripping onto the floor. he doesn’t slow down. fucks you through it meaner. harder.

“that’s it— give it to me— fuckin’ soak me— good girl— my nasty little slut.” his grip tightens. hips slamming erratic now. balls drawing up tight.

“gonna fill this cunt up,” he starts whining, filter now gone, voice wrecked. “gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leakin’ me all night— gonna make sure you smell like me tomorrow— fuck—”

you reach back, nails digging into his thigh. “inside— please— toji~”

that does it.

he slams home one last time deep inside, groaning long and low like it hurts. cock pulsing, swelling, flooding you with heat. thick ropes painting your walls. so much it spills out around his base, creamy white streaking down your thighs even while he’s still grinding through the aftershocks.

“fuck— take it— take every drop— mine— fuckin’ mine—”

he keeps rolling his hips—shallow, needy—milking himself empty while you tremble under him. overstimulated. his chest heaves against your back. scarred arms caging you in like he’ll never let go.

“don’t do that shit again,” he mutters. quieter now. almost soft. “hated waitin’. hated not knowin’ if you were okay.”

you reach back, thread fingers through dark strands. feel him shiver. “i really am sorry, toji.”

he huffs. kisses the nape of your neck—open-mouthed, lingering. “yeah. you will be.”

then—after another slow grind that makes you both hiss, “shower. now. ‘fore i decide round four happens right here.”

you laugh—breathless. he smirks against your skin. finally slips out with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing. cum trickles down your thigh. he swipes two fingers through it, brings them to your lips.

“clean up your mess, baby.” you suck obediently. taste salt and him. his eyes darken again.

“good girl.” he scoops you up—effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, carrying you toward the bathroom. your legs dangle. thighs sticky. heart still racing.

“next time you’re late,” he murmurs against your temple, “i’m tyin’ you to the bed before you even think about leavin’.”

you roll your eyes then nuzzle yourself on his chest.

★ KAMO CHOSO

choso would absolutely be the last person you'd expect to corner you against the front door the second you walked in.

we all know choso — sweet, a little awkward, the man who asks "is this okay?" before he even touches your hair, who goes pink behind the ears when you call him pretty, who avoids eye contact for ten full minutes after you catch him staring too long. that's your choso.

and then you stay out three hours past when you said you'd be back, phone halfway dead, still pissed from the argument you'd storm out of, and now you begrundgingly walk through the door to find him sitting very, very still on the couch.

he doesn't yell. that's the thing that gets you first. you were braced for it, shoulders up, already rehearsing your half of the fight, and instead there's just silence.

his hands are folded between his knees, dark hair loose and hanging around his face, and his looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes drowned in violet like he's been doing nothing but looking at the door for three hours. which, you didn't think about that part.

you open your mouth; an apology, excuse, something, and he's already standing up, you forget what you were going to say because he's so much bigger than you. he's always been tall, but right now crossing the room toward you he fills up all the space in a way that makes your heartbeat do something stupid.

he stops close. too close, not touching, the air between you smelling like him and whatever he'd been drinking trying to wait you out, and he just — looks at you. searching your face, his jaw tight.

"why didn't you pick up?" he asks, and his voice is still quiet, still careful, but there's something unsteady threading through it. not anger, exactly. something worse than anger. "i called you four times, baby."

baby. he only does that when he's upset. your stomach does a full rotation.

"choso, i—" but he cuts you off by reaching up and touching your face. just cupping your jaw with one big hand, thumb tracing your cheekbone, and you can feel that his fingers aren't fully steady.

"you scared me," he says softly, like it costs him something. "you left mad and then you just— you didn't—" he stops. his adam apple bobs. "why would you do that."

it's not even a question, really. it comes out like something he's been turning over in his hands for hours, worn smooth, and the look on his face is so sincere and so quietly devastated that something in your chest caves a little.

you say his name again, softer this time, and you watch his jaw tighten. he only warning you get before he leans down and kisses you, sudden and slow, and it's not gentle exactly, it's— it has weight to it. the kind of kiss that means don't do that again.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are darker now, something shifting behind them that sends heat straight down to your tummy. "i'm still mad at you," he says quietly, and his hand is still at your jaw, tilting you up. "y'know that."

"yeah," you manage, "i know—"

"good." and then his other hand finds your waist and he walks you backward toward the bedroom with this unbearable, focused patience, like he has a plan and he's going to follow it all the way through, and every time your back bumps something — doorframe, wall — he catches you with that big warm grip and keeps you moving, keeps you steady, keeps his eyes on your face the entire time like he's cataloguing every flicker of expression. does he know he's doing that. probably not. probably just choso, just how he looks when he's paying attention, which is somehow more devastating than anything else he could do.

"choso, wait—" you try, half a laugh, half something else entirely, and he pauses in the dark of the hallway, head ducking slightly.

"i'm not yelling at you," he says, like that's clarification. "i'm not— i don't want to yell. i just—" and here he swallows, something flickering across his face, almost embarrassed but not quite. "i need you to let me. okay? let me—" his hands tighten the smallest amount at your waist. "please."

the please ruins you. because it's still him, it's still choso who asks for things softly, who would never just take, and somehow that makes it worse — makes the heat travel from your tummy to you pussy, making it hard to remember why you were mad in the first place or what you'd been so stubborn about three hours ago.

"okay," you say, barely sound, and he exhales like he'd been holding that in, too.

he takes his time. that's the thing you weren't prepared for — this slow, deliberate patience layered over something that keeps slipping through, this tremble in his hands when he pulls your shirt over your head that he tries to steady and can't quite, his breath gone a little uneven despite himself.

"you're so—" he starts, voice hushed, and then stops himself, frowning faintly, this small frustrated furrow between his brows like he resents that you exist and are right in front of him and he doesn't have words for whatever's stuck in his chest. he settles for touching instead. spreads one big palm flat over your ribs, fingers spanning so wide it knocks the air out of you.

"choso," you breathe, and he makes this low sound, involuntary, and his jaw tightens.

"you s-scared me," he says again, quieter, like it keeps escaping him. "i kept thinking— i didn't know if you were—" he doesn't finish it. instead he puts his mouth on your throat and stays there, just breathing for a second, warm and still, and the gesture is so tender and so completely at odds with the size of him that your eyes sting a little. oh no. "i hate when you're gone," he murmurs into your skin. "hate it. even when i'm mad. still hate it."

getting him inside you takes time too... because he goes careful, this trembling careful that he's clearly fighting against, hissing low through his teeth as you stretch and your walls flutter helplessly around him and his whole body goes rigid.

"wait—" he grits out, and you're not sure if he's talking to you or himself, hips stilled, forehead pressed somewhere between your shoulder and the pillow. "wait." you can feel how much that costs him. can feel the tension humming through every muscle where he's pressed against you, thick and filling you so full your thoughts are already liquefying at the edges.

"'m okay," you manage, arching slightly, and he makes a noise like you've broken something.

"i know you are," he breathes. "i just— need a second. you feel—" and then he stops talking, which might be a first for this whole gentle careful thing, and starts moving instead.

slow. devastatingly slow. rolling his hips in this deep, grinding drag that hits something inside you that makes your toes curl and your back bow up off the mattress and a sound come out of your mouth you hadn't planned.

his breathing goes immediately ragged, plp plp plp of his hips meeting yours filling up the quiet of the room, and his hands find your thighs and hitch you up, adjusting the angle, and— fuck. your hands scramble for something to grip, sheet, his arm, anything, and he watches you, watches your face with this expression that's raw in a way that makes it hard to look at directly.

"there you are," he breathes, low and shaky. "that— yeah, that's—" and then he does it again, same drag, same deep roll, and your head drops back.

he gets meaner about it slowly. not aggressive, not cruel — just focused, this quiet intensity that keeps building, the pace still unhurried but heavier, deeper, and his grip on your thighs tightening until you know he's leaving prints and you don't care, can't care, not with how full you are and how the drag of him hits that sweet spot every time like he's learning you, memorizing you the same way he'd been reading your face in the hallway.

"you were gone so long," he says, almost conversational except for the slight crack in it, and his hips roll and you gasp. "why'd you stay out so long." it's not really a question. or it is, it's still a question, still that same wondering hurt from earlier, but now his voice has this low fraying quality like a wire pulled too tight. "why?"

"i don't— i wasn't—" you're already losing the thread of it, hips rolling up to chase him without your permission, and he notices, eyes dropping down to where you're joined and going briefly, almost comically blank.

"you're doing that," he says. faintly accusatory. faintly wrecked.

"why?" he asks again, later, when he's got you folded up and he's properly losing his mind about it, forehead pressed to yours, hair escaped from its tie and hanging around both of you, and the controlled thing has fully slipped now — hips snapping into something erratic that makes the wet slap of it embarrassingly loud and your voice keep breaking on his name. "why'd y-you—" and he stops because his voice cracks too, right down the middle, and he squeezes his eyes shut and makes this low broken sound and you feel him pulse inside you and

"choso—"

"m' sorry," he breathes, "m' sorry, i—" but he doesn't stop, can't, hips still working even as his whole body shakes and his breath comes in ragged little pulls. "baby." and god he sounds— he sounds completely undone, you've never heard him like this, this is new, this is the version of choso that three hours of sitting on the couch waiting for you made, and something about that makes you clench around him and he makes a sound that's almost pained.

"please," you hear yourself say, "please~"

"yeah," he gets out, barely, "yeah— i've got you— you're—" and then the words slip away entirely and he fucks you through it properly, stuttering and shaking and whispering things into your hair that might be your name or might be please or might be both.

overstimulation is a thing that happens to you after, when you're limp and wrung out and certain that you couldn't possibly, and choso is still moving — slowed to something deep and lazy, still filling you and refusing to pull out with this look on his face like he hasn't fully come back to himself yet.

"choso," you try, thighs twitching, "h-hey— i can't, i'm—"

"just," he says. stops. swallows. "just a little more. please. please, baby." and there's the question again, the soft asking even now, even like this, even with you already a destroyed mess underneath him. "you feel so good. can i— just a little more, okay? jus'—"

"mmgfh, choso~"

his face twists. "s-sorry," he starts, "i'm sorry, i'll stop, you just—" and then you clench, involuntary, body giving him the answer that your mouth hadn't gotten around to yet, and his eyes flutter and he exhales, "oh," very small. and keeps going.

★ HIROMI HIGURAMA

hiromi higuruma would absolutely find you still hunched over his desk at eleven-forty-seven at night, lamp cutting a yellow circle across a stack of files you've been reorganizing since he hung up on you four hours ago; you had nowhere else to go with how angry you were, and his office was right there, and spite has its own kind of logic.

we all know higuruma. composed. methodical. the man who won arguments with prosecutors using a single eyebrow raise and twenty seconds of silence. you didn't think he'd come back tonight. you should have thought about it more.

the door opens quiet. he doesn't announce himself, doesn't say your name — you just feel the shift in the room, the way the air changes when someone large and very still enters it, and your shoulders go up before your brain catches up with why. the click of the lock behind him is the loudest thing that's happened in hours.

you don't turn around. pride, mostly. also you're not done being mad, and you need at least another thirty seconds to build the wall back up before you look at him. you hear him set something down; keys, probably, the small ceramic bowl by the door making its little sound and then nothing. just the awareness of him behind you, standing there in that way he has, the way that makes rooms feel smaller without being threatening about it. his suit jacket is still on. he's been somewhere, then. or he sat with it on in the car for a while deciding whether to come in.

"you're still here," he says. low, even. not a question exactly.

"i work here," you say, turning a page you're not reading.

a beat of quiet that has weight to it, the kind higuruma deploys the way other people use words. then you hear him move, unhurried, the soft drag of dress shoes across the floor, and he rounds the desk and you still don't look up and his hand comes down over yours on the file folder — not gripping, just covering, warm and very deliberate. stopping you. "look at me," he pleads.

you do. because you can't not, when he uses that voice. he's close, closer than you'd registered, and his face is doing the thing where it's not giving much away but his eyes are — tired, a little, and something underneath the tired that's been sitting there all day working itself into a knot.

his expression is still unreadable. his tie is loosened exactly one button's worth. "you've been here this whole time," he questions, and it's not what you expect him to lead with, the what and the how of you sitting in his office reorganizing case files out of spite at eleven pm, and something about that catches in your chest.

"i wasn't going to go home while i was still—" you start.

"i know," he states. not dismissive. like he actually does know, like he turned it over the whole drive here and arrived at the same place you did. his thumb moves across the back of your hand, small slow arc. "i shouldn't have hung up."

oh. you blink. you'd been ready for the second half of the argument, had it half-loaded, and now it's just — sitting there unspent and awkward. "higuruma, i—"

"i know," he says again, softer, and then he takes the folder out of your hand and sets it aside and the edge of a brief that took someone three hours to assemble crumples under it and neither of you mentions it. his hands find your face, thumbs at your jaw, tilting you up the way he does when he wants your full attention, which you were already giving him, but that's not really the point of it. the point is the holding. "i'm sorry," he says, looking straight at you, and higuruma doesn't say that lightly, you know that, you've known that for a while now.

you open your mouth and he kisses you before you can finish the thought.

it's not rushed. that's his whole thing, always has been measured, intentional, like he's building a case for something with every action and the verdict is going to land whether you're ready or not. his hands stay at your face while his mouth works yours slow and thorough, and you're already melting by the time he pulls back, lips a little swollen, eyes darker than they were, and he looks at you for a second like he's checking something off an internal list. then he drops to his knees.

oh— "higuruma, wait—"

"sit on the desk," he says, already pushing your chair back.

"the— the papers—"

"sit on the desk." same tone he uses to deliver a closing argument. you sit on the desk. several documents that probably mattered crinkle underneath you and you can't bring yourself to care because he's parting your knees with both hands, slow and very matter-of-fact about it, and looking up at you from the floor of his own office with his tie loose and his glasses catching the lamplight, and the sight of him like that does something genuinely unreasonable to your brain chemistry.

he takes his time working you open through the fabric first. thumb pressing, tracing, watching your face for every twitch while you try very hard to look like you're not immediately losing the thread of every thought you'd had tonight.

god. "higuruma—" his name comes out embarrassingly soft and something in his expression shifts, the composure still there but thinned, something hotter running underneath it. he pushes the fabric aside and puts his mouth on you without preamble and you grab the edge of the desk hard enough that the stapler rattles off onto the floor.

he eats you out the way he does everything — thorough, unhurried, with this awful focused precision that doesn't allow for shortcuts or mercy, his tongue working your folds open before settling flat and heavy over your clit and just staying there, slow pulsing pressure, and you're already slick and aching from nothing but the last twenty minutes of him and the sound that comes out of your mouth is not dignified.

a stack of briefs slides off the corner of the desk. neither of you looks at them. his hands grip your thighs and keep you spread and still while you squirm and he hums against you, low, disapproving, and the vibration of it makes your hips stutter up helplessly.

"higuruma," you breathe, thighs trembling, "please, i need—"

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, and his eyes are very dark and very attentive behind the glasses. "come here," he says, rough at the edges now, and he maneuvers you. hands at your hips, repositioning, implacable until you're kneeling up on the desk above him, thighs on either side of his face, and you realize what he's doing half a second before he pulls you down onto his nose and mouth and —

the sound that comes out of you bounces off the walls. his nose presses against your clit and his mouth opens beneath you, tongue finding your entrance, and your whole body goes rigid with how good it is, too good, embarrassingly immediate, your hips rolling forward before you've even consciously decided to and he lets you, hands spread warm on your ass just guiding, keeping you steady, while you grind down onto his face in the lamplight of his own office with important legal documents crumpling under your knees.

oh my god. the wet sounds are filthy and specific and you can feel your face heating even as you can't stop chasing, hips rolling, riding the flat of his tongue and the pressure of his nose against that swollen knot of nerves until you're shaking and saying his name too many times and your thighs are clamping around his ears.

he doesn't stop when you cum. that's the thing. he slows, gentles, lets you ride it out — and then keeps going, tongue lapping patient and thorough while you twitch and gasp and try to pull back and his hands don't let you move far. "too much—" you manage, "higuru— i'm—"

"mm— i know," he groans into you, muffled, and then does something with his tongue that makes your vision go briefly static.

he gets you off twice on his face before he stands up. unhurried. glasses fogged at the edges, mouth and chin devastatingly wet, and he looks at you, completely fucked-out and wobbling on his desk amid the wreckage of the filing system with this expression that's almost quiet satisfaction except for how his chest is moving, how his hands go immediately to his belt with a precision that belies how controlled he's trying to look. there it is. "lie back," he says.

