i just reblog the fics i like

@pocketsizeddemon side blog

[suku-enthusiasts]

Clinical Trials of the Heart || R. Sukuna

ryomen sukuna x f!reader - one shot

You were a sweet, shy pharmacist who only wanted quiet shifts and clean labels—until Sukuna Itadori, a 6'5" MMA menace on meds, decided his favorite side effect was “seeing her face” and started treating refills like weekly dates. Now he flirted like it was a sport, handed you VIP tickets like prescriptions, and kept insisting you were the only “aftercare” he trusted.

cw; pharmacy au. smut. oral. pnv. MDI 18+.

The pharmacy always smelled like clean paper and lemon disinfectant—sharp, bright, a little too honest.

You lived in that honesty.

Your hair had been behaving for exactly nine minutes, pinned back in a way that made your long brown ringlets look like they were politely waiting their turn. Your badge sat straight on your chest. Your scrubs were neat. Your voice stayed soft, like you kept it in a velvet-lined box and only opened it for people who deserved gentle.

The afternoon line moved in patient little shuffles. A toddler cried at the front end of the store, and somewhere in aisle seven, someone dropped a jar of pasta sauce with the dramatic commitment of a Greek tragedy.

You didn’t even flinch. You just counted tablets, checked an interaction screen, and thought, Please let everyone be kind today.

That was when you saw him.

At first, it was just a shadow crossing the pick-up lane—too tall for the world, shoulders filling the space like the building had to breathe around him. Then the details sharpened: pale pink hair buzzed close, a face that looked carved out of irritation, tattoos climbing his arms like black vines that had decided to stay forever.

He stood there like he didn’t wait in lines. Like lines waited for him.

One of the pharmacy techs—Mika—smiled her retail smile and chirped, “Hi! Name and date of birth?” The man’s eyes moved, slow as a blade leaving its sheath, and landed on you behind the counter. Not on Mika. Not on the register. On you—like your existence was a new sound he was trying to locate.

“Ryomen,” he said, voice low and flat. “Sukuna Itadori.” Mika typed, still smiling. “And your birthday?” He recited it, bored, eyes never leaving you. That alone was unsettling—most people looked away when they gave personal information, like it was polite to pretend they weren’t handing you a piece of themselves.

Sukuna didn’t pretend anything.

Mika’s expression shifted the smallest bit when she saw the profile. New patient. New meds. The kind of prescriptions that came with notes and caution flags and the invisible weight of someone finally saying, Alright. We’re going to try something different.

She reached for the bag in will-call.

Sukuna’s hand rose, palm out, stopping her like a traffic light.

“No.” Mika blinked. “Um—sorry?” He nodded toward you with his chin, like it was obvious. “I want the pharmacist.”

A small pause fell into the air. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… present. Like the pharmacy itself tilted its head.

Mika glanced at you, eyebrows lifting in a Can you take this? question.

You exhaled through your nose—quiet, controlled—and set your tray down.

“Of course,” you said, stepping forward.

Your voice was gentle, but your posture was pure professionalism. You didn’t hurry. You didn’t shrink. You simply arrived at the counter, hands folded, eyes lifting to meet his.

Up close, he was worse.

Not because he was handsome—he was, in that dangerous way people warned you about with the phrase trouble. Not because he was tall—though he was, towering enough that you had to tilt your chin to keep eye contact. Not because he was built like a door that lifted weights.

It was the look in his eyes.

Red-brown, sharp, watchful. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to be disappointed and was still hoping you might surprise him.

“Mr. Itadori?” you asked, because you were polite even when your pulse tried to sprint. “Sukuna,” he corrected.

You nodded once. “Sukuna. I’m Y/n. I’m the pharmacist on duty.” His gaze flicked to your name tag, then back up. “Y/n,” he repeated, like he was testing the shape of it in his mouth.

You slid the bag toward you, glanced at the label, and kept your tone calm. “This is your first fill with us. I’m going to review your medication with you—dosage, common side effects, and what to avoid.” He leaned in a fraction, forearms on the counter. Tattoos flexed as he moved. The scent of him reached you—clean soap and something mineral, like cold metal warmed by skin.

“Side effects,” he murmured. “Yeah. Let’s talk about those.” You kept your face neutral, but your brain whispered,

Please be normal. Please be normal.

He wasn’t.

“What’s it do to my sex drive?” he asked, casually, like he was asking if you had paper or plastic bags. Mika made a strangled sound behind you. Someone in line coughed, suddenly very interested in the greeting cards.

You stared at him.

He held your gaze with the calm confidence of a man who had never been embarrassed in his life. “And before you say ‘everyone reacts different,’” he added, voice dropping, “I’m an athlete. I need my body working. All of it.” Then he gave you a slow blink that was somehow a wink without technically being a wink. “I can go all night,” he said, like he was sharing a fun fact. “It’d be a tragedy if the meds took that away from the world.”

Your expression didn’t change.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the implication. You did. Unfortunately. Vividly.

It was that you refused to reward it.

You lifted the leaflet, tapped it once with a neatly trimmed nail, and said, “Sexual side effects are possible. If you experience changes, you should speak with your prescriber. Do you have any other questions that are actually relevant?” Mika choked harder. You heard a stifled laugh from somewhere down the line.

Sukuna’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, like your deadpan had struck something in him that wanted to live. “Mm,” he hummed. “I like you.” You kept reading off the counseling points like your life depended on it. “This medication should be taken once daily. Try to take it at the same time each day. It may cause drowsiness, dizziness, nausea—”

“Will it make me less… angry?” he asked, quieter now.

That one landed different. Not flirtatious. Not stupid. Just raw, slipped under the counter like a note you weren’t supposed to see.

You softened your voice without meaning to. “It can help. Especially if you give it time and take it consistently.” He looked at you like he didn’t enjoy needing anything. “Time,” he repeated, as if the word tasted bitter.

You nodded. “Time. And routine.” He stared, then reached into his pocket and placed his ID on the counter—too carefully, like he didn’t trust himself to move too fast. “Y/n,” he said again, and your name sounded like a warning and a compliment in the same breath. “Tell me the truth.” You met his eyes. “Okay.”

“If I take this,” he said, “am I going to feel like someone else?” Your throat tightened, just a little. You’d heard this question in a hundred different forms—Will I still be me? Will my thoughts still belong to me? Will I lose my fire? Will I lose my edge?

You didn’t give him a rehearsed line. You gave him the truth you could safely hold.

“It shouldn’t erase you,” you said softly. “It should give you more space to breathe inside yourself. If it ever feels wrong—if you feel numb or unlike yourself—you talk to your provider. We adjust. We don’t suffer in silence.” Something flickered behind his eyes—annoyance, relief, suspicion, maybe all of it braided together.

Then, because he was him, he tilted his head and said, “So you’re saying you’ll take care of me.” Your cheeks warmed. “I’m saying I will do my job,” you replied.

He smiled this time. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… pleased.

“You’re sweet,” he said. “It’s cute.”

“I’m professional,” you corrected. “You’re both,” he said with a smirk, you handed him the bag and the paperwork. “Do you have any allergies?”

“No.”

“Any other medications you take?”

“Sometimes protein powder,” he said. “Sometimes violence.” Mika audibly inhaled like she’d just swallowed a cough the wrong way.

You blinked once. “We’ll start with the protein powder.” He chuckled—low, brief. The sound startled you more than his words. It made him seem… human. Like there was a person in there under the anger and the edges.

He took the bag, but didn’t move away. Just stayed, leaning in like the counter was a fence and he didn’t want to leave the yard you stood in.

“So,” he said, “when do I see you again?”

“Your next refill date is on the label,” you told him evenly.

He lifted the bag, glanced at it, then looked at you again like the label was a suggestion, not a schedule. “Yeah,” he said. “But what if I have questions?”

“You can call the pharmacy.”

“I don’t like phones.”

“You can ask any pharmacist.” He stared at you. Slow. Heavy. Like he was setting down a decision. “No,” he said simply. “I’ll ask you.” You held your composure like it was stitched into your ribs. “We have multiple pharmacists.” He leaned closer, voice dropping into something that vibrated in your chest. “I need the real one.” Your stomach flipped, traitorous and soft.

You didn’t curse. You didn’t snap. You didn’t flirt.

You simply lifted your eyebrows. “Sukuna, are you refusing counseling from anyone else?” He stared back, completely serious. “Yes.”

Mika’s eyes went wide with Is that allowed?

You exhaled quietly, like you were releasing a patient prayer.

“Fine,” you said. “If you have questions, you can ask me when I’m on duty.” His mouth curved again—victory, wrapped in velvet. “Good,” he said. “Because I do have a question.” You didn’t even sigh this time. You just waited.

He tapped the bag lightly. “If this makes me calmer,” he said, “and less obsessive… will I still want things?” You watched his face for the joke, for the crude punchline, for the easy innuendo.

It didn’t come.

Instead, his eyes stayed on yours, too intent, like he meant things in a way that wasn’t just about bodies.

You swallowed. “Most people still want things,” you said carefully. “Sometimes they want them in a healthier way.” He nodded once, like that answered something he hadn’t said out loud.

Then he straightened, finally stepping back.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” You lifted your chin. “Take it as directed.” He paused at the edge of the counter, glanced over his shoulder.

“And Y/n?”

“Yes?” His gaze slid over you—not lewd, not careless. Just aware. Like he noticed the way you held yourself, the way your softness didn’t mean weakness. “Maybe one day,” he said, voice lazy again, “you’ll let me give you my own personal medicine.”

Mika made a sound like a dying battery.

You stared at Sukuna with the same straight face you’d given him all along.

Then, very calmly, you said, “If you’re experiencing delusions, that is a side effect you should report.” For a second, he looked stunned. Then he laughed—real laughter, low and dangerous and delighted—and walked out of the pharmacy like he’d just won something.

You stood there, hands folded, heart doing a ridiculous little dance inside your ribs.

Mika leaned in, whispering, “Who was that?” You watched the automatic doors slide shut behind him, the winter light swallowing his silhouette.

You spoke softly, mostly to yourself.

“Trouble,” you said.

And as you turned back to the counter, the phone rang—one of those sharp, ordinary sounds that kept the world moving—while you tried very hard not to wonder how soon “next refill” could possibly come.

Friday nights at the pharmacy always carried a particular kind of exhaustion—one that clung to your sleeves and crawled up behind your eyes, the kind that made the fluorescent lights feel personal.

So when you heard, the next morning, that Sukuna Itadori had fought the night before, something in you tightened.

Not curiosity. Not excitement.

Just… a quiet, reluctant awareness. Like a storm report you didn’t ask for, but still read anyway because you needed to know where the wind might hit. You didn’t follow his career. You didn’t watch clips. You didn’t scroll past headlines the way other people did when they wanted to feel alive through someone else’s chaos.

You didn’t like fighting.

You liked calm. You liked clean counters. You liked the soft clink of pill bottles. You liked order, and routine, and the steady reassurance of labels that told you exactly what something was meant to do.

And yet—when you got dressed that morning, you took a few extra minutes.

You fixed your curls until they fell in obedient ringlets, glossy and thick, framing your face like they belonged there. You smoothed a little cream into the ends with careful fingers. You put on the smallest swipe of mascara, barely enough to count.

It wasn’t for him, you told yourself.

It was just… for you.

But your reflection looked back with an almost-suspicious sweetness, and you felt your cheeks warm as if your mirror had caught you hoping.

The pharmacy doors chimed sometime after nine.

You didn’t look up right away. You were checking a profile, eyes scanning for interactions, mind in its tidy little corridor of clinical focus.

Then you heard the change in the air.

The subtle pause at the counter.

The way your tech’s voice lifted—nervous, amused, trying not to sound intrigued.

And you knew.

Mika cleared her throat. “Uh—hi. Can I help you?” A familiar low voice slid over the counter like smoke. “Yeah. I’m here for the pharmacist.” Mika tried. She really did. “We can counsel you—”

“I don’t want ‘we.’” You could hear the smirk in his tone. “I want her.” You closed your eyes for half a second.

Not because you were angry—though you were definitely annoyed—but because your heart did something completely unhelpful, fluttering like a trapped thing.

You set your pen down with exaggerated calm, then stepped out from behind the workstation.

Sukuna stood there in a fitted hoodie that looked like it was fighting for its life across his shoulders. His buzzed hair was still damp, pale pink and close to his scalp, and he had that post-training heat clinging to him—clean sweat, sharp soap, something metallic and bright.

He looked… awake.

Not in the polite way people looked awake after coffee.

In the way a blade looked awake after being sharpened.

There was a faint bruise at the edge of his cheekbone that hadn’t fully yellowed yet, and a small cut near his brow like a careless punctuation mark.

His eyes found you instantly and the second they did, his mouth curved, slow and pleased.

Like he’d walked in already knowing you’d be pretty.

You hated that your pulse noticed.

You approached the counter, posture perfectly professional, voice soft enough to be kind but firm enough to be a boundary.

“What was going on?” you asked, because he always arrived like a disruption and acted like it was your fault.

Sukuna didn’t even pretend to be here for a refill.

He pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the counter toward you with two fingers.

A ticket.

Black, glossy, heavy stock—one of those tickets that didn’t look like paper so much as a promise. VIP lettering caught the overhead lights.

You stared down at it.

Then you stared up at him.

“What is this?” you asked, even though you already knew. Your stomach had answered before your mouth did.

His smirk deepened. “My fight.” You blinked once. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.” He tilted his head, watching your face like he was waiting for some reaction he could collect. “You should come.” You didn’t touch the ticket. Like it might burn you. Like accepting it would be the same as agreeing to something you hadn’t said yes to. “Sukuna,” you said gently, “this is—unprofessional.”

