【 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 】 ─── ❝ WHEN A MAN'S SO GOOD WITH KIDS THAT YOU MAKE HIM CARRY YOURS . . . ❞
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smut . (con)noncon . dubcon . breeding . mommy kink . out of character . daddy kink . p in v ( genitals aren't mentioned so you can imagine the characters with either sex organs ) . multiple orgasms . rough sex . marathon sex . riding . sub!top!reader . dom!top!reader . dom!bottom!characters . sub!bottom!characters . watersports ( piss kink / golden shower ) . edging . feminisation? ( usage of cunt can be interpreted literally of figuratively )
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : this came out of nowhere. I forgot what the inspiration was but the thought suddenly came to me so I decided to write it. This is also my first time writing like this so I hope it still makes sense. Do enjoy. Any interactions are greatly appreciated.
【 UPDATE 】 ──────────── ❝ because people are commenting, I'll explain why Kirara Hoshi is here. I am aware of that Kirara is seen as transfem and I do not deny it. I put her in here solely because of that. Not to misgender her but rather to extrapolate on the fact that she's trans.
The section she's in ⌗ . 𝐈𝐓❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 directly adresses that some of these characters do/may not want children because of their physical appearance. If the implication wasn't clear: I personally found the thought interesting if Kirara is content with her new body and refuses to carry a child because she wants to keep her feminine figure — this was always the thought, the initial one. Same with the male characters: they don't want their abs gone or musculature to fade. So a sort of body dysmorphia. They've worked hard to get that figure and they don't want to be in any other state.
But as I said, genitals aren't explicitly mentioned (save for maybe a few times) so you can interpret as the characters as either having male or female sex organs.
Biologically, she was a male, so I thought it still fit the premise. Who knows whether she had any form of surgery at all? There are synthetic props to help people feel affirmed in their gender, who's to say Kirara isn't using them?
⌗ . 𝐈𝐓❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
Part of him hated the thought of having a child.
For one reason or the other, some thing (or things) prevented him from indulging in the idea.
Perhaps his insecurities, perhaps the shame of his stellar physique wasting away only to be chubbed and swollen, whatever it was, he was certain in his saying no. Even if the reason wasn't his own selfishness, he couldn'r risk bringing a child into the world. His sanity, his future, his livelihood, all of it would be threatened.
You were adamant and he was persistent. Though he much enjoyed the act of procreation; be it the slaps of your thighs against the backs of his, the unrelenting thrum of your gnawing at his oversensitive, pouring hole; or even the way you'd pull him flush against you as your hot, thick seed infiltrated every crevice of his womb, disallowing him even a micrometre of space from each other's skins.
He couldn't deny how addictive it was: forgetting everything, letting pleasure overload his senses, taking his entire being over like a warm blanket. The constant reminder of the red and purple splotches all over his person stinging whenever he moved an inch or the way he was shaking and boneless on your shared, ruffled, sodden sheets.
The heaviness of his body was real. And so were the tears.
You wished you could say that they were there from his overwhelming satisfaction but you knew that they came from his reluctance. But you had enough.
Sex was a common part of your lives, but ever since you pitched the idea of children, he'd been sure to avoid you. He did not let you anywhere near him, epsecially not between his legs. You refused to leave or stay within the house without at least some relief — seeing families made you restless, and you did not want any innocent passersby witnessing your excitement.
But how could you sate the desire when your lovely (and now slowly encroaching on unbearable) little lover refused to aid in your distress?
Even with much coaxing like gifts, spoiling or pampering him, feeding him compliments or food. He hadn't a need to lift his finger. And he ate it all up.
You bent over backwards for at least some compromise but he never gave in.
Ignoring his screams, you jackhammered into his clenching orifice, pinning his wrists behind his back in a bruising grip. His knees dug into the mattress as the ferocity of your hips continued to beat both the springs and the bed frame into breaking into submisison.