"the papers—"

"i'll reprint them." and he means it, the way he means everything, and something about the casual certainty of it makes you laugh, breathless, and you lie back in the papers.

the press of him in is slow, measured at first, and then your walls flutter around the thick stretch of him and his breath leaves him in a rush. "ah—" undignified, unplanned, and he stops for a second with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk on either side of your hips, and you watch something in his face come loose. "you're—" he starts. stops. swallows. the glasses have slid down his nose and he doesn't fix them. "you feel—"

"hah," you moan, soft, and he opens his eyes and looks at you, and there it is; the thing under the composure, the thing that made him drive back here at midnight, the thing that'd been in his voice even when he was angry on the phone.

he starts moving and stops being careful about it within about thirty seconds.

the desk rocks. something else falls off it; a pen cup, the sound of pens scattering across the floor and you're scrambling to hold onto the edge while he fucks you into it, papers crumpling and tearing under your back, his thrusts rolling into something relentless and deep that punches the air out of you in little broken increments.

his glasses are properly crooked now and he doesn't spare a hand to fix them, both gripping your hips, and his voice when it comes out is low: "you stayed," he says, hips snapping, and it takes your brain a second to parse that he means tonight, means the office, means you sat in his space and reorganized his files instead of going somewhere he couldn't find you. "you stayed here—"

"w-what—" your voice breaks on it.

"don't do that again," he says, not a request, and his hips drive in and you keen, walls clenching, and he makes this rough sound in the back of his throat like it's punishing him too. "don't—" and then he's burying deep and staying there, trembling slightly, forehead dropping to your collarbone while his hips roll slow and grinding and he breathes through clenched teeth, "—god, you're so—" the sentence dies, unfinished, swallowed by the sound of his own breathing and the quiet ruin of every document on the desk.

you cum with your hand fisted in his rumpled shirt and his name said wrong, too many syllables, something that comes out closer to a sob than a word. he follows with his face in your neck, a low rough sound that he murmurs your name into, hips stuttering through it, and you feel the warm spill of him and his whole weight sinking into you and the desk groaning underneath and three case files sliding off onto the floor.

silence, for a bit. the lamp buzzes faintly. somewhere outside a car passes.

he lifts his head. looking at you. fixeing his glasses. "i'm reprinting all of this," he says, very quietly, surveying the destruction, and you start laughing and can't stop, and after a second his mouth curves too; not a smile exactly, but the shape of one, the thing that lives just next to composed, and he drops his head back onto your shoulder and stays there.

★ SUGURU GETO

we all know suguru geto doesn't chase. that's the thing about him — the thing you keep forgetting, keep testing the edges of anyway, like you enjoy finding out where the boundary sits.

he doesn't raise his voice. doesn't beg. and when you'd hung up on him three hours ago and stayed gone he'd sat with it, turned it over, and when you finally walked back through the door he was already standing in the hallway like he'd known exactly how long you'd need.

he didn't say anything. just looked at you.

that look. that specific one, dark eyes tracking your face, reading you in three seconds flat, mouth doing nothing. you'd opened yours to say i'm sorry or we need to talk or literally anything with words in it, and he'd crossed the distance and kissed you instead, one hand cupping your jaw and the other already finding your waist, and it wasn't gentle, wasn't rough either, it was decided. like the conversation was already over and this was just the next paragraph.

"sugu—" you tried, against his mouth.

"shhh," he hushes.

he takes his time undressing you, which is somehow worse than if he'd just ripped something. deliberate. like he's not in a hurry because he doesn't need to be, because you're not going anywhere and he's already decided how this ends. his earring catches the light when he ducks his head to mouth at your throat and your hands find his hair on instinct; loose tonight, the tie gone, black silk of it slipping between your fingers — and he hums against your pulse point, warm and approving, and your knees do something humiliating.

"you're so annoying," he murmurs, into your neck, without heat. just a fact. and then he bites down soft and you gasp and he soothes it with his tongue and keeps moving.

on the bed he gets his mouth between your thighs first, because that's suguru, because he'll take the thing apart slow before he's anywhere close to done. chin tilted up watching your face while his tongue works your folds open, flat and thorough, the wet sounds of it slp slp slp embarrassingly audible and he doesn't stop, not even when you're already shaking and grabbing at his hair and saying his name wrong, sugurusugurusugu— like it'll do something. his eyes stay on yours the whole time. that's the meanest part.

he edges you twice before he's even inside you, pulling back each time with this patient, infuriating composure, lips slick and dark eyes blown, watching you fall apart at the removal of his mouth like it's something he's particularly interested in studying.

"please," you manage, thighs trembling either side of his head.

"please what, pretty girl," he says, voice dropped to something that scrapes right down your spine.

when he finally pushes in the sound that leaves you is not attractive. not even a little. his cock stretches you open inch by slow inch and he watches your face the whole way, jaw tight, the composure held together by what looks like significant effort.

his breath heavier than he'd like, a muscle in his cheek pulling, and when he bottoms out he stops, hips flush against yours, and just. stays there. forehead dropped to yours. both of you breathing.

"you pissed me off," he mumbles, very quietly. "don't do that again."

your throat goes tight. "sugu—"

"i mean it." and then he pulls back and drives in and the words dissolve completely.

he fucks you with this horrible focused intensity — not punishing, not exactly, but not gentle either, hips rolling deep and grinding in a way that finds that spot every third stroke like he has it memorized, like he's been thinking about exactly this angle for three hours on the couch waiting for you.

plp plp plp of skin meeting skin fills up the room. his hair falls forward around both your faces and you reach up to grip it and he lets you, makes a low rough sound at the pull, hips stuttering into something harder before he catches himself and smooths back into that devastating rhythm.

"you gonna run off again?" he growls, above you, not quite a threat, not quite a question.

"no—" and your voice breaks on it because he angles up and hits something that makes your whole body jolt, "no, no, i'm sorry, i'm sorry—"

"i know you are," he says, low and raspy, like he was always going to get here, "i know, sweetheart, you always are—" and then his fingers find your nipple, pinching and caressing the sensitive bud.

he doesn't stop when you cum. the composure fully slips somewhere around the second time, hips losing the careful measured drag into something erratic and urgent, his breath coming apart in short rough increments against your temple.

"fuuuck—" quiet, almost surprised, like he resents how good you feel, voice cracking clean down the middle, "too tight, you're always so—" and he buries deep and grinds and his whole body shudders and the warmth of him spilling into you punches a moan out of you both. "fuckin' tight, my love."

he stays inside. grinds it slow. keeps going.

"sugu," you breathe, wrecked, "i can't—"

"you can," he says, into your hair, but it comes out rough-soft, the mean edge gone, and his arms pull you closer, hold you there, and it's not really an argument anymore.

★ NANAMI KENTO

nanami would be so fucking careful about it. that's the part that gets you. the part that's almost meaner than if he'd just been angry — because he is angry, you can feel it in the way his hands grip your hips with this controlled, deliberate pressure, can hear it in how measured his breathing is, how even, the specific even that means he's working very hard at it. he told you to be home by nine. it is past midnight.

and now he has you folded underneath him with his shirt half-untucked and his jaw set and his hips rolling into you in these long, thorough strokes that are technically gentle, paced, deep, no wasted movement, while your thighs shake on either side of him and you babble apologies into the dark of the bedroom that he doesn't acknowledge and doesn't stop.

"i-i'm sorry," you manage, wall flutter pulling a short exhale out of him that he smooths over immediately, "kento, m' sorry, i didn't mean to— i lost track of—"

he rolls his hips on the next thrust and the words collapse into a sound that isn't a word at all, just air, just the squelch of him working into you plp plp plp in the quiet room, unhurried, relentless in the way that only nanami can be relentless about something like it's a task, like the apology goes in one ear and out the other because you're saying it into his cock and not into his face and he knows the difference. "kento—"

"i heard you," he says. low. not unkind exactly. not kind either.

his thumb finds your clit and presses and you jolt, thighs snapping around his waist, and he looks down at you with this expression that is so carefully neutral that it circles back around to devastating, and keeps the pressure steady and keeps his hips moving and watches you come apart underneath him like he's noting every detail for the record.

fuck. you're already so wet it's embarrassing, has been since he'd pulled you in by the wrist the second you'd walked through the door — no yelling, no lecture, just his hand around your wrist and his eyes finding yours and something in his face going quiet in a way that was worse than any argument. you'd said his name. he'd said, very quietly, bedroom, and that had been the end of the conversation.

"you worried me," he says now, into the space between you, not quite looking at your face and not quite not looking at it either, gaze somewhere at your collarbone, and his voice does something strange on the last word; a slight roughness that he smooths out immediately after. the thumb at your clit circles once. you keen, high and broken, hips chasing without your permission.

"don't do that," he says, flatter now, though the hand at your hip tightens the smallest fraction. whether he means don't do that, stop chasing or don't do that, don't worry me again, you cannot parse with his cock buried this deep in you. probably both. nanami is efficient.

"m' sorry," you slur, wet-eyed now, his next thrust knocking it out of you in a rush, "m' sorry, kento, i know, i know i should've—" and then he shifts the angle, just slightly, just a precise deliberate tilt of his hips that drags the head of him across something that makes your vision white at the edges, and you stop making words and start making sounds.

he keeps going. same pace. same depth. same controlled roll of his hips that is technically, technically, not punishing you — except that it absolutely is, except that he knows exactly what he's doing and how it lands, and the smallest thing is happening at the corners of his mouth that might be satisfaction and might be guilt about the satisfaction and is definitely both. "can't— kento— please—"

"please what," he says. quiet. curious, almost. like he genuinely wants to know.

your brain presents you with nothing. please more, please stop, please don't stop, please say you're not mad, please keep looking at me like that — all of it jamming up in your throat at once while your walls clench helplessly around him and he makes a low sound and his jaw tightens and his hips stutter, just once, the first crack in the composure, before he smooths it back out and keeps going.

"you don't know," he observes, and there's something in it; gentle, ruthless, both, the nanami special, and his thumb presses down on your clit and holds and you cry out and your whole body arches up into him.

"i hate when you go quiet on me," he says, above you, and it takes you a fuzzy second to realize he means the argument, means the part where you'd gone cold and hung up and disappeared for three hours — not the current situation where you are physically incapable of coherent speech because he's fucking you through the mattress with his shirt still half-buttoned and his glasses somewhere on the nightstand and his face doing a very poor job of being expressionless.

"i don't—" and here he stops. his hips keep moving, the pace finally slipping into something less controlled, a little harder, a little less technically gentle, and you feel it in your teeth. "i don't like not knowing where you are," he finishes, very quietly, and the admission costs him something you can see him paying. his forehead drops to your shoulder. the careful breathing is gone. "i don't like it."

"kento—" and your voice breaks clean in half on his name, hands scrambling to grip something, his arm, the sheets, landing on both.

"i know," he says, into your neck. "i know, just—" and his hips snap and you both make embarrassing sounds and he mouths something against your skin that might be your name or might be stay.

you can't tell, you're too far gone, thighs shaking and cunt clenching rhythmically around him while he loses the careful measured pace entirely and fucks you like he's been holding it back since you walked through the door, which he has, which you both know, slap slap slap of his hips meeting yours filling up the bedroom while you babble his name and sorry and please into the dark above his shoulder.

he cums with his face still pressed to your throat, a rough bitten-off sound that he muffles immediately, hips buried deep, grinding slow through it, big hand spread at your lower back holding you against him like you might drift away if he doesn't. you feel the warmth of it and your walls flutter and he makes another sound, smaller, helpless, and his grip tightens.

"don't," he says, strained, into your neck. "don't move. give me—" and he doesn't finish that either, just holds you there, both of you breathing too hard, your lashes wet and sticking, his dress shirt damp at the collar from where his neck has been sweating through the last forty minutes of technically gentle.

the silence stretches. his thumb moves, small idle arc at your hip. slowly the grip loosens into something that's just — holding. the kind that doesn't have an agenda.

"i'm sorry, my love" you say again, into his shoulder. meant more, this time.

a long beat. "i know," he says, finally, and you can feel some of the tension leave his back under your hands. "next time." just that. next time — and you know what he means, have learned enough nanami to translate: next time call. next time don't go quiet. next time let me know you're alright. you press your face into his shoulder and nod into the fabric and he exhales, long and slow, and his hand moves to the back of your head.

he stays inside you until you both stop shaking. doesn't pull out. just — stays; somewhere outside it starts to rain and nanami breathes, even, finally, actually even, and his fingers card through your hair once like he's not doing it on purpose.

★ SUKUNA RYOMEN

sukuna would find it genuinely hilarious. that's what gets you first, not the anger you'd braced for, not the cold shoulder you'd half-wanted so you could stay righteous about the whole thing.

no. you walk through the door still rehearsing the second half of the argument and he's sitting there with that look on his face, the one that means he's already decided something, already filed it under your fault, my problem, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and short and not actually funny at all.

"there she is," he mumbles, like you're late to something he arranged. like he wasn't the reason you left.

you open your mouth. wrong move. he's off the couch before you finish the first word, and sukuna in motion is something your body responds to before your brain weighs in — every nerve pulling toward him even when you're still pissed, even when you're already saying.

"don't—" and he's already got a fist in the back of your hair, not cruel, just absolute, tilting your head back so he can look at your face properly.

"you left," he says, like it's an observation about the weather.

"you were being—"

"you left." same tone. lower. and the hand in your hair tightens and you feel your pulse jump.

he walks you backward into the bedroom without ceremony, lips at your jaw, your throat, the hinge of it, not kissing exactly, just pressing, sampling, the way sukuna touches things he considers his. the black marks on his chest are warm against your palms when you grab at him and he hums, pleased, like you've done something correctly by accident.

"always gotta make it difficult," he mutters, into your neck, and there's something in it that's almost fond and almost annoyed and fully neither.

your back hits the mattress. his weight settles over you and blots out the ceiling and you. shit, you stop being mad about the argument for approximately one full second.

he's not gentle about getting you open. two fingers, then three, working you slick with this bored, efficient focus while he watches your face like he's looking for something specific. the exact moment your hips start chasing, the exact shape your mouth makes before the sound comes out. finds both. says nothing about it. just pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the sheets and lines himself up and — oh.

the stretch of him pulls a sound from your throat that you immediately hate yourself for.

"every time," he says, pushing in slow, watching your expression fall apart in real time, "act like you didn't miss it." another inch. your thighs are shaking already. "like you didn't come back for this."

"that's not— kuna~"

"finish a sentence," he suggests pleasantly, and drives the rest of the way home.

oh fuck. white at the edges. you grab at his forearms, thick, tattooed, not moving anywhere, and your walls clench helplessly around him and he makes this rough sound through his teeth, jaw set, eyes gone a little dark, which is the only tell he has and he'd be furious if you said it out loud.

he stays buried, lets you feel all of it, lets the stretch of him sit there in your nervous system like a fire alarm, and when your hips twitch up toward him his smirk sharpens.

"there it is," he says.

he fucks you mean and slow, which is worse than fast, the drag of him pulling out and pushing back in at this deliberate grinding pace that has you leaking slick down your thighs and babbling in under four minutes.

plp plp plp. the headboard knocks the wall. he doesn't care about the headboard. he's got a hand spread at your lower tummy, pressing down just enough to feel where he's hitting, and the filthy sound he makes when he feels it from both sides does something genuinely embarrassing to you.

"look at you," he murmurs, not unkind, "couldn't even wait to fight properly—" and he rolls his hips in and you arch up and he watches that happen with the expression of a man who feels very correct about something.

"wasn't— my fault—" you try, breathless, which is the wrong thing because—

"whose ring are you wearing," he says, flat, hips snapping once and your whole body jolts.

you stop arguing after that. he works you up to something that sits right behind your eyes, all squelch and wet heat and the low grunt of his breathing, and you're holding onto his shoulders with your nails probably leaving marks and he doesn't mention it or stop — if anything he fucks harder when you grip, because of course he does, because that's sukuna, because of course.

"gonna cum f' me?" he breathes, above you, and it's not quite a question, it's more like he's narrating what's about to happen because he already knows.