He leaned closer, forearms resting on the counter like he belonged there. Tattoos flexed beneath his sleeves. His voice dropped, warm and too intimate for a pharmacy at nine in the morning.

“You’re a pharmacist,” he murmured. “You like… aftercare.” Your face stayed neutral on pure willpower. “Aftercare isn’t a medical term,” you replied, even though the words sounded a little too careful leaving your mouth, like you were stepping around a puddle you didn’t want to admit you’d noticed.

His eyes flickered, amused. “It is if I say it is.” You glanced down at the bruise near his cheekbone, the cut at his brow, and felt something tender tug at the inside of your ribs—something you didn’t want to name.

“Why are you giving this to me?” you asked softly.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Because I want you there,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your throat tightened.

You kept your voice steady. “I don’t—watch fighting.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Watch me.” You looked at him, and his gaze held yours, steady and bold and too sure.

Then he tapped the ticket lightly with one knuckle.

“And after,” he added, lazy and cocky again, “you can fix my bruises.” Your brows lifted. “I’m not a nurse.”

“You’re close enough.” His grin sharpened. “You’ve got that gentle little voice. You’ll do great.” Mika made a small, helpless noise behind you, like she was watching a rom-com she hadn’t paid for.

You exhaled, the sound barely more than air. “This is inappropriate.” Sukuna straightened, as if he’d heard you but didn’t accept the premise.

He set the ticket down with slow certainty—like a man placing a coin on a counter, already convinced the purchase was complete.

Then he leaned in one last time, eyes on yours.

“See you tonight, Y/n,” he said.

You opened your mouth to argue.

He turned and walked away before you could.

Just left the ticket there.

Like you were going to pick it up.

Like the world always did what he wanted.

The doors chimed as he exited, and the pharmacy felt too bright again, too normal, too clean for the way your heart was misbehaving.

Mika crept up beside you, eyes sparkling with wicked delight. “He is… actually insane.” You stared at the VIP ticket like it might start talking. “He shouldn’t do that,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.

Mika’s smile widened. “He’s not exactly a ‘should’ kind of man.” You swallowed, still staring down.

All day, the ticket sat in the back of your mind like a little weight.

Between counseling patients on antibiotics and explaining prior authorizations and repeating the same gentle script you’d always used—Take with food, call us if you have questions, no, don’t double up, yes, please drink water—your thoughts kept drifting.

Not to the fight.

To him.

To the way he’d looked at you like you were something he wanted to keep in his hands.

You tried to focus. You really did.

But you caught yourself imagining his bruises.

His cut.

Your fingers—gloved, of course—dabbing antiseptic.

The absurd intimacy of tending to someone who was built for damage.

The idea made you feel warm and ridiculous.

And nervous.

Near the end of your shift, Mika leaned against the counter, casual like she wasn’t about to push you off a cliff.

“You’re going,” she said. “I’m not,” you replied automatically.

Mika hummed. “You’re going.” You frowned. “Why are you acting like you control my decisions.”

“Because I like joy,” she said. “And because you’ve been walking around all day like someone put a secret in your pocket.” You tried to look offended. It didn’t work. Mika waved her hand. “Leave early. We’ve got it handled. Go… do whatever this is.”

“This is nothing,” you said, but your voice came out too soft, too unconvincing.

Mika’s eyes narrowed. “Your mascara begs to differ.” Your cheeks warmed instantly. “I always wear mascara.”

“Mm-hm.” She smiled like she’d caught you stealing candy. “Go.” You hesitated long enough for your conscience to wrestle with your curiosity.

Then you sighed.

“Fine,” you said quietly, like you were agreeing to a chore instead of a choice that made your stomach flutter.

You went home and stood in front of your closet longer than you should have.

You told yourself you were dressing comfortably.

You told yourself you didn’t care what you looked like.

You told yourself the black long-sleeve was just clean and simple and easy, but when you pulled it on and it hugged your curves—when the mirror showed you soft and shapely and a little too pretty for your own comfort—you paused.

Not because you were trying.

Because you weren’t.

You chose jeans that fit the way they were supposed to—snug at the waist, fitted at the thighs—and when you turned sideways, you let out a small breath, surprised at your own silhouette. Your hair fell down your back in thick ringlets, framing you with that natural softness you couldn’t hide even when you wanted to.

You didn’t add jewelry. No perfume. Nothing dramatic.

Just you.

Just… slightly braver than usual.

The drive to the arena felt surreal.

Streetlights blinked on one by one like the city was exhaling into night. Traffic thickened closer to the venue, headlights pooling like water. You followed the signs, parked, and sat for a second with your hands on the steering wheel, heart tapping an anxious rhythm.

You could still turn around, you told yourself.

You could drive home.

You could return to your quiet apartment and your safe routines and pretend you’d never accepted anything from a man like him.

But your fingers had already touched the ticket.

You got out of the car.

The arena loomed bright and loud, all banners and bodies, and you felt small walking toward it—small, and out of place, like you’d wandered into someone else’s movie.

At the entrance, security scanned your ticket.

The staff member’s face changed—respectful, quick. “Right this way.” You swallowed. “Okay.” They led you through a corridor where the sound of the crowd grew heavier with every step—bass thumps of music, shouts like waves, the electric hum of anticipation.

You were guided into the private area.

It was quieter than the main seating, but it still throbbed with noise beneath it—like you could feel the energy in the floor. Plush seats, a small table, a view that made your stomach dip. People in nicer clothes sat around you, laughing, sipping drinks.

You sat stiffly, hands folded in your lap, trying not to look like you didn’t belong.

Because you didn’t.

A screen lit up with highlights, and the announcer’s voice rolled through the arena like thunder.

Your palms dampened.

You didn’t like violence. You didn’t like the idea of bodies as entertainment. You didn’t like the way the crowd sounded hungry and yet… you were here.

Because Sukuna had looked at you like you were the only soft thing in the room worth reaching for.

Lights dimmed.

The first fight began.

You flinched at the first sharp impact—two bodies colliding, the sound somehow louder than it should’ve been. You tried to focus on the rules, on the structure, on the idea that this was controlled, sanctioned.

But your shoulders stayed tense.

You found yourself watching the referees more than the fighters. Watching for safety. Watching for stopping points. Watching for the moment someone would say enough.

You took slow breaths, the way you taught anxious patients to do when they came to pick up meds they didn’t want to need.

Around you, people cheered.

You didn’t.

You simply watched—eyes wide, heart uneasy—trying to understand why anyone craved this.

And then, between fights, a movement near the VIP entrance caught your attention.

A familiar shape.

Too tall. Too broad.

Sukuna appeared at the edge of the private area like he owned the air itself.

He wasn’t in his fight gear yet—still in warmups, loose pants, a jacket zipped partway. His hair looked freshly dried again, and there was a calm to him that made him even more dangerous, like all the anger had been leashed tight for later.

His eyes swept the room.

Then landed on you.

And the smirk returned, immediate and satisfied—like a lock clicking into place.

He walked over with unhurried confidence, gaze never leaving your face. People glanced up, murmured, shifted to make space without being asked.

He stopped in front of you, towering just enough that you had to tilt your chin again. “Well,” he said, voice low, amused. “You came.” Your heart stuttered.

You tried to sound composed. “You left the ticket.”

“That was the point.” He leaned down slightly, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in your ear, not in public. “I wanted to see if you’d do what I asked.” You frowned, though your cheeks warmed. “That’s… manipulative.” He shrugged like it was a compliment. “And yet.” You exhaled softly. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

He studied you—your curls, your black top, the way you held yourself like you were trying to be invisible and failing.

His eyes darkened with approval. “You look good.” You blinked. “Sukuna—” He cut you off with a lazy little smile. “Don’t start. Just take it.” Your lips parted, then closed.

You forced yourself to ask the sensible thing. “Are you hurt?” His gaze flicked over your face, then softened—almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

That answer should’ve unsettled you.

It did.

He sat down—too close, far too casual—like it was normal for him to fold himself into your space. His knee brushed yours, and the contact sent a small spark up your leg, stupid and bright.

“You look like you want to run,” he murmured.

You stared forward at the cage. “I don’t like this.” He hummed. “I know.”

You glanced at him, surprised.

He met your eyes. “You’re too soft for it.”

You didn’t like the way that sounded—like softness was a limitation.

But the way he said it… wasn’t insulting.

It sounded protective.

It made your throat tighten anyway.

Sukuna leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head like a man settling into a theater seat. “Just watch. I’ll make it quick.” You frowned. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can.” He turned his head, gaze pinned to you again. “Because you’re here.” Your heartbeat stumbled.

Then an official approached, speaking quietly to Sukuna. Sukuna listened with a bored expression that didn’t match the intensity of the room.

He stood, towering over you again.

His eyes dragged over your face—slow, possessive in a way that made you want to scold him and blush at the same time.

“Stay,” he said.

You blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Stay,” he repeated, voice sharper now, like it mattered. Like you mattered.

You nodded once before your mind could argue.

Sukuna’s mouth curved, satisfied.

Then he walked away, disappearing into the corridor like a promise you didn’t know how to hold.

A few minutes later, his name boomed over the speakers.

The crowd erupted.

Your stomach dipped.

Lights flashed. Music surged. The atmosphere changed—thicker, wilder, like everyone suddenly leaned forward at once.

And then he was there.

Sukuna stepped out into the arena lights, and the roar around you became physical—vibrating through your bones, rattling the air in your lungs. He moved like he belonged to that sound, like it fed him. Like he wore noise the way other men wore cologne.

He looked… different.

Not softer.

Not calmer.

Just focused—cold, bright, terrifyingly controlled. His shoulders rolled once. His jaw flexed. His eyes scanned the crowd, then lifted briefly toward the VIP section.

You swore he found you instantly.

That smirk flashed again—quick as a match strike.

Your heart jumped.

Then the cage door closed.

The bell rang.

You braced yourself without meaning to.

The first exchange happened fast—feet shifting, hands snapping out, the sound of gloves and skin and impact echoing in a way that made your stomach twist.

You hated how much the crowd loved it.

But you couldn’t look away from him.

Sukuna moved like a predator.

Not frantic. Not sloppy. Every motion had intent. He slipped a punch like it was nothing, countered with something sharp and clean, forced the other man back with the effortless confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power he had.

Your hands curled in your lap.

You didn’t cheer.

You didn’t smile.

You just watched with a growing knot of worry that made your throat tight.

Because you’d seen bruises on him before and you’d realized, somewhere in the middle of counting pills and fixing curls, that you didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting him.

Not even if he chose it.

The other fighter rushed him, trying to close distance, and for a second you felt your breath catch—fear flashing through you like a cold splash.

Sukuna didn’t even look panicked.

He caught the clinch, turned it, drove the man back into the fence with brutal efficiency. Not excessive. Not theatrical. Just… decisive.

Your stomach turned.

The referee watched closely.

The crowd screamed.

Sukuna worked—short strikes, pressure, control—and when the other man tried to twist away, Sukuna dragged him down with a takedown so clean it looked like choreography.

You flinched at the sound of bodies hitting canvas.

Then Sukuna was on top, posture low, heavy, controlling. Not wild. Not cruel. Just complete.

It was horrible and mesmerizing all at once.

Your fingers pressed into your palm until you felt your own pulse.

The other fighter struggled. Sukuna adjusted. The referee hovered.

And then—so fast you almost didn’t understand it—Sukuna shifted, locked something in, and the other man tapped.

Tapped.

It was over.

The bell rang again.

The crowd exploded like fireworks.

You sat frozen, heartbeat pounding, relief washing through you so hard it made you dizzy.

Sukuna rose, chest heaving, sweat gleaming under the lights. He looked to the referee, then to his corner, then—like he couldn’t help himself—his gaze cut up toward the VIP section again.

This time, he didn’t just glance.

He stared.

And you felt it—felt the way his attention wrapped around you, heavy and sure, like a hand at your waist.

Then he smirked.

Like he’d done it for you.

Your cheeks warmed, even as your stomach still churned.

The officials swarmed him. His team surrounded him. Someone lifted his arm. Cameras flashed.

You sat there, a soft thing in a loud world, trying to steady your breathing, trying to convince yourself you hadn’t just watched a man win a fight and felt… something embarrassingly close to pride.

Around you, people stood and toasted and laughed.

Mika texted you a single message:

HE WINNING???

You stared at your phone, then at the cage, then back again.

You typed:

Yes. He’s okay.

You paused, then added:

I think.

Your phone buzzed with her reply almost instantly.

GO FIX HIS BRUISES, ROMANTIC DOCTOR LADY.

You didn’t reply.

Because your heart was still trying to climb out of your chest.

A few minutes later, movement stirred in the VIP corridor again.

Sukuna appeared, freshly towelled off but still damp, still warm with adrenaline. He had a new bruise blooming along his ribs, and his knuckles looked red and sore. There was a faint split at his lip that made something in you ache.

He looked wired.

Alive in a way you didn’t understand.

His eyes found you immediately.

And when he walked over, the crowd noise seemed to dull around the edges, like your world narrowed to the space he took up.

He stopped in front of you, smirk sharp, voice low.

“See?” he said. “Quick.” You stared at the bruise, then at his lip, then up into his eyes. “You’re bleeding,” you murmured.

His grin turned wicked. “You sound worried.” You straightened your shoulders, trying to reclaim professionalism like a shield. “It’s… my job to care about injuries.” He leaned closer, eyes bright. “That’s not your job.” Your breath hitched, very small.

He tapped his lip with a knuckle, as if inviting your gaze. “You gonna fix it?” You swallowed. “Do you have a medic—”

“I do,” he cut in smoothly. “But I wanted you.” Your face heated. You tried to keep your voice calm. “Sukuna, you can’t keep saying things like that.” He smiled like you’d told him a joke. “Why not?”