Even like this, his body couldn't refuse you. He was an odd mix of loose and tight. Tight like always but loosened from constant wear and tear. His screams were indescipherable. It was easy to tell that he was saying something but the gurgling of his saliva mixed with the unbridled moans disguised it entirely. So as much as he was screaming, it was hard to tell whether he truly was against it entirely.
Unfortunately for him — this time — you'd been pent up for much too long. And he hadn't helped in the least. In fact, he only made it worse.
He had an effortless charm and an a sirenic allure. Walking around your shared home in next to nothing, treating what used to be your abode like it was his as well, making himself comfortable with your garments, using your bathing products when he was too lazy to get more of his (even if it was in the cabinet in the bathroom). Or when he left his bodily fluids around, no matter the colour.
Those coupled with your undying devotion towards him and your undeniable attraction to him, it was no surprise that you snapped.
You barely even remember how it started. You knew you saw red and the next thing you knew? He was crying, screaming, and writhing under you as he begged you to stop. But as he did, his body was begging you for more. The mixed signals confounded you, but you chose to ignore him entirely and focus on your own pleasure.
The dinner table had long given out from his first five orgasms, one leg breaking from the speed and vigour of your thrusts (and his constant thrashing. And no thanks from the slap he delivered to you in trying to shove you off him while snapping you back yo your senses. But you didn't. You just got furious and the red mark on your cheek sealed his fate). The bed was damn near close to irreparable by his nth orgasm — only your 3rd.
Then it finally gave out.
The wood broke and splintered, the bottom half of the bed now on the ground, leaving the bed in a slant. You didn't care but he did. The jolt and the new angle — thanks to gravity — impaled him deeper onto your relentless cock. Your caging grip on his hips making it far, far worse than need be.
Even with the handicap of the uneven bed, your thrusts did not waver. In fact, it felt like they refused to. The slaps of skin slightly negated due to the new angle, and now it felt like your hips were glued to his blustered ass. Instead of pulling out and pushing back in, it was your cock digging deeper and deeper into his worn, wet walls, the hilt of your cock never moving an inch from where he gripped onto you so nicely.
Left with nothing to properly grip onto anymore, his hands scampered across the sheets, unfortunate in finding either pillow or bolster to perchance muffle his unwilling sounds or hide the shame in his face. Instead, they traversed to your wrists, almost trying to claw you off him. And once again, to no avail. His arms were shaky, boneless, and heavy. Though he may have gotten a few scratches on you, they were nothing compared to those he could indent into your skin 'til beads of red started trailing down the ridges of your physique — when he was sobre and unimpaired.
Although, let's be real here. Even if you were the one who wanted to change from those long, deep strokes into his sweet spot; to the kind that never once moved the slightest bit to or from his hole, none of it would be that easy had his quivering cunt not been the grippiest thing known to man.
It was almost impressive. At times when he'd offer (or you insisted) that he cockwarmed you — maybe you were 'cold'. Maybe you were bored. Maybe he wanted to tease you. Maybe he wanted you to lose your mind and fuck him like a rabid animal in heat — he'd manage to take control by clenching around you, and you'd falter, growing weak in the knees and holding his midsection tighter as you whimper and pant into his neck, back, or chest. You couldn't even warm him, his control over the muscles in that region stumped you and left you defenceless.
Not only the pelvic floor muscles, but he had a conscientious system of moving his hips: gyrating, grinding, thrusting, in circles or up and down. You were never able to take your eyes off him.
Your eyes were doomed to follow the rhythm of his tantalising hips — like a snake to a snakecharmer's melody.
That is, of course, when he got what he wanted.
He had you wrapped around his finger, yes, but you had your limits.
Safe to say, he had long blown past yours.
You felt like his face in the mattress was a punishment towards you. He riled you up and refused to listen or reason so why would you spare him the shame? He deserved to be ridiculed. You could have taken him by the window or right outside your home and let him understand more intimately about how debilitating the thought of a family was to you.
When a wife nuzzles into her husband as he has their kid hoisted in his other arm; you'd twitch inside him and move him harder onto your throbbing cock.
When children play together and soon run back to their parents: you'd quicken your pace the further away the were from you.