"yes—" and it comes out wrecked, barely a word, more just the shape of one.

"yeah," he says, very low, and his thumb finds your clit and presses and that's all it takes.

he cums with his face in your throat, biting down, not enough to break, enough to bruise, enough that you'll feel it tomorrow in the exact shape of his mouth, hips buried and grinding through the aftershocks of both of you, a rough sound that he muffles against your skin like he resents needing to make it.

you feel the heat of him spill and your walls clench again and he hisses, "don't—" and then does three more thrusts anyway, short and grinding and involuntary, because obviously.

silence. his weight settles. not off you, just — settled. which is sukuna's version of a blanket.

after a long moment: "you're not leaving again," he says. not a question. not really possessive even, just stated. the way he states everything that's already been decided.

your throat is dry. "that's not really how—"

"you're not," he says, into your hair, and the arm across your waist tightens by about ten percent.

you don't finish the sentence.

★ SHIU KONG

shui kong would let you walk through the door still hot with it. still jaw-set, still convinced you had the moral high ground, still replaying the argument in your head in the satisfying way where you win every time.

he'd be right there, jacket off, suspenders hanging loose at his hips, cigarette burning between two fingers like he's been sitting with it since you left, and he wouldn't say a word. just watches you come in. takes a drag. exhales slow.

that's it. that's the whole greeting.

the silence does something to you that you don't want to examine too closely, because it's infuriating and also your pulse has already picked up and you know he can tell, knows he always can, which is also infuriating. "don't start," you warn him, which is a stupid thing to say to someone who hasn't started anything.

the corner of his mouth moves. barely. "didn't say a word," he says, smoke still curling from the cigarette, voice doing that thing where it sounds perpetually bored and perpetually amused at the same time, pitched low and even, the kind of voice that gets under your skin precisely because it doesn't try to.

"you were thinking it," you say.

"yeah," he agrees, pleasantly. "i was."

he stubs the cigarette out. stands up. and there's a certain category of problem that shui kong moving toward you creates, because he's not fast about it, he's unhurried, which is different, which is worse and by the time he's close enough that you can smell the stale smoke and something sharper underneath it, the argument is already losing structural integrity in your head.

he looks down at you for a second. something in his half-lidded gaze tracking your face the way he tracks everything, cataloguing, unreadable.

"you done?" he asks.

you open your mouth. he tips your chin up with two fingers, not gripping, just placing, and kisses you, and the answer dies somewhere between your throat and the open air.

he gets your clothes off in a way that's efficient and sort of humiliating, like it's a task with obvious steps, like your indignation is a minor inconvenience he's accounting for. your skirt's gone before you've fully processed his hands at the zipper.

he backs you into the wall with one palm flat between your shoulders and mouths at your throat while his other hand slides between your thighs, and you're already embarrassingly wet and he finds it immediately and makes this low unimpressed sound directly against your pulse.

"how long you been like this," he murmurs. not a question.

"shut up—"

"since you left?" and there it is the meanness, the specific shui kong meanness that doesn't raise its voice, just turns the thing over in its hands and examines it while you want to dissolve through the floorboards.

his fingers move and you grab at his forearm and he keeps going, two fingers crooking inside you while his thumb finds your clit and applies exactly enough pressure to make your knees do something unreliable.

"shui—" and your voice comes out wrong, high and broken at the seam, and you feel him smile against your throat.

"there she is," he says, quiet, satisfied. "the version of you that's not full of shit."

you want to say something cutting. what comes out is a moan, squelch of his fingers working into you, plp plp plp embarrassing in the quiet of the room, and he brings you to the edge and keeps you there with this infuriating focused patience — just enough, never quite enough — until you're grabbing his shirt and making small desperate noises into his shoulder and your pride has fully evacuated the premises.

"please," you get out.

"please what," he says, mild.

"please just—"

"use your words," he says, "you were so good at them twenty minutes ago."

he fucks you up against the wall first, which you suspect is partially because he enjoys watching you scrabble for purchase, fingers dragging against the paint, heels slipping, entirely dependent on the arm hooked under your thigh to keep you from sliding.

the angle is something that rearranges your opinions on several subjects, his cock thick and pressing in deep where he holds you open and your mouth falls open on nothing, just air, just the squelch and slap of it slap slap slap and his breath rough at your temple, finally a little rough, finally something, the composed thing going uneven at the edges in a way that you'd feel smug about if you had any working brain cells left.

"still mad?" he asks, against your ear, hips driving up.

"—yes," you moan, which is technically a lie but also the only piece of self-respect you have left.

he makes a low amused sound and angles his hips and hits something that has you crying out, thighs locking around him, walls clenching so hard you feel him shudder, the first real crack — his jaw tensing, a rough "fuck—" that he doesn't quite swallow, muffled in your hair, hips stuttering before he pulls himself back into the rhythm.

"sure," he says, slightly strained.

he moves you to the bed at some point, not gentle about it; drops you onto the mattress, hooks your ankles up over his shoulders, and the new depth makes you sob a little which he watches with this expression like he's deeply privately satisfied by that.

the composure is mostly back. mostly. his hair's messed up and there's a flush along his neck he's definitely not acknowledging and his thrusts have that particular roughness that means he's closer than he wants to admit — slap slap slap and your whole body rocking up the mattress with each one, headboard kissing the wall, the sound of you soaked around him absolutely filthy in the quiet room.

"shui— shui, i'm—" and you're already shaking, thighs trembling either side of his head, clenching and fluttering and making his breath stutter again, "gonna cum, please—"

"i know," he says, and the certainty of it is so irritating and so hot that it tips you right over the edge.

he follows close behind, hips grinding in deep and staying, hand gripping your hip hard enough you'll see it tomorrow, a low rough sound that he breathes out through his teeth. the warmth of him fills you and your walls flutter uselessly and he hisses, grinds once more, twice, working it through with his eyes closed and jaw set like he's annoyed at himself for it.

silence. the ceiling. both of you breathing.

after a while he reaches over to the nightstand and picks up a new cigarette. doesn't light it. just holds it between his fingers and looks at the ceiling, chest still moving too fast for someone who'd like you to believe he's completely unbothered.

"we're not doing that again," he says finally, meaning the leaving part. the whole leaving part.

you turn your head to look at him. he's still staring at the ceiling. the unlit cigarette taps once against his knuckles. "which part," you say.

"all of it," he says, which means the leaving and nothing else, and doesn't elaborate, because that's all he was ever going to give you and somehow it's enough.

★ NAOYA ZENIN

naoya zenin would be insufferable about it. that's the whole thing — he'd be insufferable, leaned against the doorframe when you finally walked in, arms crossed, that particular smirk sitting on his face like it'd been waiting there specifically for you. hours. you'd been gone hours, long enough to cool down and heat back up again for entirely different reasons, and you walk through the door and the first thing out of his mouth is "took you long enough."

not i was worried. not where were you. not even a proper argument continuation. just that, delivered like a verdict, like you'd failed a test he'd designed.

you should not find it as hot as you do. you genuinely hate that about yourself.

"don't," you start, already bristling, dropping your bag.

"don't what," he says, tilting his head slightly, light eyes doing that thing where they track you with this lazy attention that isn't lazy at all, not really. "finish a thought, at least."

"don't be a dick about it—"

"i'm always dick," he smirks, like it's a point of pride, and it is, that's the problem, "that's not new information." he pushes off the doorframe. "you done sulking or d' you need another hour?"

"i wasn't sulking—" but he's already moved, already closed enough distance that you have to tilt your chin up to hold eye contact, and naoya at close range is a specific kind of problem because he's taller than you clock him for and meaner than you're ever fully braced for; his hand finds your jaw before you finish the sentence, not hard, just — there, thumb pressing the corner of your mouth, tilting your face exactly where he wants it.

"yeah you were," he says, eyes dropping to your mouth, "you always do that little thing where you go quiet and disappear and wait for someone to come find you." the smirk shifts into something with a sharper edge. "m' not doing that. you know where i am."

it's the closest naoya zenin gets to i was waiting for you to come back and you both know it and neither of you are going to say it.

he kisses you before you can respond, which is basically naoya's solution to any conversational situation where he's running out of winning moves — not that he'd frame it that way, not that he'd ever admit the conversation had gotten close to him at all.

his hands move fast. not frantic, nothing naoya does is frantic, but efficient in a way that has your shirt gone and your bra following it before your brain's fully caught up, and when you grab at his collar he makes this low approving sound like you've done something correctly.

"there she is," he murmurs, against the side of your face, "been waiting all night for the version of you that shuts up."

"naoya—"

"shhh," he says, which is incredibly rude, and his hand slides down your stomach.

he doesn't bother with the bed immediately. backs you into the wall, slap of your shoulders hitting it, and gets his fingers into you while you're still standing, two of them, crooking like he already knows exactly where to press which he does, he always does, which is its own humiliation.

you're already wet and he finds it and laughs, short and low, right next to your ear. "you went all the way out there," he says, fingers working a slow drag, "this pissed at me—" and you clench around him and his breath hitches, covered fast, "—and came back this worked up. what were you even doing out there, thinking about it?"

"i hate you—" and it comes out wrecked because his thumb grazes your clit.

"no you don't," he says, certain, almost bored about it, and crooks his fingers again and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound.

when he finally gets inside you it's with your legs around his waist and the wall doing half the structural work and his face buried somewhere between your jaw and your shoulder, the composed thing shredding at the seams almost immediately because you're tight and you clench the second he bottoms out and his whole body stutters.

"fuck—" not covered, and you feel his hips jerk forward on instinct like he can't help it. like he's been thinking about this since you walked out. he probably has. he'd rather die than say so.

"oh," you breathe, walls fluttering, and he makes a sound that is not remotely as composed as he'd like. "f-fuck"

"don't," he grits, jaw tight.

"don't what," you mumble, deliberately copying him, and feel him twitch inside you.

he fucks you mean after that, which was inevitable. slap slap slap of his hips against yours, rough and deep, one hand fisted in your hair yanking your head back so he can watch your face, which naoya always does — he wants to see it, wants to watch you come apart specifically for him, and he gets meaner about it the closer you get, running his mouth in this low relentless way that's half degradation and half the closest he gets to losing it.

"look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and fixed, "couldn't even stay mad properly— pussy' this desperate the whole time and you thought leaving was gonna—" and you clench hard around him on accident and his sentence dies, "shit—" hips snapping brutal once, twice, rhythm breaking into something rougher, less controlled.

"mmmgh— naoya~" your voice wet and high.

"yeah," he says, strained, "yeah, that's right—" and his free hand moves between you, thumb finding your clit without breaking pace, and your vision goes sideways.

you cum loud and messy and undignified, thighs locking around his waist, and the clench of it drags a genuine broken sound out of naoya zenin; not a grunt, not a controlled exhale, a sound, cracked right through the middle, his hips driving in and grinding, stuttering through it.

"f-fuck—" and then again, quieter, helpless, face pressing into your neck while he pulses inside you warm and deep and his whole body shakes with how hard he's trying not to make it obvious how gone he is.

he stays inside. breathing hard. the smirk is gone — just his face, flushed and wrecked and younger-looking somehow, eyes shut.

a long beat.

"you're not doing that again," he says, finally, into your shoulder. hoarse.

"what, leaving, or making you—"

"either," he says, fast, and the tips of his ears go pink and he absolutely does not acknowledge that you noticed.

★ MAHITO

mahito would think it was funny.

that's the first thing. you walk back through the door still pissed, still running the argument on a loop, still convinced you were right and he's right there, cross-legged on the floor like he'd been sitting exactly like that since you left, head tilted, those mismatched eyes tracking you from across the room with this expression like you're the most interesting thing he's seen all week. wide smile. the kind that doesn't mean what smiles usually mean.

"you came back," he says, and he sounds delighted.

not relieved. not apologetic. delighted, like you'd passed some test he'd set without telling you, like the whole three hours was a game with a conclusion he'd already predicted. you want to say something cutting and instead you say "don't make it weird—"

"i'm not making it weird," he murmurs, already unfolding from the floor, already moving, the way mahito moves was always so fluid and too-casual, like joints work slightly differently for him, like he's interested in the trajectory of a thing before it knows it's moving. "you left mad and you came back. that's just what happened." he's close now, head dipping slightly to look at your face, smile gone smaller and more specific. "you missed me."

"i didn't—"

"you did," he says, and the certainty of it is disgusting, and correct, and you hate everything.

he kisses you the way he does everything — like it's a new thing he's curious about, too much attention on it, one hand coming up to hold your face in place with his palms flat against your jaw so he can look at you while he does it, which shouldn't be as intense as it is.

his hands are always slightly cooler than they should be. you notice it every time. his thumbs press your cheeks and he pulls back just enough to study your expression at close range, eyes moving across your face like he's cataloguing something.

"still mad?" he asks, conversational.

"yes—"

"good," he says, and means it, and walks you backward toward the bed.

mahito likes you angry. that's the honest truth of it, the part you've stopped being surprised by — he likes the fight still in you, the flush of it, the way your eyes go bright when you're pissed off at him.

he says it makes you more interesting, which is terrifying on a fundamental level and also the most sincere compliment he has the architecture to give.

he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and uses the other to get your clothes off with this absorbed, intent focus, like unwrapping something he's genuinely curious about, and when he spreads you open with his fingers and finds you already wet his whole face does something that cracks the grin into something softer and much worse.

"heh," he breathes, delighted again, "you were thinking about it the whole time."

"mahito i swear—"

"you were," he says, fingers curling in, and your back arches off the mattress.

plp plp plp of his fingers working into you in the quiet room, the wet sounds of it embarrassingly loud, and he watches your face with this open fascination that would be uncomfortable in any other context and is uncomfortable in this one too.

his thumb finds your clit and circles and you stop caring about comfortable. "there," he says softly, more to himself than you, tracking the specific shape your face makes, the way your thighs want to close and his hand keeps them open. "there you are."

he edges you once. just to see what happens. pulls back when your hips are chasing and your voice has gone high and broken and watches you come down from it with his head tilted and his eyes bright. "mahito~" his name comes out lewd, "please—"

"please what," he says, genuinely curious, like he's collecting data.

getting him inside you makes him go briefly, wonderfully, undone — the composed curious thing cracking open at the stretch of you around him, a rough sound against your throat that he doesn't bother covering, just feels them and reports back.

"fuuuck—" drawn out, honest, his hips grinding the last inch in while his fingers dig into your thigh. you feel every ridge of him, the slight upward curve, and your walls clench helplessly and he makes another sound, this one shorter and more surprised, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"you always—" he starts, and stops. tries again. "every time you—" and stops again, which for mahito, who always has something to say, is saying something.

he starts moving before he finishes the sentence.

slap slap slap, his hips meeting yours, the pace building into something relentless and deep that knocks the air out of you in short punched increments.

his hair falls around both of you, long and bluish-grey and falling out of whatever loose hold it'd been in, and when you grab a fistful of it he groans loud, hips stuttering hard. his hand finds yours and keeps it there, keeps the grip, like he wants you pulling.

"yeah," he breathes, "yeah, mmm— harder—" and you're almost laughing except he snaps his hips and hits something deep that dissolves the laugh into a keen that bounces off the walls.

"mahito—" wrecked, too many syllables, your voice doing something it's not supposed to do.

"i know," he says, "i know i know, you're—" and he bites your shoulder, sharp, and you clench and he shudders and the rhythm breaks into something desperate and stuttering and completely out of the neat curiosity it'd started with.

he gets you off twice, which you were not prepared for, the second one rolling directly into the first before you've caught your breath, and he watches both of them happen up close with this half-lidded focus while his own breathing comes completely apart.

the second time your walls lock around him and your voice cracks on his name he tips over too — a low grunt sound, hips buried, grinding through it with his face in your neck and his hands gripping your hips hard enough you'll feel it tomorrow in the shape of his fingers.

warm spill of him, deep, and he keeps rolling his hips through the aftershocks because he can't quite stop, little involuntary rocks that drag sounds out of both of you.

silence. both of you breathing.

he lifts his head. looks at your face. the smile that comes back is smaller than usual, something genuine underneath it that mahito doesn't always let sit on the surface. "you're not doing that again," he says, meaning the leaving.

"that's not really your decision—"

"you're not doing that again," he repeats, patient, and his nose touches yours, and it's the closest he's getting to please don't leave and you both know it and he'd never say it with different words.