“Because…” You hesitated, honesty snagging in your throat. “Because it’s not appropriate.” His gaze softened for a split second, then sharpened again with that cocky edge he wore like jewelry. “You still came,” he murmured.

Your lips parted. Closed.

You hated how true that was.

He bent slightly, lowering his mouth closer to your ear, voice dropping into something that made your skin prickle.

“Come over,” he said. “After this.” You blinked, startled. “What?”

“My place.” His eyes held yours, steady and daring. “We’ll have drinks.” You didn’t curse, but you felt like your brain did. “I—” You swallowed. “That’s… that’s not—” Sukuna straightened, smirk returning like a familiar sin. “Relax. I’m not saying we’re getting married.” Your cheeks flamed.

He looked pleased by that too.

“I’m saying,” he continued, voice lazy, “you came all the way here, watched me do my job, and you’ve been staring at my bruises like you want to press kisses on them.” You nearly inhaled wrong. “I have not,” you whispered.

His smile widened, pure menace. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” you lied softly.

He leaned down again, just enough that his voice felt like it brushed your skin. “Come over.” You stared at him—this towering, tattooed man with a split lip and a smug grin, looking at you like you were the prize he’d already claimed.

And you should’ve said no.

You should’ve stood up, thanked him for the ticket, and left.

Instead, your heart beat quietly, insistently, like it had its own agenda.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your seat.

And Sukuna watched you—patient in the most dangerous way—like he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You heard yourself say it before your brain could intervene. "Okay." The word came out soft, barely more than a breath, like you were afraid if you said it any louder, you'd scare yourself into taking it back.

Sukuna's eyes flashed—something dark and pleased and victorious all at once. "Yeah?" he murmured, leaning closer, like he wanted to make sure he'd heard you right.

You nodded, throat tight. "Just… for a little while." His smile curved slow and dangerous. "Sure," he said, in a tone that suggested he didn't believe the 'little while' part for a second. "Just for a bit." He straightened, offering you his hand.

You stared at it—bruised knuckles, tattoos wrapping around his wrist like they were holding something wild in place—and then you took it. His palm was warm, rough with calluses, and when his fingers closed around yours, you felt the strength in them. Not crushing. Just… present. Like he could hold on as long as he wanted and you wouldn't be able to pull away.

He helped you stand, and suddenly you were too close to him, the heat of his body radiating through the small space between you. He smelled like sweat and clean skin and something faintly metallic, and it made your head swim.

"You drove here?" he asked.

You nodded. "Yeah."

"Follow me, then." He released your hand slowly, fingers trailing against yours as he let go. "I'm not far." You swallowed and nodded again, not trusting your voice. The walk back through the arena felt surreal—like you were moving through a dream where everything was too bright and too loud and your body didn't quite belong to you. Sukuna walked ahead, glancing back every few steps like he was making sure you hadn't bolted.

You hadn't. But you thought about it.

Your car was parked in the lot, and when you unlocked it with shaking hands, Sukuna leaned against the driver's side door of a sleek black car a few spaces down—something expensive and low to the ground that looked like it had opinions about speed limits.

"You good?" he called over.

You looked at him across the parking lot, standing there like he owned the asphalt, and your stomach flipped. "Yeah," you called back, voice steadier than you felt.

He smirked. "Don't get lost." Then he slid into his car, and the engine purred to life—a low, rumbling sound that you felt in your chest. You got into your own car, gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor you to reality, and watched as he pulled out of the lot.

You followed.

The drive wasn't long, but every minute of it felt like your nerves were being pulled tighter and tighter, wound around a spool that was running out of thread. You kept your eyes on his taillights, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts that all contradicted each other.

This is a bad idea. This is exciting. You should turn around. You don't want to turn around. He's your patient. He's not your patient right now.

Your hands tightened on the wheel.

The city lights blurred past, and then you were pulling into an underground garage—concrete and steel and the echo of your engine cutting off as you parked beside him. Sukuna was already out of his car, waiting, hands in his pockets like he had all the patience in the world now that you were here.

You got out slowly, clutching your purse like it might protect you from your own decisions.

He tilted his head toward the elevator. "Come on." You followed him across the garage, your footsteps too loud in the quiet space, and when he pressed the button for the elevator, you stood beside him in silence.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

You stepped inside.

He followed, and the space immediately felt smaller—too warm, too close. He pressed a button near the top of the panel, and the elevator began to rise.

You watched the numbers climb.

15… 20… 25…

Your heart climbed with them.

When the doors finally opened, you stepped out into a hallway that was all clean lines and soft lighting, and Sukuna led you to a door at the end.

He unlocked it with a keycard, pushed it open, and stepped aside.

"After you," he said, voice low and amused, like he knew exactly how nervous you were.

You stepped inside and stopped.

The penthouse was… enormous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, showcasing the city sprawled out below like a carpet of lights. The space was open—sleek, modern, expensive in a way that didn't need to announce itself. Dark hardwood floors, minimalist furniture in shades of black and gray, a kitchen with marble countertops that gleamed under recessed lighting.

It was beautiful. And it felt… empty.

Not physically—there was furniture, art on the walls, a massive sectional sofa that looked like it had never been sat on—but emotionally. Like no one really lived here. Like it was a space designed to impress, not to comfort.

Your apartment was small and cozy, full of throw blankets and plants and mismatched mugs. It smelled like vanilla candles and old books. It felt like home.

This felt like a showroom.

"You like it?" Sukuna's voice came from behind you, and you turned to find him watching you with that same unreadable expression. "It's… big," you said softly, because you didn't know how to say It's beautiful but it doesn't feel like you without sounding presumptuous.

He smirked. "That's what she said." You blinked at him, and despite everything—despite your nerves and the surreal nature of being here—you felt a laugh bubble up in your throat.

You tried to suppress it.

Failed.

It came out as a soft, helpless giggle, and Sukuna's smirk widened into something that looked almost like a real smile. "There she is," he murmured, stepping closer. "I was wondering if you were gonna stay scared all night."

"I'm not scared," you said, even though your pulse was racing. "Liar." He moved past you into the kitchen, and you watched as he opened the fridge—a massive stainless steel thing that probably cost more than your car. "What do you want to drink?" You hesitated. "Um… water?" He glanced at you over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Water."

"Yes."

"You sure? I've got—" He rattled off a list of things you barely registered, your brain too busy trying to keep up with the fact that you were in Sukuna's penthouse, alone, at night, after watching him fight. "Water's fine," you said, voice a little firmer. He shrugged, pulling out a bottle of water and a bright blue Gatorade for himself. He poured your water into a glass—actual glass, not plastic—and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and the contact sent a little spark up your arm.

"Thanks," you murmured.

He twisted the cap off his Gatorade and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed, and you found yourself staring at the line of his neck, the way his tattoos disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

You looked away quickly, taking a sip of your own water.

"Sit," he said, nodding toward the sectional.

You moved toward it, perching on the edge of one of the cushions like you might need to run at any moment. The leather was soft and cool under your thighs, and you set your glass down on the coffee table—a slab of dark wood that looked like it had been carved from a single tree.

Sukuna dropped onto the couch beside you—not across from you, not at a polite distance, but right beside you, close enough that his thigh almost touched yours.

You felt the heat of him immediately.

"So," he said, leaning back and draping one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. "You gonna tell me what you thought?"

"About what?" you asked, even though you knew.

His smile was slow and wicked. "The fight." You looked down at your hands, folded in your lap. "It was… intense."

"Intense," he repeated, like he was tasting the word. "That's it?" You glanced at him. "I don't like violence."

"I know." His gaze was steady, unrepentant. "But you watched anyway." Your cheeks warmed. "You asked me to."

"And you came." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Why?" You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I don't know."

"Liar," he said again, softer this time, and his fingers brushed against your shoulder—just a whisper of contact, but it made your breath hitch.

"I'm not—"

"You are." He shifted closer, and now his thigh was pressed against yours, solid and warm. "You know exactly why you came." Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "Sukuna—"

"Say it," he murmured, and his hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, fingers threading through your curls with a gentleness that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. "Say why you came." You stared at him, at the bruise on his cheekbone and the split in his lip and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

"Because you asked me to," you whispered, his smile was slow and satisfied. "Good girl." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how much you liked the sound of them in his voice. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You're so fucking sweet," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's gonna ruin me."

You didn't know what to say to that. So you didn't say anything.

You just sat there, frozen, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.

You should have. You should have said stop and this is a bad idea and I need to go home.

But you didn't.

You just looked at him, your lips parted, your breath coming too fast.

And Sukuna smiled like he'd won something— his thumb traced your lower lip, and your breath caught.

"You're not gonna tell me to stop, are you?" he murmured.

You shook your head, just barely.

"Fuck," he breathed, and then his mouth was on yours. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined—not that you'd been imagining it, except you had, you absolutely had—it was rough and hungry and tasted faintly of blood from his split lip. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you like he'd been thinking about it for days.

You made a soft sound against his mouth, and he groaned in response, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.

You went.

Your hands found his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin, and you kissed him back with a desperation that should have embarrassed you but didn't. He pulled you into his lap with an ease that made your head spin, and suddenly you were straddling him, your thighs on either side of his, your hands braced on his shoulders.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, pulling back just enough to take you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the way your chest was rising and falling with quick breaths. "You're so fucking pretty." You opened your mouth to respond, but he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your shirt.

You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his hips shifting beneath you in a way that made you acutely aware of how hard he was. "Sukuna," you breathed, and his name in your voice seemed to do something to him.

He groaned, low and rough, and his hands moved to your hips, grinding you down against him. The friction made you whimper, and he did it again, harder this time, his mouth moving to your neck. "You have no idea," he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing your throat, "how long I've been thinking about this."

Your head fell back, giving him access, and his mouth was hot and demanding, sucking marks into your skin that you'd have to cover tomorrow.

Tomorrow felt very far away.

His hands slid under your shirt, palms rough and warm against your bare skin, and you arched into his touch.

"Bedroom," he growled against your neck. "Now." You nodded, breathless, and he stood with you still wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you across the penthouse.

You should have felt self-conscious—about your weight, about how desperate you must look—but Sukuna held you like you weighed nothing, his hands firm on your ass, his mouth still working against your neck. He kicked open a door and carried you inside, and you had a brief impression of a massive bed and more floor-to-ceiling windows before he was laying you down on the mattress. You looked up at him, breathless and flushed, and he stood over you for a moment, just looking.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, and then he was on you again, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that made you feel safe and trapped all at once.

His hands were everywhere—pulling off your shirt, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, sliding your jeans down your legs until you were bare beneath him except for your panties. He sat back on his heels, looking at you spread out on his bed, and his expression was something between reverent and predatory.

"Fuck," he breathed.

You resisted the urge to cover yourself, your hands fisting in the sheets instead.

He pulled his own shirt over his head, and you got your first real look at him—all hard muscle and ink, tattoos covering his chest and arms in intricate patterns that you wanted to trace with your fingers.

You reached up, tentative, and he caught your hand, bringing it to his chest.

"Touch me," he said, voice rough.

So you did.

Your fingers traced the lines of his tattoos, the hard planes of his muscles, and he watched you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. When your hand drifted lower, brushing the waistband of his pants, he caught your wrist.

"Not yet," he said. "You first." And then he was kissing his way down your body—your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. His mouth closed over one nipple, and you arched off the bed with a gasp.

He hummed in approval, his hand sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your panties. "Can I?" he asked, and the fact that he asked—that he paused to make sure—made something in your chest tighten. "Yes," you breathed.

He hooked his fingers in the fabric and pulled them down, tossing them aside, and then you were completely bare before him. He settled between your thighs, his shoulders forcing your legs wider, and you felt exposed and vulnerable and so turned on you could barely think.

"So fucking pretty," he muttered, and then his mouth was on you.

You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, and he groaned against you, the vibration making your hips buck. He ate you out like he was starving, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, and you were already so wound up that it didn't take long before you were trembling on the edge.

"Sukuna," you gasped, "I'm—"

"Come," he growled against you. "Come on my tongue." And you did, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that made your vision white out, your thighs clamping around his head as you shook apart.

He worked you through it, only pulling back when you whimpered from oversensitivity.

When you finally came back to yourself, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Good?" he asked, voice smug.

You couldn't even form words. You just nodded, breathless and boneless.

He chuckled, low and dark, and then he was stripping off the rest of his clothes.

When he was finally naked, you couldn't help but stare.

He was… big. Everywhere.

Your eyes widened slightly, and he noticed, his smirk widening. "Don't worry," he said, crawling back over you. "I'll make it fit."

You were on your hands and knees on his bed, your back arched, your face pressed into the expensive sheets that smelled like him—clean and sharp and male. Sukuna was behind you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your front, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles.

And he was fucking you.

Hard.

Deep.

Fast enough that you couldn't catch your breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but take it and moan and feel. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck. "So fucking perfect." You whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets, and he thrust harder, the sound of skin against skin obscenely loud in the quiet room. "You like that?" he muttered, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "You like me fucking you like this?"

"Yes," you gasped, the word barely coherent. "Yes, oh, yes—" He groaned, low and rough, and his hips snapped forward again, burying himself so deep you saw stars. Your second orgasm was building already, coiling tight in your belly, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, could hear it in the slick sounds of him moving inside you.

"That's it," he growled. "Fuck, you're dripping for me. You gonna come again? Gonna come on my cock?" You nodded frantically, beyond words, and his fingers moved faster, his thrusts harder, and you were right there, right on the edge— And then he laughed.

Not a cruel laugh. Not mocking.

Just… amused.

"Fuck," he said, his rhythm faltering for just a second. "I forgot to take my meds." Your brain, fogged with pleasure, took a moment to process that, and then you felt him shift, his body leaning away from yours slightly, and you heard the sound of a pill bottle opening. You turned your head, dazed and disbelieving, and watched as Sukuna—still inside you, still hard, still moving in slow, lazy thrusts—popped open his prescription bottle with one hand.