When a child was crying from falling and scraping a knee or simply out of childish brattiness; you'd hold onto him tighter & slow the pace down to deep, slow grinds — but never missing that spot that made him see stars.
And so, you flipped him onto his back — unable to pull out in the process which only screws him deeper onto your cock and left him trembling and spasming around your girth, leaking a little more — and continued.
"We're not stopping until you're surely pregnant, brat."
Then you pistoned your hips, the slapping of skin resuming once again, accompanied by the squleching of his insides sucking you only deeper in, and strands connecting your skin from the aftermath of your many combined releases.
You had no mercy for him and pushed your weight onto the backs of his thighs, pinning his ankles by his head.
His body screamed at the stretch because he wasn't that flexible. Sure, he kept his appearances up but flexibility wasn't the aim. So in tandem, a ragged scream tore out of his mouth — still mixed with sounds of pleasure — as more tears spilled out of him (and his hole).
"Be good and give me a family, baby." You panted, your hips moving recklessly like it was trying to spell what you were saying. Same could be said for how and when your tip pressed into that spongy spot. Almost like morse code. But an unbearably riveting one.
He hadn't an inkling what his last thought was before he passed out.
Now you had free reign over him and he was unable to stop you.
God knows how long it'd take before he woke up.
So you were sure to make the most of it, in or out of his consciousness.
ㅤㅤ ── gojo satoru, sukuna, mydei, kirara hoshi, tartaglia childe, zhongli, wriothesley, qiuyuan, michael kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, amai mask, painter (edgar valden), photographer (joseph desaulniers), cueist (marcus thorne), poseidon, beelzebub, tsukishima kei, lorenzo berkshire, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, angel devil, hayakawa aki, zen'in naoya
⌗ . 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇
Having kids was charming but not an immediate concern. He had an affinity for them but he was content with or without them. Or at least, it wasn't enough of a priority that it had to consume his entire life.
His childhood may not have been entirely fulfilling but whose is, really? It is expected of the mind to not be 100% content with themselves or their situations. Even with the love of your life — with all the good you could possibly worship them with, there is always a flaw or two that was undesirable in presence and perhaps frequency. After all, it is human nature to not be perfect. And those imperfections are what make us human.
The raw, feeling part of us that ties us to our corporeal forms, that ties us down to worldly posessions and desires. That part that disallows us from being 100% in our divine counterpart.
But if it was sin to commit to those 'atrocities', why was it made at all?
One could bargain that it was not created in the goodness of the giving one's heart, but then why allow it at all?
The act of procreation is a beautiful thing. An intense sharing of vulnerabilities and passions that bring lovers to their closest states, baring their insecurities for the other to worship and strengthen.
Gentle kisses pressed into his skin, you made sure to show your adoration to your lovely partner. The pressure of your lips onto his skin was enough for him to feel but not hard enough to bruise.
Through time, toil, trouble, you had grown with him and seen through the worst parts — new or old. You were there for him and he was for you.
It was out of nowhere. You asked his opinion about children as he was coming out of a shower — fully nude. He found better comfort in the lack of restraints — where you went up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, sinking your nose into his nape where his natural musk was most prominent.
He did take his time to think it through. On one hand, having a family was enchanting. On the other, would that get in the way of anything? (Sex-wise or not)
As he thought it over, your touch slowly grew feverish, pressing down into his skin at times. Your hand never parted from the expanse of his midriff while the other stayed particularly close to his genitals.
He'd look so good pregnant . . .
Carrying a kid . . . Carrying our kid . . .
He'll look so cute . . . Round and swollen . . .
One isn't enough . . . Three is still too little . . .
I need to get him pregnant . . .
You looked up from his neck and hummed, sinking back down in an instant.
"What?" you asked, a little stunned. He smirked, "You heard what I said." He turned to face you, his body still caged in your arms as you stood there still paralysed from his words.
"You were also mumbling." His arms slithered up your torso, deliberately teasing your chest before intertwining his fingers behind your neck, caressing the hairs on the back of it — a rather damning weak spot of yours which always let him succeed in drawing a whimper or a shiver from you. "Barely."