[sugurusbadhabit]

mdni 18+ :: gn!reader

naoya praises himself while he's got you folded in half, your knees pressed to your chest, his cock slipping in and out of you at a rate that has your brain melting out of your ears.

"making a mess," he comments, not bothering to slow his pace as he leans into your space, lips turned up into a sly smirk and just centimeters from your ear to ask, "that 'cause of me?"

and when your walls start clamping down around him, "cumming again? who did that for you?" followed by a laugh.

but every once in a while, his confidence cracks. you don't even realize he's started to slip until his forehead presses to yours.

his pace starts to falter, collapsing into you. he supports his weight on one arm above your head, the other wrapped around your waist as your hips work together now. the angle is just right, the tip of his cock staying pressed into your sweet spot, every shift of your hips sending little shockwaves down your spine.

"tell me i'm doing a good job," his voice wavers when he asks, throat bobbing as he swallows down his fear of rejection. vulnerability is written all over him - eyes squeezed shut, his fingers playing with the loose ends of your hair. when you take too long to respond, he chokes out a, "please."

your hand comes up to his face, gently placing it against his cheek. you bring your lips together for a moment and then, "you're doing a good job," when you pull away, head falling back into the mattress.

your voice is soft and seemingly exactly what he needs. he lets out a low, lengthy moan, letting more of his weight settle on top of you as his thrusts pick up speed again.

[pocketss]

blockhead gets mogged

[exreader]

Throat Goat Training

Paddy Pimblett x Reader

A/N I spent sm time not writing bc I thought smut would be way harder to write. Do it. Go out and write the fanfic you wanna read. I'm being so fucking fr, how bad could it be? It's fandom, it's supposed to be fun, and we're on the fandom website. Do it!!! Have fun!!!!!:))))

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“You trust me, yeah?” Paddy asked, voice soft, thumb brushing along your jaw as he guided you down to your knees.

“C’mere, baby,” Paddy murmured.

You smiled already pliant under his touch, eyes wide and eager, you settled between his legs. He reached out, brushing your hair back with a touch that was more adoring than greedy.

“Look so pretty down there,” he said. “My gorgeous girl.” He runs his fingers over your jaw gently grasping it in his hand, you lean into it sighing softly.

He was already hard, deliciously thick through his pants, you nuzzled him through his sweat pants humming, pleased. He looks down at you almost reverently. "You really are all mine." He smiles running a big hand through you hair.

You sit up and smile at him, he pulls his sweat pants down and his dick smacks his stomach. You licked your lips instinctively.

“Open up beauty,” he coaxed, voice soft but commanding. He runs a finger over your bottom lip and your tongue comes out to swipe at it getting a taste. “So eager.” He says biting back a smile.

You leaned in flicking your eyes up at him, he used his other hand to push his dick down towards you. Your mouth watered as you flattened your tongue against the underside of him, licking a slow, wet stripe from base to tip. He hissed through his teeth, the hand on your jaw sinking into your hair.

“Oh love. Fuck, that’s it.” His fingers tighten in your hair slightly.

You wrapped your lips around the head, swirling your tongue, giving him just a little suction getting it all wet, laving your tongue over the head bobbing slightly just taking the head for now. He groaned, hips twitching slightly, but didn’t push he just let you work him, let you take your time.

You stroked the base while you sucked at the head, taking him just a little deeper massaging the sensitive spot below the head with your tongue. His breath hitched. You pulled back with a pop, spit connecting your mouth to the tip.

“You’re already drivin’ me mad,” he muttered. You smiled up at him placidly and moved your hand up to gather some spit and started jerking him off as you dipped your head to lick his balls. Starting with one and licking all around the contours before sucking it into your mouth. You hear him groan above you, he lets both his hands fall at his sides letting go of you letting you do whatever you want to him.

"Fuck darling, oh my God," he sighs out. He looks down at you into your eyes as you peer up at him from behind his dick, your eyes crinkled from a smile. You move to the other ball licking around it and suck both into your mouth moaning softly, your hand strokes him a little faster tightening a little when you get to the head. You swipe your tongue over his balls in your mouth a little more before you suck on them and pull away moaning happily.

“Open that pretty mouth for me,” he said, reaching out and stroking your jaw.

You took him in your mouth licking and bobbing your head down gradually taking him more and more nearing the base, it just slightly going down your throat. You relaxed your muscles as he put both of his hands on your head gently, gasping at the feeling. He didn’t force it, just rocked his hips forward gently, letting you adjust, letting you feel the stretch and weight of him slide further down.

“That’s it. Just breathe through your nose when you can, baby. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.” He sounded breathy and unraveled.

He eased back out further, letting you catch your breath just barely hitting the back of your throat, then pressed in again just a bit deeper this time. You gagged slightly, and his hand stroked your cheek.

“There we go,” he whispered. “That’s your body learnin’. You’re okay. So good for me, love. Gunna get rid of that, yeah?” you look up at him wrecked already, adoration in your eyes telling him how much you enjoy this.

He kept the rhythm steady, coaxing you further down with each pass, never rushing, always watching you. Spit slicked your chin and dripped down his balls, your eyes watered, and still, you moaned around him, letting him know you wanted it.

“You’re takin’ me so well,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ obedient. Fuck, baby… look at you.”

By the time your nose was pressed to his pelvis, he was shaking, jaw clenched. He held you there just a second longer, letting you feel the stretch, the surrender- intimate, not disposable.

Then he pulled back slowly, letting you breathe, wiping your eyes with careful fingers.

“Still okay?” he asked.

You nodded, dazed and desperate, whispering, “Want more. Please.”

His groan was guttural. “Fuckin’ filthy sweetheart. Alright, then. Whatever my pretty girl wants.” He gives you a cheeky smile.

He slid back into your mouth with ease this time, and this time, he fucked it. Slow, deep strokes, his hand guiding your rhythm, hips rolling steadily.

“Gonna coat that pretty tongue with it, just like you fuckin' like," he rasped. "Wanna see you taste it. Lick it up like you fuckin’ need it." You moaned at the possessiveness he's displaying, and it pushed him over. His thrusts stuttered, a low growl ripping from his chest as he came, hot and thick filling your mouth until you needed to swallow, wrapping your mouth around the head licking and sucking wanting more, gulping another mouthful down and groaning loving the feeling. You take him into your mouth bobbing your head wanting more. He grips your head gently. "Oh fuck love, oh my God!" 

You swallowed around him, taking as much as you could and gagging slightly, his hand stroking your hair while he moaned louder, overstimulated.

"Baby, baby please," he gasps out. You pull away up to the tip bobbing on it a little before going all the way down to the base, your nose touching the short trimmed hairs of his happy trail. He grabs your hair gathering it up into a messy ponytail and pushing your head down. Your eyes roll back into your head as his hips twitch a little fucking his dick even deeper into your throat, your hands on his thighs gently squeeze him. You pull away all the way up to the tip and go up and down tip to base sucking the life out of him as he holds your head firmly.

"Fuck sweetheart I'm going to cum again if you do that." He pants as you speed up and dig your nails into his thighs a bit. He grabbed your head caressing your jaw, hands cupped under your ears and fucked up into your throat as you look up at him wrecked, almost stupidly. He looks into your eyes as he firmly but sweetly fucks your mouth, speeding up and his balls start smacking your chin. One of your hands snakes down between your legs and you grind on it as he fucks your mouth.

Eventually he pulls you all the way down, gagging a little and squirming, he cums down your throat moaning your name, his hips stuttering a little. He slowly pulled out and cupped your face in both hands, guiding your gaze up to him and helping you lift your head.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he murmured, eyes full of awe. “You’re somethin’ else. My girl. My fuckin girl.”

You smiled, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He leaned in to kiss you slow, tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls you onto his lap with a shit eating grin on his face. 

"Were you touchin' what's mine love?" You looked at him confused for a moment and your eyes widened.

He stands up holding you bridal style. “Let’s get you comfortable,” he whispered against your temple. “Let's take care of that, sweetheart.”

Part 2: Proper Shag Prep

[kkgalerii]

THE SEXIEST SORRY .✦

description: you and michael are having troubles spending time together due to his career. a supposed date night turns into a flake, but can michael make it up to you?

syn: established relationship, soft dom!michael, 18+, whole lotta angst, whole lotta smut, sub!reader, bad!era, purposefully lowercase! UM TS IS SO DAMN NASTY LMAO

a/n: y’all asked…y’all received. AND PLEASE IGNORE MY GRAMMAR IDK WDF I BE TALM BOUT 😂😂😂

“ma’am, would you like a refill on that wine?”

the polite voice of the waitress snapping you out of your trance— in which you were staring right at the empty seat in front of you.

you nodded with a smile. as you watched the burgundy-stained liquid pour into your glass, your heart ached at the fact that your boyfriend, michael had been 15 minutes late.

about a week ago, michael reserved this new dining experience just for the two of you. no cameras, no fans, no family, just each other.

due to the consistent work being put in of the making of his new album, bad; the two of you had rarely seen each other. the both of you were so busy. so michael selected this date so you could spare some time together.

finally you notice how your glass had been filled three times, and how the seat in front of you was still empty. checking your watch, now to see that it’s been a whole hour. you don’t say anything but grab some cash out of your purse, placing it on the table for the waitress as her tip.

you step into the car as a sudden weight of sadness fell over you. michael hadn’t came. there were no updates either. tears began to sting your eyes in the backseat of the luxurious car.

you finally arrived home. your driver escorting you into the house, then sending him off with a goodnight and fake smile. just to show that you were okay.

with the clack of your heels dreading through the empty home, you finally make it to your bedroom. undoing the beautiful dress you wore, and tossing it onto the chair beside your bed.

after a warm shower, and putting on your favorite nightgown, you snuggle up into the sheets. the sadness still clawing at your throat, tears slowly began to fall. but despite the emotions that needed to be let out, you were tired. so you went to sleep.

well—you attempted to. your eyes flashed open quickly met with the sound of movement downstairs. you already knew it was michael, because he was humming some sort of song.

the weight of hurt in your chest began aching again. but you didn’t want to face the problem tonight so you just acted as if you were asleep.

a chill goes down your body as michael enters the room. you can’t tell if the chill represents pain or anger, but you know it’s one of the two

michael’s footsteps slow down for a moment, you guess he’s undressing, you can hear the rustles of his heavy belt and his heavy clothing dropping into the laundry basket.

you just sigh as you hear him getting closer. the bed dips beneath you and you can hear him climb in. he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closely.

you couldn’t keep up the fake sleeping act—you were too upset and hurt not to show it. you removed his arm from around you and scooted away.

“m-mama, you awake?” michael questions softly a bit confused.

you let out another sigh, this time loud enough for michael to hear. the tears are coming back. “just go to sleep michael.” you exhale shakily.

“baby… is everything okay?” michael is clearly concerned. ignoring him you scoot further away. michael sighs and looks around the room despite the dim lighting. suddenly, his eyes land on the chair a few feet away from you. which is a beautiful, deep, red dress.

suddenly everything clicks. “shit.” michael mumbled under his breath. “baby.. oh my goodness, baby i’m sorry.” his hand reaches for your soft skin once again, only for you to reject it.

just the act of michael reaching out alone triggers you. the emotions inside of you begging to be let out. to calm yourself, you rise and sit up with your feet dangling off the bed.

michael follows and slides right behind you. his finger dances into the hair on the side of your head, softly pulling it back to flip over your other shoulder, leaving one side of your neck, shoulder, and ears bare. you stay quiet.

michael can fill the guilt unraveling in his mind, he was worried sick. he hated letting you down, especially when it was so—unintentional.

sweetheart, i’m so sorry… i would’ve loved to eat dinner with you but quincy dragged me to the after party…” he said with his chin now resting along your shoulder.

despite his touch you stayed still as the tears threatened to steam down your warm cheeks.

“baby, say somethin’. he frowned. “your scaring me honey… i know we planned to have dinner, but things got carried away. it’s like everyone wanted a piece of me tonight. i’m terribly sorry. i should have been there.” his hand slowly rubbing your tender arms, which were rested by your sides.

gently shrugging him off, you stand and turn. you just stare at him. it’s like so many emotions want to come out but it hurts. michael looks up in your eyes with worry and guilt, he can feel it soaring through his veins.

“when will i have a piece of you?” you shakily exhale. michaels eyes travel down to his hands which are now picking at the skin on his knees trying to distract the nerves he feels all over.

michael opened his mouth and before he could even speak. “i cleared out my schedule. i wore that dress you love even though the lining pokes at my sides. i sat there with hope, only for it to be lost everytime the waiter continuously asked me where the rest of my party was.” you finally stated.

michael’s eyes, traced every detail of your face. he saw the pain and disappointment in every wrinkle. swallowing nervously, his hands came up to yours, gently cradling them together in his lap.

“you mean so much to me”—

“i can barely tell when you don’t even show up to a dinner YOU reserved!” you snarked.

michael sucked in his bottom lip between his teeth, showing frustration. not with you but with himself.

“sometimes it feels like i’m invisible to you. i know i mean a lot to you. but im beginning to doubt it.” you sigh, trying to calm down.

“baby…we’ve been together for so long. i love you so much. things are changing, the both of our lives are changing.” his hands left yours, cradling your hips.

“but from now on, i will forever keep you first. despite all that’s been happening, and our shared time being cut due to our schedules… i wanna keep lovin’ you mama. n’ i wanna do it right.” he spoke in that soft whisper tone that could’ve put you to sleep right then and there. his hands gently caressed your sides and started to slide up. his slim thumb, sitting perfectly tucked under your boob.

before you could even let out a word he pulled you onto his lap. as your body wrapped around his, he took it all in. your scent, your warmth, your love.

with his face shoved into the heat of your neck, your hands went up to rest in his curls. “i love you too michael. but i’m just so tired… physically and mentally.” you could feel his arms wrapped around your waist softly tightening at the sound of your words.. which were filled with unease.

pulling away from your neck, you felt his warm breath against your lips. “then let me put you to sleep baby, and show you how sorry i am.”

you softly bit your lips… “i ain’t letting you off that easy baby.” your hands now relaxed on his shoulders.

michael let out a low chuckle while his hands traveled sensually down your back and softly groped your behind. his fingertips dancing along your skin mixed with the fabric of your soft baby pink nightgown that was riding up your thighs.

micheal’s lips pecked the corner of yours, then up to your cheek, then towards your ear. catching the sweet skin of your lobe in between his lips. his hot breath spreading onto your skin unevenly.

as he moved his kisses all around the perimeter of your neck, jaw, and ears he softly murmured—despite his words being interrupted by the sounds of his lips on your skin. “vacation. you and me. ireland? sounds fun.”

you could feel his neediness with the way his lips didn’t disconnect from your bareness, and the way his hands continuously caressed the flesh of your ass cheeks.

you weren’t angry at michael. just sad and disappointed. but the way he was holding and touching you, it was hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

finally giving in, you hum in approval of his plans, while your hands meet both the sides of his jaw. mouths intertwining deeply. the movement of his tongues in your warm mouth, representing his desire for forgiveness. “fuck. mama— i’m really sorry hun.” he whines into the kiss.

your hips begin to move uncontrollably, a slow grind warming up your entire body. a shaky breath “it’s okay baby, i forgive you… but i need you to show me a good reason why” you said with a roll of your hips. michael’s fingers pressed into your backside pulling you in closer as his lips met yours. “alright mama, anything for you my love.” he mumbled, practically into your mouth.

the fingers that danced along your skin, softly and sensually, now rested under your thighs with strength. michael cradled you into his arms and flipped you over. with your back hitting the soft silky sheets, his body towering over you with his curls hanging from his face. after the two of you admire each other for quite long enough, michael readjusted the placement of your body. instead of you being on the side of the bed, your head now laid upon the pillows.

your back arched against the sheets as his long fingers felt the heat between your legs, slowly treading against your thigh. The tension that had simmered between you for days finally snapped the moment he pulled you onto the bed. "I'm sorry” he exhaled again.

michael's fingers tangled in the hem of your thin silk nightgown, yanking it up to your waist without struggle. finding you completely bare underneath, his dark eyes flashed with predatory hunger. he spread your legs wide, his hands gripping your thighs gently as he lowered his head, feasting on your warmth with slick, wet strokes that made you whimper and arch your back.

your soft fingers now stranded within his curls as you feel the electricity being sent throughout your body. “feel good baby?” he mumbled. the vibrations of his breath sent chills up your arched spine. all you could do was nod. the pain and hurt was slowly going away and were replaced with desire and lust.