He shook two pills into his palm, tossed them into his mouth, and then reached for the water bottle on his nightstand.

He took a drink, swallowed, and set the bottle back down.

All while still fucking you.

"Sukuna," you groaned, half scandalized, half delirious. "Are you serious right now?" He leaned back down, his chest pressing against your back again, his mouth right against your ear. "What?" he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement. "You told me to take them at the same time every day." You made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, because this was obscene and inappropriate and somehow the hottest thing that had ever happened to you.

"You're insane," you gasped. “Yeah," he agreed, and then he thrust hard, making you cry out. "But you like it." You couldn't argue with that.

His hand returned to your clit, and his pace picked up again, faster now, harder, and you were so close you could taste it. "Did I do a good job?" he growled in your ear, his voice rough and possessive. "Taking my meds like a good boy?" You whimpered, nodding frantically. "Say it," he demanded, his fingers pressing harder. "Tell me I did a good job."

"You did," you gasped. “God, Sukuna, you did so good—" He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back, and his thrusts became almost punishing, chasing his own release now. "Gonna fill you up," he muttered. "Gonna make you come one more time and then fill this pretty pussy up. You want that?"

"Yes," you sobbed, because you were so close, so fucking close— "Then come," he growled. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it." And you did.

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your whole body seizing, your walls clamping down around him so hard he cursed. "Fuck, fuck, yes—" He thrust twice more, hard and deep, and then he was coming too, groaning your name into your neck as he spilled inside you.

You collapsed forward onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, both of you breathing hard. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then Sukuna shifted, pulling out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss.

He rolled onto his back beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest still heaving.

You turned your head to look at him, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "You really just took your meds in the middle of sex," you said, your voice hoarse.

He lowered his arm and looked at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said. "I did." You stared at him for a moment.

And then you started laughing.

You couldn't help it—it was absurd and ridiculous and so perfectly him that you couldn't do anything but laugh, your body shaking with it.

Sukuna watched you, his grin softening into something that looked almost fond.

"You're fucking cute," he muttered.

You were still laughing, breathless and spent and completely wrecked, when he pulled you against his chest, and for the first time since you'd met him, Sukuna looked like a peaceful menace, a menace you had to refill his prescription in 2 weeks.

But maybe the only medication he needed was just his pharmacist.

this was a brain rot idea I had like a long time ago, you're welcome😩

taglist: @marcelinebtw @chososcupoftea @winkii @eli54sa @strawberryosaki @rumblehoneyy @ellsiedjarin @poopypantsstinkface @tojisunicornbraidd @it2muse3 @wildlycruelphoenix @kamisiag @blissingtaehyung @moe-moes-stuff @simplyspooky8 @attackonnat @confusedmomfriend

[sugarwarachan]

my queen 👑 thank u for forever feeding all 5000 of us!!!!! horny on main page 2025 and beyond!!!!!!!! 😍

ok here we go……….

shinsou + voice kink/praise + coworkers but there was only one bed NEED I SAY MORE

omg jey thank you!!!! as you know, shinsou is my MAN, so writing this was a fucking blast. hope you enjoy!!

shinsou + voice kink/praise + coworkers/only one bed! // event m.list - mdni

cws: smut, mutual pining, idiots in love, shinsou is down bad, dirty talk

shinsou can’t stop staring at the mole on your neck. It’s right below your hairline, a little black dot he wishes he could smooth over with his tongue while he folds you into his arms and drinks down your surprised giggles.

he sighs.

coming on a mission with his favorite support tech was a bad idea.

and yet—

the second he got the directive, shinsou wouldn’t have given the assignment over to anyone else in the world.

only monoma, the irreverent bastard, knows about his debilitating crush on you, which now extends into what monoma calls “obsessive behavior.”

“Just tell them,” he said one evening after packing away two many Mai Tais. “It’s so annoying that you haven’t. I might just tell them myself.”

(luckily, monoma hadn't remembered that the the next day.)

but what shinsou hadn’t been accounting for was that no one updated the mission directive to accommodate two people.

which meant he’d been watching the rise and fall of your chest for the last twenty minutes, trying to decide which was worse: get up and risk waking you and lie on the ground with an obvious boner, or remain side-by-side and think of All-Might’s exercise regimen until it went away.

you shift in bed, and shinsou’s whole body pulls taut.

“you’re still awake, right?”

if he could strangle himself with his own capture weapon, he would.

he’s about to formulate a semi-normal response when you follow that question with another. “are you awake for the same reason I am?”

—

your crush on shinsou hitoshi is so well-known that people joke about your cheeks starting fires whenever he compliments you.

(one time, when he showed up demanding a quick fix to his mask, exhausted and covered in grime, he’d said the words that changed your life:

“you’re real pretty when you're concentrating, doll.”)

you squeeze your eyes shut. now’s not the time to be reminding yourself how good his voice sounds when he’s tired, when it’s all raspy and low—

“we’re awake for similar reasons, are we?”

a crime, an absolute motherfucking crime that the man you want to pound your body into the mattress possesses that sexy rasp of a voice, the kind that drags over your skin and tugs at your throat.

“yes,” you admit. “at least, i think we are—“

need slams into your body like a freight train when he drapes an arm over your waist and tugs you against his chest. the ridge of his cock bumps into your ass.

“this okay?” he asks against the shell of your ear. you nod and shiver, hitoshi already trailing kisses down the back of your neck, hands running across your hips and over the curve of your stomach before settling over the beating thrum of your cunt.

you sigh and press back into him as you shimmy out of your pajamas, savoring the grunt he makes low in his throat.

“i’ve pictured you like this, you know,” he says, pulling your leg up and giving him better access to your pussy. “how pretty you’d look spread out for me.”

he drags his knuckles through your folds and around your clit, licking up the pants and sighs that fall from your lips by crushing you to his chest. the resulting kiss ends up with a reversal of positions, hitoshi dragging you onto his lap and hushing you when you say you don’t know how to ride him.

“i’ll teach you, sweet thing.” he cups your jaw and kisses you again, sweeter this time. “i wanna see your pretty face when you cum with me for the first time.”

he helps you line him up at your entrance, the thickness of his head—leaking and red, a little like a lollipop you want to suck—stretching you open, sucking down his shaft until he’s sheathed in your tight, warm channel.

“fuck—“ he grits out, grabbing onto the plushness of your hips to help guide you when you falter. “you feel like fucking heaven, angel. takin' me so well."

your pussy clenches around him, and he grins up at you, feral smile and tired eyes. you’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.

“oh, you like being sweet-talked, don’t you?”

embarrassment tears over your face.

“no, no, don’t get all shy on me now. i’ll give you all the compliments you want, princess—about how warm and wet and tight your little pussy is. oh yeah, she likes that, doesn’t she?”

he’s lifting you off of him as much as you’re still trying to ride him, but at this point, you’re content for hitoshi to use your body however he sees fit. every thrust he makes grinds your clit into his pelvis, driving you closer and closer to the swirling pleasure of your own orgasm.

“hitoshi, i’m gonna—“

he hushes you and pulls you close, your bodies in one languid wave on the bed. the devotion he feels for you is clear in his gaze, and you cum just like that, with hitoshi’s voice a distant melody in your ear.

so ummm... i need him *jumps into traffic*

reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged!! tumblr is a community, not an algorithm, and all support is welcomed <3 dividers from @saradika-graphics

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira, @straows, @thatoneawkwardfeeling

[rowarn]

SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

john "soap" mactavish / reader – 9.3k sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, developing relationship, virginity for sale trope, protective!soap, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader, mean!soap? or maybe just intense!soap, soap is NOT beginner-friendly

cw: loss of virginity, soap's filthy mouth, fingering, multiple orgasms, wet&messy, sloppy blowjob, cum facial, squirting, crying during sex?/dacryphilia, consent check bc johnny is a GOOD MAN, intense heated sex to sex with feelings, cunnilingus, corruption kink if u squint, multiple rounds, sloppy sex tbh

;

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom.

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

or.

After continuously getting in the way of your attempts to sell your virginity, you finally let yourself fall into bed with him instead.

You couldn’t believe you wound up here. You always thought it would happen in some sweet way. A long-time boyfriend or girlfriend, happy and in love. You’d snuggle up afterwards and be told how good you were.

But no, instead you became swamped in debt and ended up on the verge of eviction even though you were living in the cheapest apartment you could find that wasn’t in an area that would get you stabbed for stepping outside. You needed money fast and you had one thing that plenty of perverts would pay for; your virginity. It’s not your most crowning moment in life but as they say, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself so you don’t crumble under the shame of it all. 

When the chair across from you suddenly gets yanked out, feet scraping obnoxiously across the floor, making you nearly jump out of your skin. The man who sits down looks nothing like the picture he sent and you internally groan. He looks much older than you, no doubt in his mid 40’s, balding, and graying hair. You wouldn’t mind an older man if he were a little more…attractive. Sure, maybe that’s a bit shallow of you but fuck, it’s your virginity you’re giving away. You should be allowed to be picky with the man you choose! Under normal circumstances you would be so why not now?

Then again, this isn’t exactly normal circumstances was it?

You pick up the glass of the strongest drink you could handle that you ordered at the bar while waiting and downed it in one deep gulp. You gave the man a very fake smile and he grinned back, the sleazy sight making your stomach turn. 

You were going to need a lot more alcohol. 

The evening turned into night and you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol. Your ‘date’ doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as you drink, if anything he seems elated. That thought makes you curl your lip in disgust. 

“So,” he starts when you finally lean back in your chair, having had your fill of alcohol for the night, “Shall we move this along? My place or yours?”

“You got the money you promised?” you ask, raising a brow, unsure if you sounded as drunk to him as you did to yourself.

“In my car,” he responds, grin sitting irritatingly lopsided on his ugly face, “Got it all ready for you. After services are rendered, of course.”

Anxiety coils in your stomach at the mention of what you have to do to get the money. It’s a lot of money and that makes your palms sweaty – you need it. You feel like there’s eyes on you from behind, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. When you turn to look around, there’s no one paying any attention to you. Everyone in the bar was having a nice time. You wish you were one of them. 

“Let’s get out here,” the man grins, “I am just achin’ to get my hands on you.”

He stands up but you find yourself rooted to your seat. Your entire body feels tense, you can’t find it in yourself to stand up. You don’t want to go with the guy, you decide. Your fight or flight activates with terrifying speed, alerting you of the danger you’re in. Though you’re not exactly sure what danger that is just yet.

“I think…” you start and the guy heaves a big sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re backin’ out?” he grumbles, not bothering to mask his irritation, “After I came all this way? That’s awfully rude of you.”

“I just don’t think I want to–” he groans, embarrassingly loud.

You feel the eyes of nearby patrons on you and your cheeks burn under the scrutiny. Shame bubbles up inside you at the thought of them finding out what exactly was going on between the two of you. 

“Let’s go,” he snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he rounds the table and grabs hold of your arm.

You don’t bother fighting back as he yanks you to your feet, instead leveling him with a fierce glare. You don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people so you plan to let him drag out outside where you can really give him a piece of your mind before hopefully coming back inside and peacefully getting drunk alone.

But a sudden, growling voice has both of you freezing in place, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes fall upon a man, standing tall and confidently. He has a mohawk, brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. Upon first glance, you could immediately tell he was in the military based on his posture alone. He was intimidating, broad and well-built.

“Hey, dude, why don't you mind your own fuckin’ business,” your ‘date’ snarled, yanking you harshly towards him.

You felt your eye twitch in irritation but your drunken brain was too slow to react properly. You were still hung up on the appearance of this rather good looking man. 

“This is my business,” the stranger said, Scottish accent thick as he took two big strides over to the both of you, “Why don't you just leave quietly so things don't have to get ugly?” 

Your ‘date’ stares the strange man down for a few seconds, taking a glance at you before kissing his teeth and ripping his hand off of you. 

“You ain't worth this shit,” he huffed, stomping off into the crowd. You could hear the bell over the door ring, announcing his final departure from the scene.

“Well, he was just a dandy fellow,” your rescuer jokes, a crooked grin settling on his face. His shoulders relaxed and he held his hand out, “Name’s Soap. How about I walk you home?” 

“That'd be great,” you responded, feeling your stomach starting to roll as the alcohol settled. You knew you were going to be stuck with your head over the toilet bowl soon and you'd rather be in the comfort of your apartment for that. 

“Let’s get a move on then,” he waved forward for you to lead the way. 

The crisp outside air had you sighing happily. You hadn't realized how hot you were in there but now that the light breeze brushed against your skin, you noticed how you had begun to sweat. 

“So you’re military, huh?” you ask, leading him in the direction of your apartments “Soap.” 

He chuckles, “You caught me.” 

You smile, “It's kind of hard to miss, no offense.” 

“None taken,” he assures, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “What were you doin’ with a piece of shite like that? Was he your boyfriend?” 

You sputter, “No! Nothing like that. I just…had a deal with him, that's all. I called it off and he got pissed. I'm sorta pissed at myself. Just missed out on a fuck ton of money.” 

Soap’s brows raise, “What kind of deal?” 

Your drunken brain forgets all about the fact such a deal should be kept quiet. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself, “My virginity for his money. But I’m not like a prostitute or anything!” 

He holds his hands up as surrender when you get defensive at the shocked look on his face, “You need money that bad?”

“You have no idea,” you sign, pinching the bridge of your nose at the mere thought of your money troubles, “I never do this. You know? I-I mean obviously…with the virginity and all. But-!”

“I’m not judgin’ you,” he assures, “Hard times. But you should be careful. Lot’s of dangerous characters out there.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders as you come to a stop, “This is my place.”