Your arms shot down to under his thighs, lifting him up with ease. You also did not waste your time in devouring his lips; all teeth, tongue and pure hunger behind your actions.
That word honestly took you off-guard. You basically forgot that you too would be a father should you sire children. Clearly your mind was preoccupied with the exciting fantasies of your lover being the parent to your children. So preoccupied that you being a father was negated in the equation. A more than just significant portion of it and still you cared only for his involvment of it.
The equation that would achieve your dream would be [you] + [him] = [family].
Though there is a less direct equation that really is the true form of it. The prior one was the simplified version of it. And that equation was ([you] + [him] - clothes) = long, sweaty, bed-rocking, window-fogging, throat-parching, back-arching, hole-clenching, neighbour-complaining sex.
The worst — or best — kind. Whatever you interpret it to be.
At times clothes ended up in tatters and you'd have to hide from society until the refraction period really set in and the heat dissipated. Because unfortunately, your clothes were not just victims of physical trauma but they underwent the worst psychological trauma by getting caught in the middle of your skirmishes — loads and loads splashing onto them and coating them so thickly it'd take days for them to dry.
This time, the lack of clothes on him gave you the misfortune of not having that opportunity. Though it was neither good nor bad. Access was easy but sometimes the piling tension made the reward much more tempting.
Regardless, the straining of your cock against your bottoms was certainly thankful for the lesser amount of barriers.
Once you had him on the bed, you rushed to fish your cock out.
He stared openly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Watching you struggle was delightful. Your desparation was palpable and amusing to say the least. But so was seeing your thick, red cock flop out and leaking onto his heated skin.
It'd defintely take no less than a whisper of a breath to get you to cum in an instant.
You sprad his legs further and lined up with his entrance, his hips moving over your tip just to fuck with you.
You whined and gripped his hip with your free hand, looking pleadingly into his eyes. He simply rolled his eyes in fond mirth and stilled his hips, allowing you some peace of mind.
You let out a shuddering breath and pressed the tip in, whimpering his name once it made contact with his tender flesh. You heard him chuckle but you didn't react. He had every right to laugh at you.
Here you were being needy and desperate, so unlike your usually more composed and level-headed self.
Rationality was out the door. The world shrunk to just the two of you.
The tip of your cock flared with heat any and everytime it even grazed his skin, sending jolts of pleasure into your system that had your toes curling.
It felt like you were teasing yourself even by doing nothing. And before you knew it, you had slammed yourself into him, buried to the hilt and still trying to go deeper.
However, you weren't fully in control of yourself so instead of hitting his sweet spot like you always did. You instead jammed yourself up toward his torso like you were trying to come out of his stomach.
In place of a debilitating, sinewed moan; you were treated to a raw scream from the man underneath you who clutched onto your wrists at that very thrust.
It left him panting like he got the wind knocked out of him 'til he had the need to cover his face with his arm from the shock.
But you were too lost in the sauce.
Your hips moved in quick, shallow thrusts — as if your body was moving on its own and only half-heartedly. Just pure instinct. No heart.
"S-sstooopppp . . . " he whined (slurred, really) — unsatisfied that you're not putting your back into it. He only accepted your 120%. 100% minimum. Nothing less. But more is always welcome.
Of course you didn't register his words and leaned over him instead.
This time, however, logic may not have been at the forefront of your thoughts but the feeling part was.
You could feel every twitch, clench and flutter he had to offer you. You chased that feeling, needing the entirety of your cock overwhelmed by his reactions.
Letting all your body weight on your arms caging his head in, your thrusts grew determined and measured. Almost mechanical in nature but programmed to bring both of you over the edge.
Every buck of your hips nailed him in the exact spot that always made his legs shake a little more everytime something impacts it. He whined and cried right into your unhearing ear, moaning all sorts of things that grew more and more intelligible as the seconds tick by; further obscured by everytime your skin met his.