“i wanna hear you mama. talk to me, i need you to do better baby.” he let out, his soft tone being interrupted by the wet sounds of your core. waiting for an answer, michael’s tongue applied pressure to your clit, circling and then sucking. “yes!— yes michael. it feels so fucking good.” you could feel the hot nerves in your stomach coiling.

it was overwhelming. everything at once, hearing the wetness and groans of approval from michael, feeling his fingertips press into your skin controllingly, and the tickle against your stomach from his hair, which began to unravel from its original style.

michael licked a final, devastating stripe up your pussy before crawling up your body, kissing your inner thighs, stomach, and chest. he hovered over you, the silk nightgown completely bunched around your waist now. his thick, hard cock tapped against your entrance, leaking and desperate. "be a good girl, baby. i want you to feel how sorry i am.” he whispered, behind the lust clouding his gigantic eyes, you could also see the love and sorrow.

suddenly you were distracted from looking into his eyes as you felt his heavy member gently plop down against your belly button. michael had already got rid of the release his boxers had on his hardened cock. “come here baby” you say as your hands cradle his face pulling him into a kiss.

the kiss was desperate and needy—from the both of you. one of your hands glided down from his face to his cock. you could feel the cold leakage of his precum against your tummy. you stroked him softly. “yeah mama. just like that” he groaned as his eye contact dropped from the immediate pleasure being spread throughout his body.

he pushed inside slowly, one excruciating inch at a time, letting you feel every ridge of his thick cock stretching you open. "you still mad at me?" he murmured against your ear, his hips grinding forward as you clenched around him. “i’m not sure yet.” you turn your head, whining against his lips.

michael let out a low chuckle, as he began to pick up his pace. the force of his cock, hitting your walls had you forgetting the gut-punching feeling you had tonight in the restaurant. “yes baby yes—fuck, give it all to me michael, i need all of it, angel.” you moaned.

michael’s face warmed up due to the nickname, but the coil in his stomach was heating up much faster. michael reached for the tender skin under your thighs, then guiding your legs on top of his shoulders. both of them.

you let out a loud cry. it was a lot, but you asked for it. and he was giving it to you, his cock driving into you smoothly due to the wetness of your folds.

“shit girl, i love you—mama i need you” michael whined as he let out muffled moans of pleasure into the warmth of your neck. his pace was steady. almost like a beat, one thrust after the other and you were losing it.

all the air leaving your lungs, head cocking back against the pillow, which one hand was tightly gripping and the other digging nail marks into michael’s skin on his back.

the two of you were so close. you needed this, especially after feeling the distance. “michael baby, i’m gonna make a mess— fuck right there, yes!” you panted out. tears were lingering in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure was too much to bear. you couldn’t compose yourself any longer.

“let go f’me baby, please give it to me mama, i love you and i’m so sorry my baby” he moaned, as his lips shuffled from your neck to now hovering beside your ear.

your thighs started shaking violently as the coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you saw stars. michael let you ride it out, his name falling from your lips in broken whimpers, but he didn’t stop. he grasped your waist and flipped you onto your stomach effortlessly. "arch that back for me baby, we’re not done.”

his hands gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he slammed back inside, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. "i'm sorry, baby," he whispered, mouth hot against your ear while his cock pistoned into you relentlessly. "i know i was wrong... i shouldn't have made you feel like that." each apology came with a deep thrust that hit just right.

you couldn’t even reply, you couldn’t even think, the pleasure being so intense, it felt like your brain was turning into mush. your eyes rolling back, pleasure shooting through your veins like electricity.

he pressed his chest flush against your back, surrounding you completely in a bear hug, his thrusts turning slow and devastatingly deep. "you're my girl," he whispered softly, kissing your shoulder. "never gonna make you feel like that again, i promise." one hand slid around to rub your clit in tight circles, making you sob into the pillow as he fucked the apology right into your guts.

michael wanted to hear you, so his free hand, slid up resting under your jaw, turning your head slightly so he could at least have some sight of your pretty face. his lips lingering over your cheek.

his movements became slower, more deliberate, each thrust drawing out a whimper from both of you. His voice dropped to a husky whisper against your ear, "i love you... fuck, i love you so much." His fingers worked your clit with expert precision as he hit that perfect spot inside you repeatedly.

with a final deep thrust and a tender kiss to your neck, michael came inside you with a shuddered groan that sounded like your name. his hot release triggered your own orgasm instantly, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you both came together in a messy, loving tangle of apologies and pleas.

"stay right there, princess." he tapped your ass, and then he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, licking his own cum dripping out of your pussy. "mm, tastes like us," he murmured, tongue swirling deep to clean up the mess. it was filthy and overwhelming, making your toes curl instantly.

“mmm—baby, oh my goodness.” you shudder, due to the overstimulation charging at your nerves. michael clearly didn’t wanna stop. his nose settled right near your puckering asshole while his tongue slid smoothly against your clit.

michael's tongue became a relentless weapon, flicking and sucking at your oversensitive clit while his fingers pushed back inside you. he was determined to draw out another orgasm, his mouth and fingers working overtime to overwhelm your senses. "too much... too much," the words draw from your lips.

your fingers—which are now shaking as well fly back up to his curls. trying to push him back, but michael’s tongue resists. “no baby, move” he mumbled softly as a white sticky liquid is now surrounding his lips and jaw.

"give it to me," he murmured against your thigh, his dark eyes looking up at you with that hungry glint as his tongue kept its relentless pace. "just one more, baby... you know you want to." his thumb pressed tight against your clit while his fingers curled inside, stroking that perfect spot that made your vision blur. "c'mon, that's it..."

“oh my god, michael” you cried out, and this time it wasn’t so soft. the pleasure rang through you like a loud bell. your eyes in the back of your head as your body became limp against the sheets. nearly numb.

he softly kissed your clit before kissing your trembling thighs and crawling up your body. he captured your lips in a slow, deeply loving kiss, tasting of sex and absolute devotion. pulling your head against his chest as he flipped you back over, he rubbed your back gently. "i am so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered softly. "never upsetting you again. i promise."

you turn your head and look at him in admiration. the padded skin of your index finger now holding up his chin to look at you. “it’s okay my love, i forgive you. you made me feel exactly how sorry you were.” you couldn’t help but display a small smile. michael giggled in response before pecking the corner of your lips and cradling you close.

[neverlandzangel]

✧˙°. — SINCERELY, MICHAEL

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉 𝟣: 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

bad!michael x reader | chap 2

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆? 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗂, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒/𝗇, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀-𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍; 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌/𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗇𝗈 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒/𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

the audience erupted into an applause when sally stepped out onto the stage.

you took a breath backstage, someone from your pr team taking notice. “you’ll do fine.”

“a little nervous is all,” you smoothed a hand over your outfit. you were wearing a fitted black wrap-style top with a deep v-neckline and bell sleeves that brushed just past your wrists. it had gold floral embroidery climbed across one side of the top with a pair of dark wash jeans of the same embroidery, but the opposite side. you paired it with black slingback heels, gold hoop earrings, and your hair was a blowout that was put in the prettiest half up half down.

“five seconds.” the producer yelled, causing your stomach to flutter. you could perform infront of 80,000 people and sing without a problem.

interviews? entirely different story.

“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the incredible—“ the crowd practically drowned out the rest.

“go.” the curtains parted, the applause grew louder. and then there she was, sally jessy raphael herself — standing center stage with a bright smile on her face.

you laughed despite yourself as you walked onto the stage. sally met you halfway, wrapping you in a hug. after, she grabbed your hand and you both sat down, waiting for the audience to settle.

“it’s so good to finally have you here.” sally nodded.

“thank you, it’s so good to be here.” you smiled.

sally turned to the audience, “i have to tell y’all something.” 

you covered your face. “oh dear.” the audience laughed.

“i have been trying to get this interview for a year,” the audience laughed harder. “it’s true! y/n you’re such a successful young lady..”

you dropped your hands, “thank you, you make it seem like i’m hiding.” you giggled. 

“you disappear for months at a time.” sally raised her brows.

“that’s called living.” the crowd erupted.

“see? this is why the people love you.” you shook your head smiling at her statement. the interview started easily enough.

your newest album, touring, songwriting, your interests outside of music, even silly stories from when you were younger. this part was easy,

until sally crossed her leg over the other and gave you a look. immediately, you were suspiscous. 

“ugh, just spit it out.” you giggled, causing her to glance at her cards.

“what about dating?” the audience cheered.

you leaned your head back, “no.” causing sally to laugh “oh, yes.”

no.

“everyone wants to know.” you turned to the crowd, seeing faces full of grins. “y’all are positive?” they ‘yes’d in unison, causing you to groan and cover your face once again.

“y/n..” sally started, “you write some of the most romantic songs in music.”

“that doesn’t mean anything.” you dropped your hands, smiling.

“fine. let me ask differently.” she narrowed her eyes toward you. “are you seeing anyone?”

you shook your head. “no.”

“no special someone?”

“no.”

“do these men have eyes?” the audience roared as she turned to the crowd, causing you to giggle as well.

“sally.”

“yes?”

“you’re determined.” you said, causing her to nod. you sighed dramatically then shrugged.

“no.”

a collective aww echoed through the audience. sally blinked. “really?”

“really.”

“why?” 

you turned your head to the crowd, then back to her. then you smiled, a little sheepishly.

“i’ve never had much luck.” you heard a loud gasp.

sally looked genuniely shocked. “what do you mean? you’re one of the most beautiful people i’ve ever seen.”

there was pause for a moment, causing you to think.

“i think people fall in love with who they think i am, not who i actually am. and when they meet me, and they’re disappointed to find out i’m just a person who does the same things a person would.” you said with a giggle behind it.

sally looked at you thoughtfully. “that’s lonely.”

“sometimes.” you offered a small smile, “but i’d rather be alone than with someone who doesn’t really wanna love me for me.”

the audience applauded. a lot. it made sally smile.

“so.. what kind of man do you want?” she leaned forward a bit.

you laughed shyly, looking down for a moment. 

“someone who’s funny, who’s kind, who doesn’t feel the need to impress everybody.” you looked back up.

sally smiled “mm.”

“and someone who is comfortable with being themselves!”

“thats a plus!!” someone in the audience yelled, causing everyone to laugh.

sally tilted her head. “so where does one find this mystery man?”

you laughed a real laugh. effortless. “if you figure it out, let me know.”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

thousands of miles away, michael sat in a hotel suite in tokyo. the ‘bad’ tour had him halfway around the world. 

the tv was on for background noise, at least that’s what the plan was. until he heard your name, causing him to look up. 

now 45 minutes had passed, and he hadn’t moved not once.

his elbows rested on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen, watching you answer questions with a mixture of honesty and humor that was effortless. when sally asked about your love life, michael found himself paying far more attention than he should have.

“i’ve never had much luck.” he heard, causing his brow to furrow.

how?

how was that possible?

the woman that was on the screen was beautiful, talented, funny, and graceful. and somehow she’d had bad luck? michael shook his head.

by the time the interview ended, he’d already developed a problem.

because now, he wanted to meet you.

and had absolutely no idea how.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

a few weeks after the interview, you’re home when your assistant, jennifer walks in holding an envelope. at first, it looks ordinary enough. cream-colored, no flashy markings, nothing that indicated that it was important enough.

she hands it over to you — no return address, just your name. the handwriting looked neat, intentional. carefully you slid a finger beneath the seal. it was a handwritten note.

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎/𝓃, 𝒾 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒. 𝒾 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓌 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓇𝑒.  𝒾 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, 𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁 𝒿𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲.

you read it three times. 

then a fourth.

then a fifth. you were sure you misunderstood. it wasn’t dramatic nor flirtatious. if anything, it was surprisingly simple.

he seen your interview, he enjoyed it, thought you seem genuine. wanted to wish you well. that was all.

“who’s it from?” jennifer asked, a brief pause.

“…michael jackson.” you said, sounding more a question than a statement.

she blinked. “the michael jackson?”

you handed the letter to her.

“wow.” her eyes widened 

“i know, right?” that seemed to be the only words you could utter. what exactly were you supposed to do with this?

it wasn’t a business proposal, it wasn’t a request for collaboration. simply just kind.

you were still in shock. out of all the things he could’ve been doing, he was watching your interview. for some reason, that detail stuck with you the most.

“are you going to answer him?” jennifer pulled you out of the trance.

“yes, maybe.” you laughed, a nervous one.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

the replied arrived 12 days later. 12 days too long for him.

michael was sitting in his hotel suite when bill knocked on the door. “you got mail.”

he opened the door “thank you,” he stepped to the side, allowing bill to walk in.

“quincy said it was a reply to a note you’d sent?” his ears perked. “right.” he said quickly.

“what?”

“nothing..”

“michael.”

“bill.” bill shook his head, heading out.

oh, how eager michael was to recieve something back from you.

chap 2

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I think ao3 is literally the only site where no censorship means no censorship. you can post the most vile things on there — things that will get taken down on any other platforms — and ao3 will protect you, your works, and your rights to create whatever you want, however you want.

and no, this isn’t me saying “write that messed up, disgusting thing” because while, yes, write it if it’s what you want (I myself enjoy writing dark fics, something I believe would be considered “vile” to a lot of people), this is me saying in a world of censorship and capitalism, ao3 really is a treasure.

everybody say thank you ao3

[happy-mimin]

Nah that site needs to burn in the DEPTHS of hell.

You included 🤨

[angelfacediary]

Michael with ex spouse reader who got married to him really early, maybe around his off the wall era, and because they were so young they didn't work out but remained friends and obviously still liked each other and have a ton of tension throughout the years before finally getting remarried in his bad era

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Baby be mine

Pairing: Michael x reader

Content: In which after your first failed relationship, you and Michael decide it time to try again.

1978, a year before Michael released Off the Wall.

You remembered that time so clearly. A time when the two of you were filled with so much love for each other that you really thought you would be together until the end of time, but what no one tells you about getting married so young is that you don't truly know what you want. Sure, sometimes you do, but most times you think you do, but in all actuality, you don't.

You met Michael when you were younger, and to say the least, the two of you were inseparable, and when you became teens, it only got worse from there. You'd stay up late at night listening to him talk about all the things he had planned for his solo career, all while you let your fingers run through his 'fro. You'd even stay up all night while he constantly jotted down ideas, asking you what you thought of them, not knowing—well, pretending not to notice that they pertained to you.

Everyone knew it; they could see it in the way you two glanced at each other when you thought no one was looking, or when Michael would get protective over you because his brothers wouldn't stop messing with you, until he finally asked to be your boyfriend.

The dating phase felt like a never-ending honeymoon, yet neither of you wanted to make the first move, too scared to mess something up.

Fast forward to after Off the Wall was released. Of course, you were proud of everything he achieved with just his first solo album, and you were happy to be there by his side as he rose to fame, not only as the boy who sang "ABC" or "I Want You Back," but as Michael Jackson. But there was still something missing; maybe it was the fact that it felt like you rarely saw him anymore, yet you lived in the same house, slept in the same bed, but it was something else. It wasn't like fame changed him at all; he still littered your face with kisses before he headed off to the studio, and he most definitely was still the animal-loving boy you fell in love with.

You just felt left behind.

"Michael, we need to talk." It was a nice morning; the sun was out, the sound of the neighborhood kids already filtering out into the street, filling your ears. The light from the shut curtains shone through the gap.

"What's wrong?" The smile on his face immediately dropped, noticing how serious you looked.

You weren't sure how to break it to him, break the fact that maybe, just maybe, instead of lovers, it would be better to keep your relationship the way it was: just good friends.

"I don't think this is working," you started, your voice shaking as you watched his face go through at least ten different emotions.

"Hold on, baby, what do you mean?" His heart was racing, his hands shaking as he stood up from his chair, nearly knocking it over. His hands found their way to your own, holding them tightly against his sweaty palms.

You couldn't speak, too busy focusing on trying to formulate a sentence that could make this conversation easier on both of you.

"Talk to me, mama."

“I think we should separate.”

Five words.

Five words that completely snapped you back to reality.