“Right,” he mutters, “Let me give you my number.”

“For what?” you sputter, watching him pull out his wallet.

“Just in case,” he smiles, “I doubt anyone really knows what you’re dealin’ with right? I do. So if you’re ever in any trouble,” he hands you a business card, “Give me a call.”

You take the card and look it over. It’s got his name and military rank but not much else. You raise a brow, “Why do you have a business card on you?”

He chuckles, waving his hand flippantly, “Just ‘cause. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you smile, stowing the card away in your pocket, “Thanks for walking me home, Soap.”

He stands outside of your place, waiting until you’re safely inside and shutting the door. When you peek out the window, you see him walking off in the direction that you had come from. You smile and go about getting ready for bed, grateful that you’re not feeling that awful nauseous pit in your stomach you had earlier.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still dressed in your clothes and you have no recollection of having laid down the night before. You groan, your head throbbing in your skull as you sit up. 

You stumble your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You take the time to start the shower and strip yourself, determined to scrub the grime from last night off of your body. 

By the time you step out, you’re feeling like a brand new person. You stretch your arms over your head and work on drying yourself off. Wrapping your towel around your body, gather your clothes in your arms, and trudge back into your bedroom. 

You look through the pockets of your jeans from yesterday, pulling out various coins and candy wrappers that you remember snacking on in the car to ease your nerves. You finally pull out the last thing – the business card Soap had given you last night. 

It all floods back to you, and you find yourself pulling your phone out, opening it to make a new contact under the name Soap.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your towel, you shoot him a text.

“Hi Soap, remember me? You walked me home last night! I was just wondering if I could take this as a business inquiry?”

You aren’t sure where the burst of confidence came from. Last night, you would have never even thought to ask him such a thing. But the fact your plans fell through last night with that pig of a man, you kind of had no other choice at this point. 

And luckily for you, Soap texted back almost immediately.

“Sure, darlin’. We can consider it a business inquiry.”

Jackpot, you think. Not only is he very good looking and nice – if he has the money, then you can’t think of anyone better to sell your ‘goods’ to. 

He’s perfect.

Turns out, Soap is more than ready to meet up. Not at a bar, you’re thrilled, but at an actual restaurant. It almost feels like a real date!

You have the opportunity to dress yourself up and feel pretty. It feels so much better than meeting up with that guy at the dingy bar. Your nerves are almost non-existent. 

You still have that jittery feeling everyone gets when they’re going to be going out with someone new. 

But this isn’t actually a date, you have to tell yourself, as you get into your car to drive to the restaurant. It’s a meeting.

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the heavenly smell of food and what you can only deduce as something akin to mint. It’s a lovely restaurant, tablecloths and wine glasses everywhere. 

You look around the room before you spot him, sitting at a table in the far back nursing a glass of water. You make your way there, coming to a slow stop in front of the table. He looks up, blue eyes widening at the sight of you before he jumps to his feet. 

“You made it,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

He rounds the table and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you say as he pushes you in a bit before returning to his own seat. 

Soap situates his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands as he gazes across at you. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his intense gaze, not able to gain the courage to look directly at him.

A waiter comes by, depositing a basket of fresh, buttered bread on your table, letting you know he’ll be around in a moment to collect your orders. You offer him a polite smile as he vanishes, acutely aware that Soap is still staring right at you. 

“Why are you…” you clear your throat, finally looking at him. 

“You look lovely,” he says, a smile growing on his face when you become more bashful, “You’re truly breathtaking, has anyone ever told you that before?”

You can feel how hot your cheeks are and you resist the urge to reach up and pat them in an attempt to cool them down. You’re at a loss for words, no clue what to say in response to that. You hadn’t been told anything like that before, actually. Nor has anyone ever looked at you with such infatuated intensity like he is right now. 

Thankfully, the waiter arrives to relieve you of this immense pressure. Pulled from his devoted admiration, Soap orders first before you put your own order in. 

Left alone once again, you and Soap fall into an easy conversation. You’re surprised by how nice it is to talk to him, he’s open and funny. He tells you about his buddies in the military and about how he goes out to drink every weekend with some guy named Kyle and that he thinks his buddy Ghost’s jokes are just the worst abomination on Earth. 

You get so lost in talking to him, you don’t even realize how much time has passed. Your food arrives and the table finally falls quiet. 

You both get lost in eating your meals. Soap finishes his glass of wine and leans back in his seat with a content sigh. When you finish your own plate, you do the same. The chair creaks underneath the shift of weight and your eyes meet his. 

You wait to see if he’ll say something. But he just continues to stare at you, drifting from your eyes and down the rest of your body that’s not hidden by the table. 

“So, should we get out of here?” you finally find yourself asking, burying any embarrassment deep down, “Your place or mine?”

Soap seems to falter suddenly, crooked smile slipping off of his face, “Listen, darlin’...I-I don’t actually want to…you know…”

Your cheeks burn a little and you shrink in on yourself where you sit, “Oh! Well, that’s fine. I-It’s just that you said it was an inquiry so…I assumed.”

Soap shakes his head, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours, “I know. I told you that just so I could see you. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”

“You want to talk me out of it,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat again, “I appreciate your concern, Soap. But I’m really at the end of my rope here. This is my very last resort, you understand?”

“But you shouldn’t have to-!” you pull your hand out from underneath his and stand.

“I know,” you shrug, “I’m only doing what I can with my circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time to see me and let me know you’re worried. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You leave him behind at the table and make your way back to your car. As you sit, engine idling, the disappointment bubbles up within you. Soap is probably the absolute best you could have gotten in a situation like this. But, it’s clear now that you’re going to have to find a new guy. 

You just hope you don’t walk right into the clawed talons of some unknown serial killer or something. 

The thought sends shivers down your spine as you make your way back home.

So begins the process of finding a new person to get the money from. 

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom. 

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

Around every turn, he was there to intercept the meeting you had with a man. 

A terribly boring man named Charles; Soap showed up at the bar you met at. The surprisingly young guy you weren’t even sure had enough money for his own monthly rent, Brandon; Soap was there. Justin, the doctor that lowkey gave you the creeps; Soap was there too. 

Every single time, the Scot would sit himself at the table and run the guy off, leaving you no choice but to go home alone and moneyless. 

You’re getting angrier with every passing day and before you know it, you’re calling him up and asking him to meet you. 

The second you lay your eyes on him, you’re marching right up to him.

“What the hell is your problem, Soap?!” you cry, practically nose to nose with him as you glare.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t know what I did to get you so wound up but-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done!” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“That’s a mean thing to say to someone,” he responds lightheartedly. 

But then your glare wipes the smile off of his face and he sighs, running a hand through his mohawk. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking anxiously back and forth on his heels as he seems to think over his next words carefully.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, darlin’,” he assures, “This…isn't safe, what you’re doin’. You could get into somethin’ real serious. I just…want to make sure you’re safe.”

You deflate and sigh, “I already told you, Soap. I appreciate your concern but…”

Suddenly, he surges forward, big, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls your lips to his. You gasp, hands resting against his chest as you allow yourself to melt into the kiss. 

When he pulls back, he seems almost nervous, “I wanted to kiss you really badly the first night I saw you.”

“So you like me?” you ask softly, not taking your hands off of his chest.

He reaches up, wrapping one of his hands around yours, “I’m afraid so.”

“Soap…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Johnny,” he says, “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you correct yourself, feeling your cheeks burn at the positively giddy look on his face, “I don’t know if…this…” you gesture between the two of you, “Is a good idea…with what I’m dealing with.”

His brows furrowed and a frown lines his lips. You find yourself wishing you could wipe the solemn look right off his face – it doesn’t suit him, “Just give me a chance, yeah? That’s all I ask of you.”

You sigh, “Okay, Johnny.”

You’re not sure why you gave in so easily to him. But the bright look returns to his eyes again and you find yourself feeling lighter. 

He steps back, slipping his fingers in between yours. He tugs you in his direction to follow him and you do, heart skipping in your chest as you look at your hand wrapped up in his. 

You haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time so this giddy feeling wasn’t one that you got to feel very often. 

Sooner than you’d like, he’s slipping his hand from yours to open the door to an apartment complex for you. You step inside and make your way down the hallway, tailing close behind him up to a door on the first floor – apartment 108. 

“It’s not much,” he gives you that charming, crooked smile as he opens the door.

“It’s better than my place,” you joke as you toe your shoes off.

“Have you had anything to eat?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket before hanging it on the rack by the door. You shake your head and he nods, “I’ll order us somethin’. Go ahead and make yourself at home.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen as you look around his flat. It’s a modest apartment, a bit bare but there’s little bits of Johnny scattered around the place. There were picture frames on the walls and on different surfaces. The couch was navy blue and looked well loved. 

“Here’s some water,” he says, startling you as he comes back into the living room, “I ordered us some food, wasn’t sure what you liked so I guessed.”

You chuckle, taking a seat on the couch, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not really,” he chuckles, sounding nervous, “Good at this.”

“Well,” you sink into the cushions, “I can’t say I am either.”

He laughs, a sweet, melodic sound that makes your cheeks flush, “Well, in that case. We can just…go with the flow.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Go with the flow.”

By the time the food arrives, you and Soap are invested in watching a random season of The Bachelorette. Neither of you could decide so you looked online to find a wheel to spin to decide your fate for you. 

“Ugh,” Soap groans, “Can’t believe she’s goin’ on about how dreamy this bastard is. He’s a total tool!”

You giggle, holding one of his throw pillows against your chest as you sit. You’re about to add your own two cents when the doorbell rings. 

Soap jumps to his feet, “Fuckin’ hell, I could eat a cow.”

You admire the view of him from behind when he opens the door. His tight green t-shirt hugs the dip of his waist, riding up just a bit to show a sliver of tanned skin. His shoulders look impossibly wide as he stands in the doorway to take the food, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His jeans sit low on his hips, belt tied tightly around them. 

Fuck, he’s good looking.

He turns, grinning and holding up the bags as if to show you his spoils. He raises one dark brow curiously, as if he knows what you’d been thinking.

“So,” he coos, saddling up next to you, placing the food on the coffee table, “Did you enjoy the view?”

You squeak, “I don’t think it’s polite to call out someone for looking…”

He cocks his head to the side and chuckles, leaning down to grip your chin, “Mind if I kiss you?”

“Now you’re asking?” you respond, breathless as you look at his lips coming closer and closer to yours.

“Aye,” he breathes. 

You nod and his lips are against yours in an instant. He supports his weight by placing his hands on the back of the couch. You have to crane your neck back to be able to kiss him but having him over top of you like this is exhilarating. 

You know you should stop before you get too carried away but you can’t seem to bring yourself to break away from him. Your attraction to this man is palpable and all consuming. 

Against your better judgment, you let him push you down, back against the cushions so he can crawl onto the couch. One knee on one side of you, he keeps one foot on the floor to straddle you without crushing you under his weight. But you wish that he would, fuck. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers slipping through the short hairs of his mohawk. He sighs against your lips, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, just pinning you down so he can deepen the kiss. 

You find yourself tugging at his shirt, edging it up and up until he’s forced to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he asks, blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils when he meets your gaze. 

You nod, “Want you, Johnny.”

“I’ll give you all of me,” he promises, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. 

It feels like the air evaporates from your lungs at the sight of him. He’s built, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fat – a man who is built for pure strength. His tanned skin is littered with tattoos here and there and hair speckles over his chest and stomach, a thick happy trail disappearing under his jeans. Which are tented with how his hardened cock presses against the fabric, desperate to be released. 

Your hand slips down the planes of his chest and down his tummy, cupping his erection. It twitches and kicks beneath your touch and pulls a groan from him. 

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips where he places a kiss upon your palm. 

“Strip yourself, baby,” he orders, “Wanna see that pretty body.”

He sits back on his heels, watching your every movement as you slip your shirt off and shimmy your pants down your hips. 

When you stop, he realizes you're not going to take your panties off so he quickly does it for you. His thumbs hook into the band and yanks them down, making you squeal as the force jostles you. 

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hands eagerly cup your breasts. You sigh at the contact, arching your back to press more into his touch. 

His kisses all over your chest, leaving no spot untouched, until he can pop one of your nipples in his mouth. You whimper, fingers sliding appreciatively through his mohawk while his other hand slips between your thighs. 

You easily part them, nearly panting by the time his fingers slip between your folds. You're already wet and sticky, drooling all over yourself with slick he uses to circle your clit. 

Your hips twitch as the first feeling of his rough fingers on the little bud. You cry out, tugging on his hair as he switches his mouth to give your other nipple proper attention. 

You arch your hips, his fingers sneaking down to prod at your entrance. With a glance at your face to make sure you're okay with it, he slides one in. 

There's a loud squelch when it sinks in to the last knuckle and you whine in embarrassment. 

He can't resist commenting, “So wet.” 

You whimper, lightly slapping his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckles, leaning up to press his lips against yours as he carefully works you open on that one finger. He presses and prods against your walls, waiting for you to relax so he can slip another one inside you — really prepare you for his cock. 

He presses against your g-spot and it rips a heavenly sound from your lips that only encourages him to do it again. You get wetter and wetter, throbbing and clenching around his middle finger. 

When he decides you're ready, he introduces a second finger. His ring finger easily fits in right alongside his middle. 

“There you go,” he praises, unable to resist looking down to see where his fingers are buried inside you, “That's it, baby, look at you go.” 

You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head when he adjusts his hand. His palm cups over your clit, the angle letting him really grind the tips of those digits right against that gooey little spot inside you. 

He watches the way you cream his fingers, milky colored slick dripping down his knuckles. It makes his mouth water. 

The movements rub his palm over your clit, stimulating the tender little bud and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cry out, moaning and wailing the tighter that cord winds in your tummy. 