The statement could have come from either you or him. Maybe both of you. The lines blurred, time no longer mattered. It wasn't clear how long it'd been nor how many rounds you'd insisted on but his hole was an interesting mix of puffy, gripping, sloppy, and tightening.
Every build up was less and less felt.
His walls were slick and rubbery. Almost as if you'd hear squeaking instead of squelching — if you put your ear right where you were relentlessly hammering into his insides. Like a cloth wiping onto a window, it was an easy slip-and-slide.
"Ffffuuuucccckkk~" he moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. His mouth gaped open, one hand gripping onto your bicep, the other scratching up your back; his back bowed off the sheets, toes curling in the air. "Fucking co— aahhnn~!! come inside m-meEE—!! DADDY!!! " he screeched into the air, spurting his release the second yours made impact with his sweet spot.
You both panted, globs of cum pushed out with every pulse and twitch of your still-hard cock; aided with his never-ending clenching and sutble grinds or the even more obvious convulsing of his form that left his breaths stuttering and melodious, whines mixed into the little whimpers and bated breaths.
Even dazed, you never neglected the attention he always craved. You leaned down and kissed him through the high, letting the heat die down just a little so he could have a bit of a breather.
You kissed down his neck with demure, gentle pecks — lingering long enough so he was aware of you, but still not long enough where it'd descend into degeneracy quickly.
Your free hand cupped the bottom of his distended torso, caressing the softened lines of his musculature. You reveled in the slight bump — an impressive feat on your end. It was a sweet moment. You smiled once again at the thought of a child, loving one, feeding one, raising one. And him alongside you.
He was your perfect person. An absolute angel and a sure godsend. You'd never see yourself with anyone else.
"Who said you could stop? Do I look pregnant to you?"
Or maybe he's just a slut.
ㅤㅤ ── varka, dick grayson, phainon, gepard landau, hiromi higuruma, thoma, flins, ifa, kinich, venti, lyney, neuvillette, heizou, aventurine, boothill, imbibitor lunae, shidō ryūsei, hiori yo, the ripper, prospector (norton campbell), hermit (alva lorenz), shaka, apollo, hinata shoyo, nishinoya yū, theodore nott, theseus scamander, sirius black, remus j. lupin, light yagami, stephen gevanni, denji,
⌗ . 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒?
He's always wanted a family. Were you that thick?
He'd spend hours staring at catalogues, advertisments, other families — anything that related to the idea of growing a family. Even things that were unrelated, his mind would warp the thing or concept itself and somehow rationalise it to having children.
This man had long wanted your babies. Much, much before you did.
At times, he would stare longingly in a distracted haze. Otherwise, he'd be touching himself to the thought of your breeding him. Cum overflowing out of his hole, his uterus flooded with your combined releases.
He'd wrap his legs or arms around you to lock you in, keeping a tight grip with his puffy, used pussy clenching around your throbbing cock — spent or not.
The moment you brought the idea to him. Confident or sheepish. Or even if you ignored all decorum and slammed him against a wall or threw him on the bed, it wasn't long before the tables flipped and you along with it.
You intended to forgo this entire breeding endeavour on your own terms, but the yearning and misery you caused him powered out your recent fascination.
Soon enough, you'd find yourself bound to the bed, his legs bracketing yours. And with in inhumane pace, wetness, and tightness, he bounced on your reddened cock like his life depended on it.
"Finally gonna make me a mommy?" He spat at your drooling self, feeling every twitch or leak your cock did while nestled deep inside him.
It was difficult to chose: take all he wanted from you or tease you for making him wait.
In the end it switched between both. The first few orgasms he pulled out of you were out of raw desperation, back-to-back and relentless. He gave you neither break nor refractory period, slamming himself on your half-hard or even fully softened cock. But it takes no less than one clench and you were rock hard once again and kissing into that sweet, sweet spot inside of him that made the world fade around him.
Later, however, it was clear that you were completely out of it and had no say over your releases. Some were dry (which he then proceeded to mock you about it or whine as he did not wish to waste anymore time being empty of your offspring), some were weak and little in volume, some were thick and bountiful. But it didn't stop there.