No one's there to tell you what to do when you divorce your best friend, especially when you still love him. No one explains how to act when you're still close and at every barbecue interacting with his family like nothing happened, and no one had the heart to bring it up, but they could tell that there was some hidden tension, the way he touched your back when he talked, just out of pure habit, or the way you’d still stay up through the night going through the long lists of demos.

“Do you think we’d, y’know,” there was a pause before he spoke, spinning in his chair as if the thought alone was eating at him.

“Be able to try again?” He stopped spinning his chair, now facing you as he spoke.

Was that even a valid question after you spent the past few years with him like nothing happened? Lying by his bed after the Pepsi incident, refusing to leave his side even for a moment, hell, even sleeping there regardless of the nurses trying to kick you out long after visiting hours had ended.

Could he really be asking that after even his family thought it was a perfect match?

You were younger then, stupider, and unsure of how a relationship worked and how you needed to work together in order to make it work, even if you felt unseen, because when you really want something, you'll do your best to make it work no matter what.

The room was quiet; the only sounds were the light hum of the AC cooling the room down, yet it never really seemed to be completely cooled.

“Of course I do.” You looked at your hands, carefully picking out the words you wanted to use.

“I just think that back then, we were too young to understand what being in a relationship really meant.” You laughed, not a laugh as if something was funny, but as if you were laughing at the stupidity of the situation.

“And we're older now, but man, you still look just as sexy.” You giggled, watching as he put his hand over his face. Even after all these years, he was still so shy.

“C’mon, you can’t say things like that.”

“Oh? And why not? Do you not like honesty?”

“It’s just... you make me nervous, I don't know.” Your eyes searched his features, completely relaxed, like he was just hoping that you would have this reaction, like after years of not being officially together, it finally felt official.

“Still?”

“Yeah.” The room fell into another comfortable silence; it wasn't awkward, just simply enjoying each other's presence.

“Wanna get married again?”

"Only if it's forever this time"

©angelfacediary

Requests : open

[blkkbratt]

Just the tip

contains: sexual content, sub! Michael, black reader, 2nd pov, coercion, dry humping, hint of manipulation, creampie(wrap it up guys), lowkey baby trapping (?), mention of cross necklace(religion)

Not as short as my usual; trying to better my writing so I’m a bit proud of this one; writing def inspired by a mix of my favs

The rain pattered loudly against the window pane, drops sliding against the closed glass. The sky was a dim blue, and the weather seemed dull.

Your apartment was quiet other than the slick sounds of Michael’s stiff dick grinding against your bare pussy.

He panted near your head gripping your hips like you’ll disappear from him. His heart was beating so loud he thought that even you could hear it. You would’ve, if only your heart wasn’t beating just as fast.

He was on top of you, between your legs that were splayed out against his hips. You both were bare, skin to skin, bodies warming up at each other’s touch.

Your whimpers flooded his ears as his length slid between your soft folds, tip catching your clit every so often. A light layer of sweat coated his back at his constant rhythmic movement.

“Baby—.” You whined looking up at him. You couldn’t help but clench at the sight, arousal pooling in your belly.

His cross necklace swung in your face almost brushing against your nose. His lips were parted as sensual sounds fell from them.

“F-feels too g-good.” He moaned, arms wobbly next to you as he held himself up. Every time you felt his tip nudge against your drooling hole, you couldn’t help but whine.

The request fell from your lips before you could think, brain already fuzzy. “Mikey, please—please—just the tip.” You whined hands gripping his biceps tightly.

His heart practically stopped, “B-baby w-we can’t. We said we’ll—agh—wait till marriage.” His breath picked up, fingers reaching to grip the white sheets you were laid on.

“I know baby but it’s barely inside—not the whole thing—promise.” You looked up at him, doe eyes meeting each other’s. He bit his lip contemplating on what to do. His eyes dropped to your pouty lips.

His brain wasn’t in a very logical state feeling your dripping cunt grind against him, causing him to lean more towards just putting it in. He watched as your eyebrows pinched together, lost in the ecstasy of your body melting into his.

“Mikey please, you feel so good—I need it.” The sultry tone in your words with the whine of his name almost made him nut right there. “J-just the tip?”

You nodded quickly, hips shifting in excitement from him falling to your pleas. He looked at where you were connected, breath catching at the wet and vulgar sight.

He grasped his hard dick, coated in your wetness, and brushed it up and down your folds. The mewl you let out was absolutely crude, making Michael’s desire for you grow.

As soon as you felt the heavy tip press against your dripping hole, you whined, heart speeding up. You couldn’t control the roll of your hips, body begging for him more than your own words.

He gently held your hip down so he can focus, not wanting to dip too far in. He ignored the small shame in the back of his mind, lust forefront and center in his brain.

He slowly pushed himself inside, gummy walls enclosing his tip. “M-Mikey—so big—oh my god.” You mewled. He whined, breath getting caught in his chest from your warmth.

“I l-love you—so good—rubbing in me so well.” You babbled mindlessly too caught up in the slight stretch. “Baby please don’t talk like that—I w-wanna be good.” The slight voice crack didn’t go unnoticed.

The rain sounds were background noise compared to the lewd noise of him slightly plunging his tip into you. “You are good—so good f’a me—so big.” You carried on.

“B-baby no—please—stop talking.” Michael whined hips not stopping his shallow thrusts. His words went into one ear and out of the other, brain only focusing on him rubbing inside of you.

“C-can’t—you feel so good—I-I’m so wet Mikey.” You pouted lost in your own world. Michael’s brain was starting to become clogged. Your words began to mesh together in his brain, your soft voice clouding around him.

“Your dick feels so good Mikey.” You wailed. Michael’s brain shut off at your explicit word usage, never hearing you mutter as much of a ‘damn’.

He couldn’t control his body as he pushed all the way in, your pussy becoming a sleeve over him. His eyes rolled back and he let out the whiniest moan you ever heard from him.

You uncontrollably clenched around his length, your eyes tightly closed as you cried out. You didn’t expect the sudden sensation, feeling the deep stretch slowly simmering into pleasure.

“Baby ‘m sorry—sorry—too good.” Michael’s words tumbled out quickly, tone filled with neediness. You couldn’t even respond, mouth dropped open in a silent gasp.

“So pretty—I don’t wanna stop—squeezin’ me so good.” His hips picked up speed, his head coming down to kiss the corner of your lip. His tongue licked the small drool that leaked from your mouth, and connected your lips together.

The lewd act made you clench around him, as you began moaning into his mouth. Your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling as if your bodies merged into one.

His hips continued to thrust into you, desperately. Michael only wanted you, his mind was muddled, focusing on the sounds of your pleasure and the feeling of your gooey pussy.

“My sweet angel—w-wanna feel you.” He said, his hands brought your legs up to his shoulders, shifting his hips to hit slightly deeper. Your back arched as your moans got louder.

Completely drowning out the noise outside, leaving you and Michael in your own loving sanctuary. He dug so deep, it felt like he was in your lungs. “I’m close.” You managed to choke out.

He leaned forward practically folding you in half as he drilled into you, becoming a whiny mess in your ear. “Please—cum on me—need it—need you.” He babbled as you cried out.

Tears rolled down the side of your face as you felt a ball of heat form in your stomach. He was constantly nudging your spot, only sending you farther into ascension. Your back arched with a cry as you soaked his length, nails marking his back.

“Thank you—thank you—cumming—I’m cumming.” “P-pull out Mikey.” You reminded him body shivering as he carried you through out your orgasm.

“C-can’t—need you—I wanna fill you up.” He continued, your eyes widened realizing he had no intentions on stopping. “M-Mikey, no condom, you’re gonna get me pregnant.” You whined, you couldn’t stop the moans as he continued to beat into your oversensitive pussy.

“You’ll become a mommy—pretty mommy—I c-can’t. Please—take it—take my cum.” His rhythm felt relentless as your hips slapped together. His moans sounded through out the room, hips stilling in you as he shot creamy ropes of his nut inside.

You whined at the warm feeling, secretly enjoying him losing control inside of you. After a few minutes of him grinding inside of you, he slowly pulled out.

He stared at your used pussy, a mix of both of your orgasms spilling out. His mind still felt cloudy but reality began to set in.

“They’re gonna kill me.”

A/n: Wait I’m kinda gagged at myself rn🌚

[kkgalerii]

THE SEXIEST SORRY .✦

description: you and michael are having troubles spending time together due to his career. a supposed date night turns into a flake, but can michael make it up to you?

syn: established relationship, soft dom!michael, 18+, whole lotta angst, whole lotta smut, sub!reader, bad!era, purposefully lowercase! UM TS IS SO DAMN NASTY LMAO

a/n: y’all asked…y’all received. AND PLEASE IGNORE MY GRAMMAR IDK WDF I BE TALM BOUT 😂😂😂

“ma’am, would you like a refill on that wine?”

the polite voice of the waitress snapping you out of your trance— in which you were staring right at the empty seat in front of you.

you nodded with a smile. as you watched the burgundy-stained liquid pour into your glass, your heart ached at the fact that your boyfriend, michael had been 15 minutes late.

about a week ago, michael reserved this new dining experience just for the two of you. no cameras, no fans, no family, just each other.

due to the consistent work being put in of the making of his new album, bad; the two of you had rarely seen each other. the both of you were so busy. so michael selected this date so you could spare some time together.

finally you notice how your glass had been filled three times, and how the seat in front of you was still empty. checking your watch, now to see that it’s been a whole hour. you don’t say anything but grab some cash out of your purse, placing it on the table for the waitress as her tip.

you step into the car as a sudden weight of sadness fell over you. michael hadn’t came. there were no updates either. tears began to sting your eyes in the backseat of the luxurious car.

you finally arrived home. your driver escorting you into the house, then sending him off with a goodnight and fake smile. just to show that you were okay.

with the clack of your heels dreading through the empty home, you finally make it to your bedroom. undoing the beautiful dress you wore, and tossing it onto the chair beside your bed.

after a warm shower, and putting on your favorite nightgown, you snuggle up into the sheets. the sadness still clawing at your throat, tears slowly began to fall. but despite the emotions that needed to be let out, you were tired. so you went to sleep.

well—you attempted to. your eyes flashed open quickly met with the sound of movement downstairs. you already knew it was michael, because he was humming some sort of song.

the weight of hurt in your chest began aching again. but you didn’t want to face the problem tonight so you just acted as if you were asleep.

a chill goes down your body as michael enters the room. you can’t tell if the chill represents pain or anger, but you know it’s one of the two

michael’s footsteps slow down for a moment, you guess he’s undressing, you can hear the rustles of his heavy belt and his heavy clothing dropping into the laundry basket.

you just sigh as you hear him getting closer. the bed dips beneath you and you can hear him climb in. he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closely.

you couldn’t keep up the fake sleeping act—you were too upset and hurt not to show it. you removed his arm from around you and scooted away.

“m-mama, you awake?” michael questions softly a bit confused.

you let out another sigh, this time loud enough for michael to hear. the tears are coming back. “just go to sleep michael.” you exhale shakily.

“baby… is everything okay?” michael is clearly concerned. ignoring him you scoot further away. michael sighs and looks around the room despite the dim lighting. suddenly, his eyes land on the chair a few feet away from you. which is a beautiful, deep, red dress.

suddenly everything clicks. “shit.” michael mumbled under his breath. “baby.. oh my goodness, baby i’m sorry.” his hand reaches for your soft skin once again, only for you to reject it.

just the act of michael reaching out alone triggers you. the emotions inside of you begging to be let out. to calm yourself, you rise and sit up with your feet dangling off the bed.

michael follows and slides right behind you. his finger dances into the hair on the side of your head, softly pulling it back to flip over your other shoulder, leaving one side of your neck, shoulder, and ears bare. you stay quiet.

michael can fill the guilt unraveling in his mind, he was worried sick. he hated letting you down, especially when it was so—unintentional.

sweetheart, i’m so sorry… i would’ve loved to eat dinner with you but quincy dragged me to the after party…” he said with his chin now resting along your shoulder.

despite his touch you stayed still as the tears threatened to steam down your warm cheeks.

“baby, say somethin’. he frowned. “your scaring me honey… i know we planned to have dinner, but things got carried away. it’s like everyone wanted a piece of me tonight. i’m terribly sorry. i should have been there.” his hand slowly rubbing your tender arms, which were rested by your sides.

gently shrugging him off, you stand and turn. you just stare at him. it’s like so many emotions want to come out but it hurts. michael looks up in your eyes with worry and guilt, he can feel it soaring through his veins.

“when will i have a piece of you?” you shakily exhale. michaels eyes travel down to his hands which are now picking at the skin on his knees trying to distract the nerves he feels all over.

michael opened his mouth and before he could even speak. “i cleared out my schedule. i wore that dress you love even though the lining pokes at my sides. i sat there with hope, only for it to be lost everytime the waiter continuously asked me where the rest of my party was.” you finally stated.

michael’s eyes, traced every detail of your face. he saw the pain and disappointment in every wrinkle. swallowing nervously, his hands came up to yours, gently cradling them together in his lap.

“you mean so much to me”—

“i can barely tell when you don’t even show up to a dinner YOU reserved!” you snarked.

michael sucked in his bottom lip between his teeth, showing frustration. not with you but with himself.

“sometimes it feels like i’m invisible to you. i know i mean a lot to you. but im beginning to doubt it.” you sigh, trying to calm down.

“baby…we’ve been together for so long. i love you so much. things are changing, the both of our lives are changing.” his hands left yours, cradling your hips.

“but from now on, i will forever keep you first. despite all that’s been happening, and our shared time being cut due to our schedules… i wanna keep lovin’ you mama. n’ i wanna do it right.” he spoke in that soft whisper tone that could’ve put you to sleep right then and there. his hands gently caressed your sides and started to slide up. his slim thumb, sitting perfectly tucked under your boob.

before you could even let out a word he pulled you onto his lap. as your body wrapped around his, he took it all in. your scent, your warmth, your love.

with his face shoved into the heat of your neck, your hands went up to rest in his curls. “i love you too michael. but i’m just so tired… physically and mentally.” you could feel his arms wrapped around your waist softly tightening at the sound of your words.. which were filled with unease.

pulling away from your neck, you felt his warm breath against your lips. “then let me put you to sleep baby, and show you how sorry i am.”

you softly bit your lips… “i ain’t letting you off that easy baby.” your hands now relaxed on his shoulders.

michael let out a low chuckle while his hands traveled sensually down your back and softly groped your behind. his fingertips dancing along your skin mixed with the fabric of your soft baby pink nightgown that was riding up your thighs.

micheal’s lips pecked the corner of yours, then up to your cheek, then towards your ear. catching the sweet skin of your lobe in between his lips. his hot breath spreading onto your skin unevenly.

as he moved his kisses all around the perimeter of your neck, jaw, and ears he softly murmured—despite his words being interrupted by the sounds of his lips on your skin. “vacation. you and me. ireland? sounds fun.”

you could feel his neediness with the way his lips didn’t disconnect from your bareness, and the way his hands continuously caressed the flesh of your ass cheeks.

you weren’t angry at michael. just sad and disappointed. but the way he was holding and touching you, it was hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

finally giving in, you hum in approval of his plans, while your hands meet both the sides of his jaw. mouths intertwining deeply. the movement of his tongues in your warm mouth, representing his desire for forgiveness. “fuck. mama— i’m really sorry hun.” he whines into the kiss.

your hips begin to move uncontrollably, a slow grind warming up your entire body. a shaky breath “it’s okay baby, i forgive you… but i need you to show me a good reason why” you said with a roll of your hips. michael’s fingers pressed into your backside pulling you in closer as his lips met yours. “alright mama, anything for you my love.” he mumbled, practically into your mouth.

the fingers that danced along your skin, softly and sensually, now rested under your thighs with strength. michael cradled you into his arms and flipped you over. with your back hitting the soft silky sheets, his body towering over you with his curls hanging from his face. after the two of you admire each other for quite long enough, michael readjusted the placement of your body. instead of you being on the side of the bed, your head now laid upon the pillows.

your back arched against the sheets as his long fingers felt the heat between your legs, slowly treading against your thigh. The tension that had simmered between you for days finally snapped the moment he pulled you onto the bed. "I'm sorry” he exhaled again.

michael's fingers tangled in the hem of your thin silk nightgown, yanking it up to your waist without struggle. finding you completely bare underneath, his dark eyes flashed with predatory hunger. he spread your legs wide, his hands gripping your thighs gently as he lowered his head, feasting on your warmth with slick, wet strokes that made you whimper and arch your back.

your soft fingers now stranded within his curls as you feel the electricity being sent throughout your body. “feel good baby?” he mumbled. the vibrations of his breath sent chills up your arched spine. all you could do was nod. the pain and hurt was slowly going away and were replaced with desire and lust.