You clench and pulse against his fingers, a signal that you're going to cum for him. He works even harder, diligently worshiping your precious cunt until you toss your head back and sob. 

Your body trembles, thighs twitching in time to your walls squeezing around him. He moans with you, watching your pretty body in the throes of pleasure. 

When it becomes too much, you weakly reach down and bat his hand away. He slips his fingers out, watching you clamp your thighs shut. 

As you lay there panting and collecting yourself, he pops his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste, slipping his tongue between them to catch every single drop of sweet cum he can get. 

By the time he finishes off the delicacy, you're watching him with lidded eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“More?” he asks, a crooked grin on his face. You nod and he chuckles, “That looked like a good fuckin’ orgasm. Sure you can handle more?”

“If I can't,” you whisper, sitting up to tug at his belt, “You can make me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to help you open his pants, “Want me to make you take it, baby? Make you cum on my cock until you can't even think?”

“Please, Johnny,” you whimper, not tearing your eyes off the sight of him stripping himself bare. 

His cock was fat and heavy, a thick patch of hair scattering the base with thick, full balls to match. You felt your mouth fill with saliva at the sight of his hand wrapped around his big cock, stroking himself languidly until enough precum had dripped out to slick himself up. 

“Let me hear it again, doll,” his eyes are heavy lidded as he looks at you laid out beneath him, breathless and sweating from the orgasm he’d worked out of you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper, needily reaching your hands out towards him. 

“Shit,” he grunts, “Alright.” 

He scoots closer to you, spreading your legs open for him. Your sticky folds part, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit and clenching hole that’s still drooling your creamy release. 

He slips the tip of his cock through the gooey mess, tapping it meanly against your little bud. Your knees flinch at the stimulation and your jaw drops open when he starts to push inside. 

It burns and you arch your hips away instinctively from the pain. He slips out and curses.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hoisting your hips into his lap with an iron grip. 

“Can’t,” you pitifully whimper. 

Soap clicks his tongue, purses his lips and lewdly spits on your clit. You whine, hands covering your face when he uses his cockhead to smear it all over. 

When he starts to push in again, the burn starts but a rough thumb finds your clit. 

“Shh,” Soap soothes you, watching as the furrow in your brows vanishes. 

He works your clit in tiny circles as he carefully saws his cock in and out of your tight hole, inching a little bit more in every time. Your body grows pliant and soft, slumping against the couch until he finally buries himself to the hilt. 

“Thaaaaat’s it,” he praises, still rolling your hard clit under his thumb, “Good fuckin’ job. Take your reward, sweetheart.” 

He remains completely stuffed inside you, grinding his hips up just a little until he prods at that gooey little spot inside you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he watches your eyes grow wide, a grin stretching across his face.

“C-Cummin’-!” you manage to gasp before you throw your head back. 

He groans, jaw falling open as he works you through the orgasm, rubbing your clit to ease you through every pleasurable wave. It’s only when you reach down, grabbing his wrist to stop him that he ceases. 

“Fuck,” you pant, pupils blown wide as he looks at you coming down. 

“Feels good cumming on cock, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, once again wearing that crooked grin on his face. 

You nod your head, still too fucked out from your orgasm to properly formulate words. He chuckles, carefully pulling back until only the thick head of him remains nestled inside. With a swift, experienced roll of his hips, he stuffs every single inch right back in. 

You wail, grappling haphazardly against his shoulders for stability as he starts to really fuck you. He punches so deep, makes you feel him in your tummy. The friction burns and feels incredible at the same time. 

It feels so fucking good that you can’t stop any of the sounds that are forced from your lungs with every mind-numbingly pleasurable thrust of his cock. You’re soaking him, dripping all creamy down his cock in a way he knows you’ve never done before. No way your own fingers could make you cream like this and he doubts you’ve ever sat this pretty cunt on any stupid toys. 

He groans, grinding against your clit every time he reaches as deep as he can, “Not gonna have shit to sell now, huh?”

You whimper, shaking your head as you stare at him wide eyed, drool dripping over your lips because you can’t close your mouth for even a second. There’s no way for you to quiet yourself, you’re loud, you wear every pleasurable experience on your face with no ability to hide or perform. Every reaction is real and authentic and he loves it. 

“Don’t think I can ever let you go after this, sweetheart,” he coos, slowing his thrusts so you can focus on looking at him, “That alright with you?”

You swallow thickly and shakily nod your head, “O-Only want you, J-Johnny.”

He snorts, sharp canines glinting at the predatory grin he gives you, “You only sayin’ that because you’re got your cunt stuffed full of my cock?”

You whimper at the punishing thrust he gives you, the pain of him battering your cervix making you tremble, “N-No! L-Liked you when I first saw y-you. I-I swear, Johnny. Please!”

“Alright, quit fuckin’ beggin’,” he snaps, leaning out of your reach, making you whine. 

He takes a mean grip of your hips, using just his strength to yank you onto his cock like a fleshlight. You wail, head tossed back against the couch as he really fucks you. Every thrust is too deep but gives you nothing but pleasure. He grinds against your clit every time he sinks in, making sure to also aim for the gooey little spot that gets you creaming around him. His fat, heavy balls slap against your ass every time he stuffs that cock into you. 

It’s all just too much. He should know better, really, treating a little virgin pussy so meanly. You’re too new to this, don’t know how to take such cruel, deep strokes. You’re squeezing tight, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. He can’t stop the moan that tears from his throat at the sight of tears trickling down your cheeks – proof that this is all too much. 

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not when he feels how tight you’re squeezing around him, how much wetter you’re getting as you get closer and closer to what he knows is going to be the best damn orgasm of your life. 

“Cum,” he whispers, shocked at how fucked his voice is from pleasure, “Cum right fuckin’ now.”

“W-Wait, Johnny-!” you wail, feet kicking as you fight against his iron-tight hold on you, “I-It’s…It feels w-wrong!”

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he snarls, easily pinning you to the couch. He folds you up, knees to your chest as he presses his body weight down on you. He can feel the air being forced out of your lungs under the weight, “I said cum.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something. But you can’t get the words you, only whimpers and tears. He doesn’t care what you had to say, though. All he cares about is feeling your tight little cunt cum around him so he can have his own orgasm. 

You still try to fight him from how intense the build up is. You slap against his shoulders, squirm and try to kick him off but he easily holds you down. Even as you fight, you never once tell him to stop. 

After a few, long seconds, he feels it. 

Fuck, does he feel it. 

You gush. It splatters all over his cock and stomach. He curses, slamming into you over and over, every thrust forcing another squirt out of you. You’re sobbing, fat tears falling down your cheeks and you’re moaning the prettiest damn symphony that has ever blessed his ears. 

The orgasm is too much, it’s intense and all consuming. You can’t come down, every time he stuffs you full, your orgasm continues to wash through you. 

“J-Johnny-!” you sob, “N-No more!”

“Fuck!” he snarls, cutting his own orgasm off when he pulls out of you. 

He pushes himself off of you and you curl in on yourself, softly sniffling and shaking in a little ball. He licks his dry lips at the sight of you covered in your own squirt. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he coos, panting and breathy, hoisting you up and into his lap. 

He cradles you in his arms as you’re wracked with trembles and twitches, your nerves zapping through your body from the pleasure. He shushes you, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet from your tears, pupils blown out wide. He clicks his tongue and wipes his thumb underneath to swipe some away. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, “Just get some breaths. Got a little overwhelmed, huh?”

You nod, slumping against him with a sigh when you finally feel like you’re back in your body. Johnny is solid and sweaty beneath you, warm and comfortable as he cups the back of your head and strokes his hand over your body. 

“I-I’ve never um…” you clear your throat, cheeks burning hot.

“Knocked your damn socks off, huh?” he jokes, a crooked smile on his face. 

You giggle, endorphins still rushing through your body. You shift on his lap and catch the pinch in his brow before he can school his expression back into place. You look down, biting your lip at the sight of his cock still hard and twitching, smeared in a creamy mess of your cum.

“Ah, it’ll go down on its own, darlin’,” he assures, no irritation to be seen or heard from him. 

One look in his eyes shows you that he’s perfectly prepared to go without his well-earned orgasm – just for you. 

But you don’t want that, you realize. He had made you feel incredible, given you an orgasm that you’ve never been able to experience in your life. You doubt anyone else will ever be able to make you do it again. 

“I-I want to help, Johnny,” you whisper, trying to swallow down your nerves. 

His brows raise in interest, “What did you have in mind?”

You slide off of his lap and slowly sink to your knees. You place your shaky hands on his thighs to steady yourself, looking up at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. 

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, a breathless, “steamin’ blood Jesus,” following. 

“I-I’ve never done this,” you confess, though he’s not surprised, “Is that okay?”

“Is that-” he laughs softly, “darlin’ any man who isn’t appreciative of you willin’ to swallow his cock is a man you kick in the balls, got that?”

You giggle, nerves dissipating as he wraps a hand around the base of him. You scoot a bit closer when he holds it out for you, waiting for you to do what you please with it. Your tongue falls from your mouth and Soap feels like he’s suspended in air as he watches you get closer and closer to the sensitive, leaky tip. 

The first contact feels better than he could have imagined. He’d gotten so fucking close earlier, buried in your cunt as you came around him, squealing for him and all. He knows it won’t take much to send him over the edge this time. 

Perfect practice for you, he thinks. You won’t have to be on your knees for too long or do any real work to get him to cum for you. 

You’re clumsy and it’s clear you’re unsure about the taste of his cock. It’s not just his precum, it’s your own cum mixed with it. He can’t blame you for being unsure.

He reaches down, a soft, gentle hand resting atop your head to encourage you. When you look up, he smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You suddenly feel like you’re the center of his world. Those baby blues never once waver from you as you sloppily lick and slurp on the tip of him. 

“Take a little more,” he whispers, lashes fluttering and chest rising as he takes a deep breath when you eagerly follow his directions. 

Your pretty lips stretch around the girth of him, taking just the head inside your hot little mouth. The flared glans are greeted by your curious tongue, making him whimper when you lick. Your mixed taste lingers on your tongue but you quickly grow accustomed to it. 

Feeling braver from Johnny’s unfiltered reactions, you take a little more into your mouth. Then more. And a little more until you suddenly choke, gagging around him. You pull your head off, sputtering and coughing a bit. 

Johnny coos at you, thumbing away some drool on your chin, “Not too deep, darlin’. You’re not ready for that.”

You hum, not at all discouraged from taking him back into your mouth again. You don’t take him as deep, accepting that you have your limit – for now, judging by Johnny’s subtle promise of more to come. 

“Just suck, watch your teeth,” he whispers, not caring about the way his voice cracks, “Move your head like this. Go at your own pace, alright?”

You lazily blink up at him, hoping he understands your agreement. You do as you’re told, folding your lips over your teeth to keep them away from his sensitive skin. Bobbing your head feels awkward and it makes your jaw ache but the sounds Johnny begins to make makes you temporarily forget about your own discomfort. 

His eyes are rolling back in his head and he starts to stroke the rest of his cock that your mouth can’t handle yet. You can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of those thick, veiny fingers wrapped around himself, getting covered in a slick mess of your cum that he had so generously fucked out of you earlier. Drooling all over him like this only gives him more of a mess to work with. It’s gross, frothy and dripping down your chin and neck, slicking up your tits.

It makes your cunt tingle selfishly. You think you could make yourself cum, slip your hand between your legs and stroke your clit until you find release. But you don’t – you focus on Johnny and his pleasure. He’d already given you so much that you don’t want to come across as greedy by making his moment about your own pleasure. 

Johnny’s free hand grip around the back of your neck, squeezing and caressing your skin as encouragement since his mouth is too busy moaning. You take his sounds as signals, sucking and moving at whatever pace makes him cry out the loudest. 

You had no idea men like him were willing to be as loud as he was. Usually, the masculine type of guys like him would be online whining about how moaning was ‘gay’ or some stupid shit.

Johnny didn’t seem to give a fuck. If he felt good, he was going to let you know. It made you feel more at ease, like you were doing a good job even though you knew you were still clumsy and it probably didn’t feel as good as head he’s surely gotten in the past. 

But it encouraged you to work harder to please him, to earn more of those beautiful, unfiltered moans that he was so willing to give you. They were your reward for the intense ache in your jaw.

“F-Fuck,” he groans, suddenly, eyes opening from when he had closed them at some point, “I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

His words are slurred, like his brain’s oozed down to his cock, too stupid to think of anything except how heavy and full his balls felt. 

“Shit, shit, shit-!” he whimpers, an honest to god whimper, “Off, pull off!”

You do as you’re told, releasing his cock from your mouth. Strings of frothy drool connect your lips to his tip and you don’t dare break it, the sight making you clench around nothing. 

Johnny strokes his cock, another loud moan erupting from his lips as he cums. It spurts out, splattering against your cheek, making you flinch in surprise. You can see the way his balls throb in time to each rope of cum that his fat cock spits out. More splatters on your cheeks and lips and across your nose until it tapers off to slow, thick oozes that dribble over his knuckles. 

When he lets himself go, he sags against the couch, staring dazedly at the ceiling as his erection flags and grows soft. 

When he finally looks at you, you can see his eyes widen almost in alarm. He leans forward, cupping your cheek, messily swiping some of his cum off of your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, still sounding breathless, “Didn’t think you were gonna get splashed with it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling his cum still lingering on your lips.

You can’t resist sticking your tongue out to taste it. His eyes darken at the sight of you licking up his cum. You don’t make a face of disgust like he expected, instead he catches the way your thighs clench together.

“Is that right?” he mumbles, cock twitching in interest, “Isn’t that an interesting development? You like to taste cum, sweetheart?”

You whimper when he swipes more up onto his thumb, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which you eagerly do. You suck his finger clean until he pulls it back out, pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes look black.