He spent hours getting his fill of your addictive cum, so he never let you out of the bed or move from where you were trapped being straddled by him. Before he even knew it, some of your releases were unbearably warm but focused; like a stream or a hose with high pressure.
That's when he realised that you were urinating.
Finally expelling it, it flooded his insides as it did your cum. He would've found it hot had it not been the 'replacement' for your semen. So he belittled you about it and instead of pulling off your cock in disgust, he kept bouncing on your oversensitive cock with the pretense of: "Everytime you piss inside me, I'm going to take 3 more orgasms out of you."
It was impossible to tell how long time had passed or how many actual orgasms he manages to pull out of you. You were out of it and he was nowhere near done.
It got to a point where he got too tired to keep riding you. But he — once again — did not let you go. He spoke, but you couldn't focus. You could only feel movement: he took off the restraints around your wrists and pulled you between his legs as he lied down.
Then he brought your hands onto his waist while he locked his legs around you.
The second he slipped you back inside him, you keened and nearly doubled over. Your cock felt like it was rubbed raw. It was red, a vibrant, blushing red. It felt like your every nerve ending was exposed and he still wanted more?
A sudden tug from your 'leash' made you whine. You didn't even realise that he tied your wrist restraints onto your neck to act like a leash.
"Fuck me, daddy." he commanded, panting, but certain.
Your breathing was ragged and completely unstable. But he tugged once again with the same command — only darker this time — and you relucted, moving your hips.
But you did it too weakly, so he tugged harder this time and you actually whimpered trying to close your legs. Still, the longer you didn't move, the more and the harder he'd tug. And when that wasn't enough, he'd start slapping you back into sobriety.
An extremely short-lived one unfortunately.
So when you finally managed to start fucking into his heat like he wanted it, you couldn't stop any of the pathetic and incomprehensible noises that came out of you. Like a kicked puppy or a deaf person, your words were jumbled, incomplete, and mixed with breathy whimpers and high-pitched whines.
All your muscles were screaming at you, begging for rest and rehydration. But no. Until his torso was bloated and all the ridges of his abdominals were completely blurred into a rounded softness, he would not let you stop.
You, on the other hand, were moving mindlessly but you could barely process the sensations. There was a light tingling between your legs and your cock felt swollen to an ungodly degree. At this rate you'd believe that you couldn't get hard anymore.
But that wasn't the case. Not with the tip of your erect cock digging into all the wrong places, the tightness of his gummy walls springing it back to life. You were hitting everywhere except that one spot but neither you nor he could get you to get it right where he wanted it.
He dug his heels into your ass, moving you with his thighs in an effort to guide you there. To no avail. You were too out of it; pace too sloppy; hips stuttering erratically — the depth and length of your strokes were completely unpredictable.
He whined but his trembling thighs were useless, so he had to let your overstimulated state attempt to breed him further.
Unfortunately you gave out. Or at least your thighs did. You fell on top of him, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You ended up drooling onto him while he stroked your hair.
Perhaps he took pity on your frazzled state so he let you drool, whine, and tear up onto him; letting you a moment's rest as he lovingly dragged his fingers through your sweat-slicked hair. He continued with gentle kisses onto your head, content with just your twitching member buried into his sopping hole for the moment.
"You still owe me babies, daddy." he chuckled into your hair, letting you doze off for a moment. But when you wake up? You're not getting out of him.
ㅤㅤ ── hiroki dan, jason todd, geto suguru, kamisato ayato, kaveh, luuk, xiangli yao, brant, jiyan, hugo vlad, wu chang, acrobat (mike morton), seer (eli clark), knight (richard sterling), qin shi huang, hades, oikawa tōru, sugawara kōshi, cedric diggory, newt scamander, l lawliet,
© MOROSENTHAL ꒷꒦︶ ๋ 2026 ꒷꒦︶꒷ : : DO NOT use, plagiarise, copy, steal, repost, feed to ai for training, etc. for any of my works. layouts & themes are credited to me, do not copy or take inspiration from those either.