“i wanna hear you mama. talk to me, i need you to do better baby.” he let out, his soft tone being interrupted by the wet sounds of your core. waiting for an answer, michael’s tongue applied pressure to your clit, circling and then sucking. “yes!— yes michael. it feels so fucking good.” you could feel the hot nerves in your stomach coiling.

it was overwhelming. everything at once, hearing the wetness and groans of approval from michael, feeling his fingertips press into your skin controllingly, and the tickle against your stomach from his hair, which began to unravel from its original style.

michael licked a final, devastating stripe up your pussy before crawling up your body, kissing your inner thighs, stomach, and chest. he hovered over you, the silk nightgown completely bunched around your waist now. his thick, hard cock tapped against your entrance, leaking and desperate. "be a good girl, baby. i want you to feel how sorry i am.” he whispered, behind the lust clouding his gigantic eyes, you could also see the love and sorrow.

suddenly you were distracted from looking into his eyes as you felt his heavy member gently plop down against your belly button. michael had already got rid of the release his boxers had on his hardened cock. “come here baby” you say as your hands cradle his face pulling him into a kiss.

the kiss was desperate and needy—from the both of you. one of your hands glided down from his face to his cock. you could feel the cold leakage of his precum against your tummy. you stroked him softly. “yeah mama. just like that” he groaned as his eye contact dropped from the immediate pleasure being spread throughout his body.

he pushed inside slowly, one excruciating inch at a time, letting you feel every ridge of his thick cock stretching you open. "you still mad at me?" he murmured against your ear, his hips grinding forward as you clenched around him. “i’m not sure yet.” you turn your head, whining against his lips.

michael let out a low chuckle, as he began to pick up his pace. the force of his cock, hitting your walls had you forgetting the gut-punching feeling you had tonight in the restaurant. “yes baby yes—fuck, give it all to me michael, i need all of it, angel.” you moaned.

michael’s face warmed up due to the nickname, but the coil in his stomach was heating up much faster. michael reached for the tender skin under your thighs, then guiding your legs on top of his shoulders. both of them.

you let out a loud cry. it was a lot, but you asked for it. and he was giving it to you, his cock driving into you smoothly due to the wetness of your folds.

“shit girl, i love you—mama i need you” michael whined as he let out muffled moans of pleasure into the warmth of your neck. his pace was steady. almost like a beat, one thrust after the other and you were losing it.

all the air leaving your lungs, head cocking back against the pillow, which one hand was tightly gripping and the other digging nail marks into michael’s skin on his back.

the two of you were so close. you needed this, especially after feeling the distance. “michael baby, i’m gonna make a mess— fuck right there, yes!” you panted out. tears were lingering in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure was too much to bear. you couldn’t compose yourself any longer.

“let go f’me baby, please give it to me mama, i love you and i’m so sorry my baby” he moaned, as his lips shuffled from your neck to now hovering beside your ear.

your thighs started shaking violently as the coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you saw stars. michael let you ride it out, his name falling from your lips in broken whimpers, but he didn’t stop. he grasped your waist and flipped you onto your stomach effortlessly. "arch that back for me baby, we’re not done.”

his hands gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he slammed back inside, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. "i'm sorry, baby," he whispered, mouth hot against your ear while his cock pistoned into you relentlessly. "i know i was wrong... i shouldn't have made you feel like that." each apology came with a deep thrust that hit just right.

you couldn’t even reply, you couldn’t even think, the pleasure being so intense, it felt like your brain was turning into mush. your eyes rolling back, pleasure shooting through your veins like electricity.

he pressed his chest flush against your back, surrounding you completely in a bear hug, his thrusts turning slow and devastatingly deep. "you're my girl," he whispered softly, kissing your shoulder. "never gonna make you feel like that again, i promise." one hand slid around to rub your clit in tight circles, making you sob into the pillow as he fucked the apology right into your guts.

michael wanted to hear you, so his free hand, slid up resting under your jaw, turning your head slightly so he could at least have some sight of your pretty face. his lips lingering over your cheek.

his movements became slower, more deliberate, each thrust drawing out a whimper from both of you. His voice dropped to a husky whisper against your ear, "i love you... fuck, i love you so much." His fingers worked your clit with expert precision as he hit that perfect spot inside you repeatedly.

with a final deep thrust and a tender kiss to your neck, michael came inside you with a shuddered groan that sounded like your name. his hot release triggered your own orgasm instantly, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you both came together in a messy, loving tangle of apologies and pleas.

"stay right there, princess." he tapped your ass, and then he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, licking his own cum dripping out of your pussy. "mm, tastes like us," he murmured, tongue swirling deep to clean up the mess. it was filthy and overwhelming, making your toes curl instantly.

“mmm—baby, oh my goodness.” you shudder, due to the overstimulation charging at your nerves. michael clearly didn’t wanna stop. his nose settled right near your puckering asshole while his tongue slid smoothly against your clit.

michael's tongue became a relentless weapon, flicking and sucking at your oversensitive clit while his fingers pushed back inside you. he was determined to draw out another orgasm, his mouth and fingers working overtime to overwhelm your senses. "too much... too much," the words draw from your lips.

your fingers—which are now shaking as well fly back up to his curls. trying to push him back, but michael’s tongue resists. “no baby, move” he mumbled softly as a white sticky liquid is now surrounding his lips and jaw.

"give it to me," he murmured against your thigh, his dark eyes looking up at you with that hungry glint as his tongue kept its relentless pace. "just one more, baby... you know you want to." his thumb pressed tight against your clit while his fingers curled inside, stroking that perfect spot that made your vision blur. "c'mon, that's it..."

“oh my god, michael” you cried out, and this time it wasn’t so soft. the pleasure rang through you like a loud bell. your eyes in the back of your head as your body became limp against the sheets. nearly numb.

he softly kissed your clit before kissing your trembling thighs and crawling up your body. he captured your lips in a slow, deeply loving kiss, tasting of sex and absolute devotion. pulling your head against his chest as he flipped you back over, he rubbed your back gently. "i am so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered softly. "never upsetting you again. i promise."

you turn your head and look at him in admiration. the padded skin of your index finger now holding up his chin to look at you. “it’s okay my love, i forgive you. you made me feel exactly how sorry you were.” you couldn’t help but display a small smile. michael giggled in response before pecking the corner of your lips and cradling you close.

[miunoa]

───𝒮EVEN DEADLY SL*TS ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

content: your parents pulled you out of college and sent you to a “discipline camp” because they thought you were too 'exposed' and 'dirty' plus, they were super religious. However instead of fixing you, it does the exact opposite of that. tags: counselor!gojo satoru :: pastor!toji fushiguro :: camp leader!nanami kento :: instructor!sukuna ryomen :: disciplinarian!geto suguru :: cleaner!choso kamo :: elder!hiromi higuruima :: fem!reader :: jjk :: creampie :: blowjob :: smut :: etc

w.c. 4.3k

tag: @charlisflyingangell

Gojo ✩ Satoru — Pride

You were doing this on purpose. You’d been at this camp for a month now and you’d purposely gotten into trouble more times than you could count. Why?

It's simple really.

Your counselor was hot—like..really fucking hot. Gojo Satoru. The hottest man in camp. He was most likely in his early thirties, with the hottest body you’d ever seen. But your favorite part?

The way he spoke to you when you broke the rules. His voice is always so strict and proper. You craved knowing how his voice was when he lost control.

So, you always showed up to his office dressed in barely contained outfits—short skirts, tops that barely contained your breasts—another rule you always broke.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed. How could he not?

The way your eyes always flickered to his biceps. The way you shifted in your seat, your skirt riding higher every time you sat down in front of him, wearing that same innocent expression. Before leaving his office, you always leaned over his table to say 'thank you, sir', allowing him a clear view of your breasts before leaving with a grin.

God, you were killing him.

And he was finally starting to lose his patience.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Gojo had you bent over his table, one hand around your throat and the other on your hips as his cock drove into you in rough fast thrusts. “You wanted this didn't you?”

"Mngh—" He pulled out, watching you clench desperately around nothing. Gojo grinned and thrust inside once more, burying himself balls deep inside you. His balls slapped against the curve of your ass, making your cheeks bounce and yout body jerk forward.

Paperwork and pens clattered to the floor as you gripped the table for stability. "All those times—those outfits..you fucking tease."

Your moans and whimpers filled the room, tears streaming from your face in pure unfiltered pleasure. "Ngh..'toru you're soo deep."

You gasped, back arching as he rocked his hips into you, pulling out and slamming my cock back into your pussy each time.

Your back arched—pushing your ass against him, allowing him to slide deeper inside you.

"Fuck—you're killing me baby."

"You wanted this didn't you?"

"Yes," You moaned, knees feeling weak.

"How much?"

"So bad, 'toru please." You cried out, orgasm fast approaching.

"Good girl." Gojo rewards you by dropping a hand to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

Your pussy wetter as his thrusts got faster. He grunts, gripping your hip tighter. "Cum with me baby."

His hand squeezed your throat and that was your undoing. Your pussy clamped around his cock as you came. Eyes rolling back, hot white pleasure filling you. Gojo groans, his thrusts flattering. He thrusts into you one last time, cumming with you. You whimpered, ropes of him filling you over and over.

"Hah—look at you." Gojo pulls out, watching your joint orgasms leaking out of you, falling to the floor as you shuddered.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up."

Ryomen ✩ Sukuna – Wrath

Sukuna prided himself on one thing. He was a patient man. There's nothing in this world that made his patience slip—except for you of course.

It started with an outdoor activity—scavenger hunt. You came late, you refused to participate and even worse? You talked back to him. He thought since it's your first day there, you'd learn eventually but no—you only got worse.

He cornered you in the shed, trying to be civil with you and in return he got attitude and he had enough of you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Open your mouth. If you're going to act like a whore, then suck me like one."

"Sir—" You begin to speak, the look in his eyes made you pause. Deep down, this is all you've wanted from him. He knew that—hell botj of you did.

You barely had time to breathe before he shoved his cock past your lips, stretching your mouth wide. A groan rumbled from his chest as he hit the back of your throat with barely any resistance. A choked sound slipping from you.

"Fuck—that's it," he growled, hips snapping up roughly. His hand gripped your hair harshly. Forcing you down to take more of him. "Take every fucking inch, brat."

Sukuna was merciless with you. He fucked your mouth with barely contained anger. Each thrust was deep, his thick cock bullying its way down your throat while his grip on your hair kept you exactly where he wanted you. Saliva dripped down your chin as you gagged and sputtered around him, hands scrambling to his thighs to grip desperately.

Sukuna grins, a sadistic smile on his face as he watched tears streaming down your face. "Yeah?Not so bratty now are you?"

He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing. "All those times I wanted to punish you for misbehaving...."

He held your head down, forcing you to take him to the hilt until your nose pressed against his pelvis—refusing to let you up for air. Your thighs clenched, each thrust from Sukuna made you even wetter.

Truth to be told, you thrived from this. All those days of acting like a total bitch finally paid off with his cock in your mouth and you had never been happier.

"You're loving this aren't ya?"

He groaned, pulling you back just to give you momentarily release before slamming back in.

The wet, filthy sounds of your mouth sucking him filled the shed. The gagging, slurping, his low angry grunts mixing with your muffled moans. Sukuna's thighs tensed beneath you as he fucked your face harder, chasing his pleasure. Your hand found it's way to his balls—a surpised moan slipping from Sukuna. Motivating you even futher.

"Ah—shit..I'm gonna cum." He tells you. His pace turned sloppy, hips snapping as he chases his orgasm. "Fucking swallow it."

With a groan, Sukuna buried himself down your throat and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum filling you. He held you there, twitching and pulsing. When he finally pulled out, strings of saliva and cum connected your swollen lips to his still-hard cock.

Sukuna stared down at your messy, tear-streaked face with dark satisfaction. He smirked. "Get up and all fours. Time to really punish you brat."

Toji ✩ Fushiguro – Greed

Toji had never prided himself as being a religious man. If someone told him, 2 years after retiring he'd be desperate and become a priest and some camp? He'd laugh right in their faces.

Truly, Toji had no idea what he was doing. But it paid him good money so he did what he was instructed. Life at the camp for Toji was exhausting at times but mostly pleasant.

At least until you came there.

Your parents had sent you to this camp after you had 'flirted' with your father's boss—which to be fair, wasn't entirely true. Toji's carefully constructed routine was destroyed the second you came to his confessional—wanting to be forgiven for your sins.

Then you made your own routine, finding his confessional booth every afternoon to 'confess'. Yet you only spoke about one thing. Him. It was beyond obvious of course, the way you described the 'temptation'. You told him how much you craved him—in the nastiest details ever.

Toji finally had enough of it when you slipped up (on purpose) saying his name.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Fuck..I need you. Right now." Toji sat on the narrow wooden bench and pulled you onto his lap, lining up his cock with your soaked entrance. You were beyond turned on—your nails digging into his shoulders.

He dragged you down onto him slowly, savoring every inch as your pussy stretched around his thickness.

"Mghh 'ji oh fuck.." You whimpered as you sank down on his cock. He was so huge. Toji groaned, eyes rolling back for a second.

"This is what I've been starving for...it took song long." Toji bottomed out, his hands gripped your hips with bruising greed and he started fucking up into you with deep, desperate strokes. He was pace was frantic, almosg like he couldn’t get enough of you. Ever since Toji's wife died his entire focus was on his job, not sex. Being in you felt so fucking live changing to him. "Been hard for days because of you,"

Your moans echoed in the small confession room. Your head falling against his shoulder as he claims you.

"..you've been in here whispering about wanting my cock and then leave me like nothing happened. Never again." You moaned loudly as he thrust up harder, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The booth creaked with every greedy roll of his hips.

Toji's hands found your ass. Gripping your ass and pulling you down onto him. "Come on doll. Ride me,"

He tells you breathlessly, his voice rough with desperation. "Give me that greedy little pussy. It's mine now."

You moved your hips. Bouncing on his cock as he thrust up to meet you. The wet, filthy sound of your cunt taking every inch of him filled the small space. Toji looked completely lost in pleasure, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "I'm never letting you go after this."

He groaned, fucking you deeper. "Gonna fill this tight cunt every single day. Keep you dripping with my cum inside you..you want that don't you?"

His pace grew faster, more urgent and pure greed taking over as he chased his pleasure and yours. One of his hands slipped between you, rubbing your clit in messy, desperate circles. Your whined, clenching around him. "Fuck 'ji plesse..im so close"

"Yeah? Cum on my cock doll. Milk me." you clenched hard around Toji as your orgasm hit. You hit his shoulder to muffle your scream, causing Toji to freeze. He cursed loudly and buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick, hot loads of cum into you with greedy, stuttering thrusts. He held you down on him, making sure not a single drop escaped. You both sat there, breathless and needy.

"Again." he whispered, already starting to roll his hips again.

Suguru ✩ Geto – Envy

Being the disciplinarian of Camp Biscuits meant one thing. Order.

Suguru Geto had always been one to be orderly. He ensured the rules were carried out, kept the camp in order for Nanami and made sure everyone remained on their best behaviors.

So, what the hell was it with you?

You never once showed fear the authority in his voice nor have you listened. Instead you insisted on doing the complete opposite of keeping order.

You were always late to sessions, you refused to do what he said, he'd spot you by the river at midnight, half naked after being told not to go there.

Suguru hated it. He hated how much you ticked him off, he hated the fact you were so irresistible, he hated every moment of it.

You picked up on his unexplainable desire for you of course. It was only natural since..you wanted him too. Normally, you'd make your move on him but for once, you wanted him to break first.

So, it began with your teasing glances, the new found desire to obey the rules, the inappropriate clothes..flirting around with others.

Suguru catched on easily at what you wre trying. He wasn't stupid—obviously not. But..how could he really stop himself from temptation?

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Suguru's voice was low and dangerously smooth, but laced with pure venom. He stood behind his desk, arms crossed, dark eyes burning with envy as he stared you down.