“You ever had that pretty cunt eaten before?” he asks, a predatory grin splitting across his face when you shake your head.

His hand wraps around your throat, ripping a moan out of your throat. He easily manhandles you onto your knees, tits pressed against the cushions of the couch with a nasty “stay.”

You never thought you’d enjoy being manhandled and ordered around like a dog but fuck if you’re not learning more about yourself tonight. 

Soap smacks your thighs apart, and slips his head between them. You take a glance down and nearly choke at the sight of him laying on his back, staring hungrily as you cunt drips gooey, sticky strings right onto his waiting tongue that he holds out for it. 

The sight is so fucking filthy. 

But it’s nothing compared to the sounds he makes when he gets that tongue on your cunt. He slurps between your folds, groaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. He swallows your clit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. 

You’re already a moaning mess, crying out into the cushions which you claw desperately at. Your eyes roll up into your head when you feel him pop your clit out of his mouth, spit on it, and then slurp it right back up. 

He eats so fucking dirty, it’s disgusting and sloppy. But it makes you rut your hips against him. 

Soap chuckles, pulling back to watch you work your hips over nothing before you realize he stopped and whine.

“Fuck yourself on my tongue then,” he whispers, earning him a relenting whimper in response. 

You can feel the flat of his tongue, hot and thick, against your clit. The little bud’s so hard, swollen and pulsing against the muscle. 

With his order ringing in the back of your head, you clumsily hump his tongue. You drag your sensitive little clit back and forth along the surface of his tongue. It feels so fucking good that you actually sob. The sound tears from your chest and makes his cock twitch. 

You rut faster and faster, not caring about the way you’re messing up his face when you move too high or too low. You know there’s a mess on his chin, cheeks and nose but you don’t care. His tongue is there for you, for you to cum all over. He’s so good to you, holding it out just so you can use him as you please. 

As you grow closer and closer, your moans change in pitch and he suddenly reaches up, stilling you. You groan, an irritated sound that makes him laugh. You frown at that but it’s quickly wiped away when he grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can stuff his tongue into your creaming cunt. 

You shout, sitting straight up in surprise, your weight falling onto his face. He moans at that, rewarding you by pushing his tongue even deeper. It feels odd, different from his fingers and his cock. It’s soft and almost slimy, not long enough to quite reach any pleasurable place. 

But just the fact that he’s got his tongue buried in your pussy is enough to have you clenching on it. He watches you through heavy lids, waiting to see what your next move is. 

He’s enjoying your little show, he must admit. He likes seeing a sweet, clumsy virgin experience these things for the first time. He likes the fact he’s breaking you in, tearing your walls down and seeing you lost in mind-numbing pleasure. 

You surprise him by resuming the motion of your hips. You hump back and forth, riding his tongue like it’s a little toy just for you. And he supposes it is, he’d be a toy for you if you so wished. He’s addicted to this sweet, creamy little pussy and he’s not afraid to admit it. 

You reach down, swirling your fingers around your sticky clit. There’s lewd clicks that accompany the movements along with the sound of his tongue sliding in and out of your hole. 

You meet his gaze, he’s staring so intensely at you. It spurs you on, makes you fuck yourself on his face more confidently. 

You tap your fingers against your clit, slapping the little bud and pulling your fingers back to show Soap the sticky strings of slick that connect them to your cunt. He can’t stop himself from reaching down, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off to the sight of you smacking your clit and fucking his tongue. 

You’re pulsing around it, dripping down his face and mixing with the drool that's pooling out of his mouth. His face is a mess, it drips down his cheeks and under his neck. He’s sure there’s a pool beneath his head that will need to be cleaned up and fuck, he’ll lick it from the floor if you let him. Just as long as he gets to taste you again. 

You gasp, tossing your head back. His cock fucking aches, harder than it was before and more sensitive now that he’s already had an orgasm. He knows he’s leaking, drooling sticky precum all over himself like the horny mutt he is. 

You cum spectacularly, twitching and trembling, rubbing your clit and clenching around his tongue. It’s like a reward, swallowing down your cum straight from the source. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and wraps his lips around your clit again. 

You wail, shaking and throwing yourself face down against the couch again. You try to wrench your hips away from his punishing mouth but he wraps his arms around your thighs and continues to slurp and slobber all over that tender little bud. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm tears through you, far too soon after the other. It almost hurts from how sensitive you are through it, not even able to make a sound as it washes over you. 

Only when you’re left twitching and trembling does he finally relent. There’s tears falling out of your eyes and drool dribbling down your chin. The picture of fucked out.

He laughs, folding himself over your back. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

You whimper, “Fuck, you’re so good, Johnny.”

He chuckles, “Think you can take more?”

You eagerly nod your head and he doesn’t waste any time. He sinks his cock into you in one deep thrust. You choke on a moan, arching your back so you can feel him even deeper. 

He doesn’t start slow like he did before. He knows your little cunt is fucked nice and open for him now. You’re still dazed, drunk on endorphins, any attempts to meet his thrusts are sloppy and clumsy. It’s cute so he doesn’t bother stopping you. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders you but doesn’t wait for you to do it. 

Instead, he meanly knocks them apart, opening you up even more. His balls slap against your clit and you wail, the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“There you go,” he laughs, “You liked slapping that little clit earlier. How’s this?”

“So good!” you cry, kicking your feet against the floor as pleasure washes through you. 

You feel like a live wire, every movement forcing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. Soap isn’t far behind you, too sensitive and worked up to draw it out for long. 

He clasps the back of your neck, pinning your face to the cushions as he fucks. He takes and takes, using your sticky, gooey cunt. He’s pounding into you, hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping your clit. 

You can’t even say anything as the orgasm washes over you. He only feels it, the rhythmic clenching of your walls and the gush as you squirt. You’re silent, completely still against the couch as he saws his fat cock in and out, squirt after squirt of cum splattering all over his thighs until he inevitably reaches his own end. 

This time, he fills you up. Seats himself as deeply inside of you as he can before he moans. His cock pathetically spits only a few strings of cum but the orgasm lasts far longer, encouraged along by the clenching of your cunt as you’re coming down. Or maybe you’re still cumming, he’s not sure. 

There’s a faraway look in your eyes, a wet spot of drool underneath your cheek on the cushion of the couch. You’re panting and glistening with sweat. When he pulls out of you, you drop to sit on the floor, the measly load he had given you drooling out of your cunt as it continues to clench and throb around nothing. 

Fuck, he’s never felt so proud to fuck someone brainless before. He knows you’re gonna need a good bath and cozy arms to sleep in. 

And his are the best around, if he does say so himself. 

He kisses up your spine, curling himself around you as you finally start to come back to yourself, pliant and soft. The both of you sit there, holding one another and sharing soft kisses until he decides it’s time to move. 

He’s in no rush, though. He’s wrapped around your finger now and you’re never getting rid of him. 

do not modify, translate, repost, or use for c.ai. reblogs OK!

[kenforty]

All characters are aged up 18+ MDNI

The bells on your anklets make Bakugou's dick hard.

You and Bakugou have been dating for almost a year now. Taking things slow and all.

He didn't really notice the bells because you always wore your hero suit or formal wear, but now that the two of you have moved in together, they have become more prominent. You had been working in the kitchen, chopping up fruits for his while talking. But all Bakugou was thinking about the little tinkles as your feet moved around. It's reminded him of all the times they jingled.

Especially during having sex together. Everytime the bells jingle, Bakugou's mind goes back to the image of folding your thighs till your knees are squishing your breasts and the ankles are jingling right next to his ears.

Your pretty moans almost loud enough to drown out the clinking. The visual image of your teary eyes, as they try to focus on his. The desperation with which you clawed his hands because his thumb was relentless on your clit. The way you tried at his belly because he was in too deep.

Or the way your tight little pussy was the opposite. Gooey and tight, each pulse of your cunt seemed to hold him on place. Creamy little rings at the base of his cock, as if to mark him as her own. Squelching with each thrust.

Throbbing little clit, peeking from under the hood. Red and pulsing too.

The image of you cuming around his cock, eyes rolling back, toes curling, fingernails digging into his back. You tilting your head to the side and moaning his name, begging for a little kiss.

The jingle of your anklets, when Bakugou's finally let's go of your thighs and limply rests them on the mattress.

"..Suki..Suki..Babe you like apples that much, huh?", you teased while settling down a tray of fruits and glancing at him.

"what..?" Bakugou questioned you, still a little dazed.

You looked down and he followed, only to see his cock tenting his sweats and oozing pre.

You placed your fingers on his sticky tip and asked "what got you all wet, Suki?"

"the anklets babe, little jingles make my dick hard. Want them ringing in my ears babe" Bakugou replied, while leaning back letting you play with his dick.

[crushmeeren]

okay okay okay but what if the reader got their belly button or nipples pierced and Katsuki or touya are SHOCKED but quickly realize just how much they love the new piercing(s) omg

okay, but this would be so HOT!!

༝ ᭝ ༝ i’m putting them both in this cuz i can’t stop myself ༝ ᭝ ༝

master list link ༝ ᭝ ༝ @pixelcafe-network

༝ ᭝ ༝ katsuki ༝ ᭝ ༝

“The fuck? What the hell is that?”

You freeze with your elbows to your ears, Katsuki only having stripped off your shirt halfway before stopping, and glance down to what he’s staring at. You roll your eyes playfully, batting his hands away and finish what he’d started. You toss the material over the side of the bed and flop back down onto the mattress.

“It’s a belly button ring. You know what those are, right?”

Katsuki sits back on his calves, rolling his eyes even harder, and levels you with a glare. “Yeah, dumbass, I know what a belly button ring is. When did you fuckin’ get one?”

You grin mischievously, hooking your thumbs into your underwear and slip them off as well. “A couple weeks ago,” you say causally, parting your thighs wider. You reach down with one hand to place a finger on either side of your pussy and spread yourself open.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “How the fuck did you hide it from me? I see you naked all the time!” His hands curl into fists on his thighs, lids lowering when he shifts his gaze to your pussy. The heat is evident in his expression.

You move your hand up to play with your clit, two fingers rubbing slow circles and pleasure prickles in your lower belly, toes lightly curling.

Katsuki’s cock twitches very obviously in his briefs and your confidence skyrockets.

“Obviously not in the past couple weeks. You’ve been so distracted with work it wasn’t hard to keep it a secret.” You raise an eyebrow, a smug, small smile on your lips. “Well, do you like what you see?”

Red eyes flicker to your face as Katsuki smirks. “Fuck yes. You’re so stupidly hot, princess.” He reaches out and lets his finger delicately play with the jewelry, coaxing a shiver down your spine and a soft moan from your throat. “So sensitive, isn’t that right baby?” He teases, tugging lightly at the ring.

You respond with a whiny “mm-hmm,” head tilting back into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting when Katsuki’s thumb takes over circling your clit. Katsuki’s warmth disappears entirely, leaving you cold, but before you can protest there’s soft, warm lips pressing a kiss to your pussy.

“Fuckk,” you choke out, something hot jolting through you. You tangle your fingers in thick, blonde hair. “You really like it Kat?”

Katsuki hums his confirmation and the vibration makes you yelp, a wet tongue dragging up between your lips and flicking over your clit. He pulls back slightly, warm breath tickling you. “Should I get a tongue ring princess? Bet that’d feel real fuckin’ good on your pretty little pussy, yeah?” He asks lowly, licking you like an ice cream cone before you respond.

You curse and tighten your grip in his hair, eagerly encouraging the idea. Katsuki grips the backs of your thighs, seals your clit in the searing heat of his mouth and eats your pussy like he’s trying to devour you whole.

He gets your chest heaving, flushed down your nipples, and you’re so sensitive that each touch makes your thighs jerk while you whine in protest.

Katsuki’s hard cock bobs when he yanks his briefs down, shaking his head with a grin.

“We’re not even fuckin’ close to done yet baby. You wanted my attention so badly, gettin’ that piercing. I’m just givin’ you what you asked for, princess. Now be a good girl and take my cock.”

༝ ᭝ ༝ touya ༝ ᭝ ༝

Shit happens.

More often than not, you roll with the punches. Cracking your neck and brushing it off, but this time it stuck to you like glue.

Sparse gravel crunched underneath your boots as you walked the familiar concrete path to the LOV hideout. Your arms swung a bit too quickly, buzzing with excitement to show Touya your new jewelry that you’re certain he’ll greatly appreciate.

Your phone had buzzed with a text from Touya, stopping you dead in your tracks. All he’d said was that they had to lay low because they’d run into some heroes, and that he’d be burning his phone. No other details.

That was two months ago. It isn’t out of the norm for this to happen, and you’d tried hard to stay busy, you really did, but no dice. You’ve been worrying about him from dusk to dawn, and vice versa.

You tug your blanket up over your shoulder to fight off a chill, curling further into your pillow, and pause your aimless scrolling to check the time. 2:00 a.m. You’re this close to turning off your bedside lamp and passing out when a creak at your window widens your eyes, almost comically so, and a rush of adrenaline tingles in your fingers.

You shoot straight up, heart jumping to your throat and blankets pooling at your waist. Your window opens slowly, and a fluffy head of white hair pokes in. The rising tidal wave of relief just about chokes you while you scramble out of bed.

“Touya,” you breathe, voice watery with emotion. You slam into his skinny frame as he stands to his full height, burying your face into his chest and locking your arms around his waist. His smoky, end of bonfire scent floods you with comfort.

“There there, drama queen, I’m fuckin’ fine,” he teases gently, but his voice sounds rougher than usual, and he loops his arms around your shoulders and squeezes tight.

You wrench your head back to stare up at him, eyes stinging, lower lip trembling horribly. “You asshole,” you mutter hotly, framing his cheeks and yanking him into a bruising kiss.