"Flirting with Satoru right in front of me? Knowing I was watching?" He stepped closer, tall and imposing, his long hair loose over one shoulder. The envy radiating off him was palpable— hot, ugly and starving.

"See, I think you wanted this. You wanted to make me jealous," he said, voice dropping even lower. "Guess what love? It worked."

"Mister Sug—" He cuts you off with his finger. Backing you against the wall, his mouth crashing against yours in a possessive angry kiss. His hands trailed down your body. Rough and greedy, sliding under your camp shirt and squeezing your breasts harshly. He broke the kiss, breathing heavilh. "These are mine, love. Not Gojo's or anyone else. Just mine."

"Mm...Suguru wait—" He spun you around and bent you over his desk, yanking your shorts and panties down in one harsh motion. Refusing to give you any time to speak.

You heard his belt and zipper, then felt the thick, heavy heat of his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Suguru hissed. Rubbing his mushroom tip against your slit. "Shit. Look at you, already dripping...did flirting with him get you this wet? Hm?"

"Suguru s-stop talking and fuck me already—ah!"

Suguru pushed inside you with one deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. A broken moan left your throat as he stretched you open.

He groans at your tightness. Giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him inside. After a moment he starts fucking you with hard, deep strokes that made the desk creak beneath you. "See who's fuckin' you? Not him. Me. I see the way he looks at you and I want to kill him."

"Do you want a death on my hands, love?" Every thrust was fueled by jealousy. He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock like he was trying to claim you completely. "S-slow down—hah no..no killing please."

"Shut up." he grits, a hand sliding up to wrap around your throat. "I'm going to make sure every time you sit down tomorrow, you're going to feel me."

He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear as he drove into you faster. "Say it love. Tell me whose cock is ruining this pretty pussy right now." "Yours, Sugu—fuck, all yours" you gasped, your hips pushing back against him, chasing your orgasm.

"Good girl."

His pace turned punishing, hips snapping against your ass. "And I'm the only one who gets to fuck you. The only one who gets to fill you up."

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his cock kept pounding into you. The pleasure got too much. You clenched around him desperately, eyes rolling back as you finally came around his cock and crying out his name. Suguru followed right after with a groan. Your grip on his cock so tight—literally milking him. He buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick ropes of cum inside you, like he was marking his territory—which he was.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily against your neck, still twitching. "Don't ever test me like that again," he whispered, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Maybe don't pretend you don't want me then.."

Suguru's eyes darkened at your words. "Oh yeah? Seems like I didn't discipline you enough yet."

Nanami ✩ Kento – Sloth

Nanami Kento was overworked and deprived of sex. Being the leader of Camp Biscuits came with it's pros and cons—mostly cons.

He had to work everyday regardless of the staff he had. He hated every single second of his job. Sometimes he'd wonder, was quitting easier? Or..perhaps a trip to Malaysia?

Of course none of those became reality. Nanami began slacking off as the weeks went on. Having you as a new member in his camp messed with his head more than he wanted to admit. Regardless of hating every minute of his job, he never slacked off. Never once broke his composure or his neat proper schedule.

But, you were so irresistible. A beautiful sweet lady always talking to him in the sweetest tone ever. In his mind, you were sent from the gods above to help him.

And he definitely made the most of this..blessing he'd like to say.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Nanami's private quarters was on the other side of the camp. Quiet and dimly lit. Nanami lounged back on the large leather couch. His shirt was unbuttoned, tie loosened and his blond hair slightly messy as he watched you with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You've been awfully restless lately, princess" he tells you. You've been teasing him for weeks after catching on his desire for you. At first, it started with innocent gestures before they got bolder. Bending over in front of him, "accidentally" brushing against his body, wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you saw him. Nanami pretended he hadn't notice your desperate acts. Afterall, how could he?

Instead, he waited until you needed him beyond resisting. Like tonight.

"Come here," he ordered calmly, patting his thigh. You straddled him without hesitation—too far gone before he even touched you. Nanami didn't move much. It was late at night and he was tired. To his surpise you werent wearing panties under that dress of yours. Your wetness soaking his pants.

He leaned back further, one hand resting on your waist while the other guided his thick, heavy cock out of his pants. He was already rock hard, veins pulsing and leaking pre as he rubbed the fat tip along your soaked slit. "Ride me princess."

He whispers—his eyes burning with quiet hunger. "Fuck yourself on my cock like a good girl yeah?"

"O-okay.." you mumbled, raising your hips before you sank down onto him with a shaky moan, stretching around his girth. Nanami let out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, wet cunt swallowed his every inch.

"That’s it..." he breathed, head tilting back against the couch. "Good girl."

His hand stayed steady on your hips—allowing you to choose the pace. Your moans and whining filled the room whenever you sank back down—allowing his tip to hit your cervix. His hands lazily squeezed your ass.

"Fuck princess look at you," he said quietly, voice roughening. "Such a desperate little thing aren't you?"

"Mngh—yes..please you feel so good."

You began picking up your pace, moaning as his cock dragged against every sweet spot inside you. Nanami's breathing grew heavier, every whimper you made felt like music.

"Faster princess," he commanded softly, eyes half-closed. "I want to feel you creaming all over me."

His fingers finally moved from your hips, trailing down to between you two. He lazily rubs slow circles on your clit while you bounced on his cock. The contrast between his relaxed posture and the filthy way his dick stretched you open was dizzying. "I—I can't anymore please..so tired Ken."

Your legs started shaking, orgasm approaching causing Nanami to take the lead. He thrusts up in you few from below, just enough to push you over the edge.You came hard, pussy clamping down around him as you cried out. Nanami groaned lowly, eyes fluttering shut in pure lazy bliss as he spilled deep inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt while he held you down on him.

Even after finishing, he didn't pull out yet. He wrapped one arm around you, keeping you seated on his cock as he relaxed back into the couch again, breathing steady. "Stay like this for a while princess..." he murmured, voice sleepy and satisfied.

Hiromi ✩ Higuruma – Lust

The elder's private quarters were quiet and dimly lit by candlelight. Hiromi Higuruma, one of the camp's most respected spiritual elders, had you sitting on the edge of his heavy oak desk with your legs spread obscenely wide. His dark eyes burned with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared at your glistening cunt like a starving man. "You keep coming to me night after night," he murmured, voice low and rough.

"...confessing how you touch yourself thinking about my mouth. How you soak your panties during my sermons just from watching my lips move."

He slowly sank to his knees in front of you, robe partially open, revealing his toned chest. Lust had completely consumed him. "Oh and I'm so done resisting."

Hiromi grabbed your thighs and yanked you forward roughly, burying his face between your legs. His hot tongue dragged straight up your dripping slit, licking a long, filthy stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. The sudden pleasure causing you to jolt. A moan slipping past.

"Fuck...you taste even better than I imagined," he groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you twitch. He was shameless — loud, wet, and ravenous. He licked and sucked like a man possessed, tongue fucking deep into your hole before pulling back to swirl around your clit.

Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot while his mouth latched onto your clit and sucked hard. You whimpered. Fingers gripping his hair as your hips bucked against his face.

Hiromi growled in approval, the sound vibrating through your core. He devoured you like a man starving. His nose bumping your clit as fingers pumping deep and fast inside fo you. Slick sounds filled the room as he ate you out like he'd been fantasizing about it for months.

"Look at this pretty cunt dripping all over my face," he groaned, pulling back just enough for you to see his chin and lips shiny with your juices. You blushed. Suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Ugh can you..stop talking?"

"You were grinding on my face like a desperate slut and now you're embarrassed?" He smirks at your flustered face before he dives back in even more desperately, sucking your clit harder while his fingers curled and stroked that perfect spot inside you. His other hand gripped your thigh so tightly to ensure you couldn't escape.

"Hiro! W-wait fuck, I'm gonna cum—" you whimpered, legs shaking around his head. He doesn't stop. If anything, he became more aggressive. His fingers hit the sensitive part inside of you, sending you over the edge. You came hard, crying out his name as your cunt clenched around his fingers and gushed against his tongue.

Hiromi groaned. Licking and sucking up every drop like he was addicted, refusing to pull away even as you twitched and trembled from overstimulation. Your back arching as you try to escape. "T-too much I can't—"

He finally lifted his head, his eyes were glazed with lust, lips swollen and glistening. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, breathing heavily.

"Too much?" he grins, voice dark and dripping. "We're not done until I have you squirting on my tounge baby."

He leaned back in, flattening his tongue against your sensitive clit with a hungry groan. Your eyed rolling back. "Shut up and let me enjoy my meal."

Choso ✩ Kamo – Gluttony

Choso had never once encountered seduction or temptation during his years as a cleaner at Camp Biscuits. Make no mistake, he wasn't a virgin. After his first fuck, he never found anyone else interesting enough to focus on.

Until you.

Choso was inlove with you. The moment he was cleaning and some kid knocked over his supplies and you helped him? He fell inlove. Truly, you were an angel in his eyes.

And he'd do anything for you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

The camp's old storage cabin behind the mess hall was quiet and dimly lit. Choso had you pressed against a stack of wooden crates, his large hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I-I tried to stay away," he breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. "I really did...but you kept hanging out with me, smiling at me, letting me see you in those tiny shorts. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm so fucking hungry all the time. For you."

"Please let me taste you.." He whimpered dropping to his knees right there on the dusty floor. "Can I have you?"

You looked down at him, flustered and grinned. "Okay.."

That confirmation was all he needed. He yanked your shorts and panties down in one desperate tug—wasting no time to bury his face between your legs like a starving man. A deep, guttural moan ripped from his chest the second his tongue touched your pussy. His eyes rolling back at your taste.

"You taste so divine—hah..my angel." he groaned, licking long, messy stripes up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth.

He was loud, sloppy shameless—eating you out like your cunt was the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life. Choso's hands squeezed your ass, pulling you harder against his face as he devoured you. Your hand gripped his hair, your head falling against the wall. "Yeah..mmm Cho just like that."

His tongue pushed inside you, fucking in and out while he moaned and hummed in pleasure, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.

Two thick fingers joined his tounge. Sliding deep into your soaked pussy and curling greedily. He couldn't get enough really—he kept pressing his face deeper, rubbing his nose against your clit while his tongue worked you relentlessly. Your grip on his hair tightened as your legs started shaking. Choso whimpered against your cunt when you clenched around his fingers, clearly loving every reaction you gave him.

"D-don't stop—please don't stop," you whimpered between the wet, filthy licks. Your moans served to motivate him. He sucked harder, fingers pumping faster, completely lost in pleasure.

When you finally came, crying out his name and gushing against his mouth, Choso moaned like he was the one orgasming. He licked and drank up every drop, refusing to pull away even as you twitched from sensitivity.

But he still wasn't satisfied. He stood up, breathing heavily, lips and chin shiny with your juices. Without a word he lifted you onto the crates, spread your legs wider and dropped back down to continue eating you out. "One more," he rasped, eyes glassy with hunger.

"Just one more please my angel." he whimpers, his tongue flattening against your sensitive clit again as he groaned in pure bliss.

"Ah—Cho!"

floralasylum © all rights reserved. do not plagiarize or repost my work. reblogs appreciated<3

[ichigf]

୨୧﹕fem!reader, dante and vergil threesome

you’re sandwiched between them in the dimly lit room, your breath coming in ragged gasps as dante presses his mouth to your neck, his hands roaming your body with greedy, calloused fingers. vergil’s behind you, his cool, precise touch a delicious contrast to dante’s rough urgency.

“such a pretty thing,” vergil murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver racing down your spine. his gloved hand slides around your throat, tilting your head back so he can press a hot kiss to the corner of your mouth. “are you going to be good for us?”

you nod, your lips parting in a soft moan as dante’s fingers slide between your legs, finding you slick and ready. “she’s already dripping,” dante growls, his voice a rumble against your skin. “fucking perfect.”

his fingers circle your clit, slow and deliberate, making you squirm between them. your hands clutch at his broad shoulders, nails digging in as vergil’s hand tightens around your throat just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“dante,” you whimper, your voice trembling. “please—”

“patience,” vergil murmurs, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “we’re going to take our time with you.”

dante grins against your neck, his breath hot and heavy. “or maybe not,” he says, and in one smooth motion, he lifts you, turning you so your back is pressed to vergil’s chest. vergil’s cock is hard against you, the heat of it pressing insistently as dante sinks to his knees, his wicked grin flashing as he looks up at you.

“hold her,” he tells vergil, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he spreads you open for his hungry mouth.

vergil’s arm wraps around your waist, his hand splayed across your stomach as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “don’t move,” he murmurs, his voice a command you can’t disobey.

dante’s tongue finds your clit, hot and wet, and you cry out, your hips jerking forward. vergil’s grip tightens, holding you in place as dante licks and sucks, his fingers teasing your entrance.

“fuck—dante—” you moan, your fingers twisting in his hair. vergil’s hand slides up to cup your breast again, his thumb flicking over your nipple as he watches you, his icy blue eyes filled with a dark, hungry heat.

“you’re so sensitive,” vergil murmurs, his voice a low purr. “such a sweet little thing, coming apart so easily for us.”

dante’s fingers slide inside you, thick and rough, and you arch back against vergil with a strangled moan. “she’s so tight,” dante says, his grin wicked as he thrusts his fingers deeper. “bet she’s gonna squeeze our cocks just as hard.”

vergil’s breath hitches at that, his hips grinding against you, the hard length of his cock pressing against the swell of your ass. “we’ll see soon enough,” he says, his voice cool but shaking with desire.

dante pulls back, his lips glistening with your slick as he stands, his eyes dark and hungry. he nudges vergil back, making you turn to face him. “on your knees,” he says, his tone a low growl.

you sink down obediently, your knees sinking into the plush carpet as you look up at them. dante’s cock is thick and heavy, flushed and leaking, and he strokes it lazily as he watches you.

vergil steps up behind you, his hand in your hair as he guides your head forward. “take him,” he says, his voice a soft command.

you open your mouth, your lips wrapping around the swollen head of dante’s cock. he groans, his hand cupping your jaw as he thrusts forward slowly, filling your mouth with the taste of him.

“god, you look so fucking good like this,” dante pants, his hips rocking gently. vergil’s hand slides down your back, his fingers curling around your waist as he pushes his cock against your slick folds from behind.

“ready?” vergil murmurs, his voice a dark promise.

you moan around dante’s cock, your whole body shaking with anticipation. vergil doesn’t wait—he pushes in slow and hard, his cock stretching you open until you’re gasping around dante, your eyes rolling back as pleasure floods your veins.

“that’s it,” dante growls, his hand fisting in your hair. “take us. take all of us.”

vergil’s thrusts are deep and steady, each one driving you forward onto dante’s cock, making your eyes water as you gag and moan around the thick length in your mouth. dante’s hips snap forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you swallow him down greedily, your cunt clenching hard around vergil as he fucks you from behind.

“look at you,” vergil murmurs, his voice shaking with lust. “such a perfect little slut for us.”

dante groans, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrusts harder, his breath ragged. “fuck, i’m gonna cum—”

vergil’s hand slides around to rub your clit, his fingers moving in tight, dirty circles that send you over the edge. you choke around dante’s cock, your body shaking as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt spasming around vergil’s cock as he groans, his rhythm faltering.

dante pulls out just in time to spill across your lips, hot and thick, his cum dripping down your chin. “swallow it,” he growls, and you do, your eyes locked on his as vergil slams into you one last time and cums deep inside, filling you up until it drips down your thighs.

you collapse between them, boneless and spent, your body trembling with aftershocks. dante’s hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up so he can press a hot, possessive kiss to your lips. vergil’s fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so he can claim your mouth in turn, his kiss cool and hungry.

“such a good girl,” vergil murmurs against your lips. “ours.”

[nicole-c-ish]

Oh man ONE OF ME IS GOOD BUT TWO THOOOOOO

[bfbkg]

laying down anywhere with bakugou and he’s got his hand underneath your top on your waist and he is whining in this deep growl in your ear “lemme eat it” repeatedly. stuffs his nose in your neck. sniffs. also he does this when it’s a friends movie night on izuku’s sofa as well, these annoying ass whispers and you have to push him off you. he’s about to give up when you say “i’m feeling tired we’re going to bed.” and he’s grinning.