He takes it in stride, humming with satisfaction and skims his hands over your sides, bunching up your shirt. The rough texture of his lower lip burns against yours, and the warmth gathering in your chest drops to settle in your lower belly.

Touya ends up shoving you roughly onto the bed, stripping the both of you, hands a flurry of movement. The last piece of clothing is the large t-shirt you’re wearing, and when he pushes it up to your collarbone his jaw actually drops when he sees the new addition to your tits.

It’d be quite funny if you didn’t want him to fuck you so badly.

“Holy shit,” he says with an incredulous laugh. “When’d you get your tits pierced, sweetheart?” He finishes tugging your shirt off and blistering hands cup the swell of your breasts, thumbs running over your nipples.

“Careful,” you hiss, back arching to push your breasts into his palms. “They’re still sensitive,” you complain, moaning lowly when he squeezes and ducks down to kiss your sternum. “I - I got them done right before you left.” You can’t help but to tangle your fingers in his coarse hair as you speak.

“Goddamn doll, so fuckin’ gorgeous. I’ll kick Shigaraki’s ass for makin’ me miss this,” he murmurs into your skin, trailing kisses along your chest until he reaches just beside your nipple. “Gonna let me suck on these pretty titties?”

Touya rolls his hips, allowing the soft, warm skin of his shaft to slide over your clit. Your hips jerk up to meet him. “No teeth,” you warn, digging your nails into his scalp.

He lifts his head to grin lazily at you, one hand reaching down between you to steady his cock, his slick tip already pressing and begging to be inside. “No promises.”

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and shoves his cock inside you with one rough thrust. You shout his name, pussy fluttering around the unexpected cock splitting you open. He fucks you hard and desperate, tongue relentlessly playing with your piercings as he wrings all the pleasure from your body.

Touya’s mouth doesn’t leave your nipples for a second, tongue circling the jewelry as if to memorize the taste. His teeth graze the delicate skin and you smack the side of his head. His cock twitches and he moans, falling over the edge and into his own high.

Safe to say, Touya fucking loves your new piercings.

[gamzeelol]

BRO HEAR ME OUT

imagine making out with dabi. the palms of his hands are rough against your cheek whilst the other is busy squeezing, gripping and (most likely) bruising your thigh.

and he genuinely can’t get enough.

the sounds you make when you’re out of breathe, hands tugging at his hair for a break yet he only smirks against your lips.

“too much, doll?” his chest rumbles lowly as he chuckles at your lack of response, at your puffed out features. “god, i can’t get enough of you.”

and he LITERALLY COULDNT BUT IM NOT DONE. IMAGINE THIS.

dabi pulls away first this time, causing a shrill of anxiety to tendril through your stomach.

did he not like the little thing you just did where you tugged at his bottom lip?

“you’re gonna fucking kill me,” he mumbles, not shortly after pulling away. His words didn’t reach your ears quick enough to respond, you were too curious as to what dabi’s next moves were to be.

what you didn’t expect was for him to reach to the expanse of his clothed chest and run a palm beneath the fabric, confusing you deeply.

the movement of his fingers under the shirt made you shuffle closer in attempt to understanding as to why he was fiddling with the skin under his clothing.

an accomplished expression painted dabi’s face before he had extracted his hand, two steel staples pinched between his fingers — this enormed you.

“dabi?” your tone was damn near terrified, it made the villain laugh.

“don’t worry, pretty girl.” his fingers made quick work on the steel, bending it with ease.

confused, yet still hazy from your previous lack of breathe, your eyes widened at the hand raised before your face.

two steel staples bent into two makeshift hoops.

“i really did mean it when i said i couldn’t get enough of you,” the lack of pet names spoke his sincerity.

“marry me?” he smiles.

[mintmatcha]

....someone volunteering to be the first one to eat your pussy...

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader

Letting the table know that no one has even eaten out was embarrassing, but you certainly weren't prepared for the results. As soon as Hizashi left the table, you grew quiet.

And then Aizawa makes his move.

"I could do it for you."

Aizawa's eyes never leave the point in the distance that he's locked into. He takes a sip of his drink, tipping it back until the foam clings to the sides; it's liquid courage, you think. You glance over to Hizashi, who's patiently waiting at the bartop for a waiter's attention. When he looks back to you, he shakes his drink in silence question and you nod back; yeah, you'll need another beer.

"I could go down on you."

You close your teeth around the glass rim of your bottle, trying to grit theoigh the feeling of your racing heart. Your voice stays low, as if anyone could hear over the din. "You'd do that?"

He leans back in his seat, chin up, expression neutral.

"I'd beg for it."

Hizashi is ordering now, glancing back at your table again. Neither of your faces betray the conversation, but you're flustered.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I really do." His voice is unusually smooth. There's none of his usual grit. "I've thought about what I'll do to you."

He places his glass down and runs his thumb through the condensation.

"I'll be gentle. Slow. I'll take you home, lay you down in my bed. Make you nice and comfortable."

He rubs his thumb back and forth, tiny, little, delicate circles that draw your attention and hold it there. Your skin prickles at the thought that he can touch you like that--

"I'd take my time with you too." Aizawa continues. You hate how he can keep himself so stoic. "Undressing you, kissing your thighs, talking to you. You're going to cum before my lips touch you."

Heat pools deep inside you. Every thrum of want is laced with anxiety. You think you want this-- you think-- but you don't want to disappoint him either.

"That won't happen. I-It takes me a long time to..." You hem for a moment with embarrassment. "Finish."

"I don't care." Aizawa almost smiles. "I'll see it through."

Hizashi is walking over, balancing three drinks in his hands. Aizawa moves to acknowledge him, then finally looks towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Oh. And I'll make you cum more than once."

Your throat goes dry.

"What are you guys chatting about?" The blonde coos, bouncing his eyebrows and shoulders conspiratorially. He slides you your drink and you quickly take a sip. It only makes your head spin more.

"This one-" Aizawa jerks his head over to you. "Was trying to tap out after one."

You almost have a spit take with your drink.

"Shouta-" you begin to scold, but Hizashi cuts you off.

"Just one drink? Boo!" He's genuinely offended."I thought we were going to go wild tonight!"

Aizawa has this smarmy look of satisfaction on his face. He knows that you know what he's really saying.

"I said she should have at least four." There's a dark glint in his eye when he finally meets your gaze.

"What do you think? Can you handle four?"

[azzo0]

Nightly Routine

Summary: Shinsou loves watching you do your skincare. He also loves it when you do his skincare for him.

Shinsou loves sitting on the bed, watching you do your nightly skincare routine, patiently waiting for you to finish so you can do his. He doesn't know the names of the serums you're dripping over your face, and neither does he know the order of application.

You turn around, cleaning your fingers with a wet wipe. You smile at him as he watches you eagerly, sitting with his hands under his thighs. You take the green frog eyes headband from the dressing table and put it on his head, pushing his hair back.

"Did you wash your face?" You ask.

"Mm," he nods, closing his eyes.

He feels you put drops of some mysterious serum on his face. Your cool fingers spread it on his skin. You lightly tap his face all over with your fingers, letting the serum absorb. He loves it when you do that.

You proceed to put some more different serums on his face. He doesn't get why there are so many. Can't one get the job done? But he's not complaining because his face is getting a free massage.

He opens his eyes when you walk away with the serums. You return with a tube of eye cream and the moisturizer. He closes his eyes again to let you rub the eye cream under his eyes, followed by the moisturizer.

"Done." You grin at him, removing the headband. "Thanks." He goes under the covers, waiting for you to finish putting your skin care products back. After turning the lights off, you climb under the blanket beside him, snuggling into his chest. He puts his chin on your head, shutting his eyes when he remembers something.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"You forgot the lip balm."

"I did? Do you want me to go get it for you?" You ask, propping up on one elbow.

"No," He brings his head towards you, pressing his lips onto yours. "Now we're good."

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Imagining Dabi just having a touch starved moment. You know those days where you just want nothing more than to be held and coddled and just loved in the most innocent way.

He’d come to your apartment unannounced, he has a key but from what you had known he was busy for the day. He bursts into your room where you’re laying on your stomach doing something on your laptop, in his shirt. Your eyes widen and you smile when you see him. “Hi baby! I didn’t know you were coming over.”

He says nothing, just strips off his jacket and throws it on the floor and sitting against the headboard of your bed. You sit on your knees and look to him. “Touya? You ok?”

He sighed and held out his arms. “C’mere doll.”

You moved over to him, he grabbed you by your hips pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere. He rested his head against your chest.

You wrapped your arms around his head, scratching at his scalp. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

You try to pull away to look at him but he doesn’t release his grip if anything he holds you much tighter. You laughed and hold him again. “You sure?”

He nodds, planting a kiss on your neck and resuming his position. “Just wanted you.”

(also send requests! i appreciate them they help smmmm with writers block <3)

[suguwu]

notes: alina baraz’s ‘pretty thoughts’ has a lyric that’s just ‘lace-rimmed danger’ and i immediately thought of thigh-highs peeking out from under skirts and then it spiraled.

pairing: hawks x f!reader

warnings: 18+ pls - heavily suggestive, flashing/voyeurism (??), me continuing my ‘hawks loves thighs’ agenda

you wear a lot of skirts.

hawks doesn’t think this is a bad thing. on the contrary - he loves the way the soft hemlines flow around your legs, how it sways with you, the movement always just enough to catch his attention. he lives for the little moments when the fabric catches between your thighs and pulls tight over your ass.

the thing is, his wings tend to produce a bit of a breeze when he takes off. or when he lands.

the updraft tends to pluck at your hem with greedy fingers. sends it fluttering higher for a breath, just long enough for his quick eyes to slip across the revealed skin of your thighs. just long enough for his gaze to slide silken over the plush of you, all of those tender places where he likes to sink his teeth in. once or twice, the hem rises so high that he can see the crease of where your ass meets your thighs.

Keep reading

[shibaraki]

FEVER DREAM ┊ SHINSOU HITOSHI

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, established relationship, fluffy soft morning-after sex, underground hero shinsou, mild consensual somno (reader asleep at the start), lube, vaginal fingering + oral sex (reader receiving), missionary position, protected sex

wc: 2.5k

Cool morning light filters through the slat between the curtains. There’s a hint of petrichor in the air, accompanied by faint pitter pattering against the window pane. Hitoshi inhales deeply and nuzzles into the nape of your neck, drawing you to his chest and burrowing deeper to shield from the slight draft.

Lingering on the plane between consciousness and sleep, the arm draped around your waist moves, his hand cupping your soft, resting belly. Slow, Hitoshi massages patterns into your skin, sleep-addled smile pressed to your back, feeling your ribs expand with a long breath.

He’s shaped perfectly to your body. You’re still laid bare— both of you are, having stumbled back to bed after showering together. Scenes flicker behind his eyes as his memory sharpens; he relives the sweet sound of his name in your mouth, your fingers tight at his scalp, thighs trembling as you squeeze around his cock.

You, pliant and unawares, sink back into his warmth, subsequently grinding into the cradle of his hips. A familiar arousal quietly spreads throughout his gut. His rasped groan breaks the silence and he quickly tucks it in your shoulder.

Hitoshi couldn’t move, wouldn’t, even if someone paid him to do so. Held close to keep you still, he spends his time forging a path to the sensitive spot behind your ear with his mouth. He props himself up onto his forearm to lean over, kisses left along your jaw, over your cheeks, feather light and without demand. The bridge of your nose wrinkles. You stir a little and his heart stirs with you, fighting a grin as your lips smack together before falling slack again.

So cute.

Hitoshi leaves a kiss on your shoulder before carefully sliding up from behind you. You’re malleable in his hands as he guides you onto your back and rises to settle between your legs. Your skin pebbles where he smoothed his palms over each thigh, down, beneath your knees. The soft light hits your face, dousing you in a gentle glow as you bend to his will, and the sight is enough that his throat swells.

“So cute,” he murmurs, aloud this time, kissing your calf and then the other. His eyes flit briefly to your bedside clock. There’s no rush. A bite mark on your hip, finger marks and bruises left along your inner thighs. He’s indulgent with the way he maps out your journey from the night before.

You shift, breathing growing heavier the closer he gets. Hitoshi knows what you like; knows your body as if it was his own. Thumbs in the creases, he kisses you— gently, apologetically, his tongue dipping in between your folds to part your labia so he can kiss you deeper.

You’re still a little swollen. The breathy sound you make as he lightly circles your clit shudders through him, straight to his cock. Head now pillowed by your thigh, Hitoshi exhaled contentedly, resting on his stomach, grinding into the sheets.

It’s easy to lose himself. Soothed by you, ready to fall asleep again, mouthing lazily at your pussy, his tongue kept languid and soft, rocked by hips chasing sensation. He hears your incoherent mumble; sees your brows pinch up and together, your lips parting. “…Hitoshi,” you whine.

Your voice is still thick, the words slurring together, dragging out the vowels. Hitoshi can’t physically pur but the amused hum in his throat is a near thing.

“M’busy,” he says. To emphasise his point he drags the flat of his tongue from root to stem— sloppy, spit all over his chin and cheeks, gently sucking on your clit with a shameless pop.

A shiver quakes through him at the feeling of your fingers threading into his hair. Nails lightly taking over his scalp, his muscles relax only for your grip to tighten and pull— heat flares low in his belly as he gives an abrupt rut into the mattress, groaning at the dull pain.

Hitoshi surrenders and lifts his head to meet your fervent gaze; not before admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your stomach clenches, the pout on your lips that he wants to kiss away. You’re blinking against the light like you’re seeing for the first time.

“Alright, I’m coming,” his smile splits into a small grin. Hitoshi kisses the softest part of your belly on his way up your body. There is no keeping him from that bleary eyed look. You shape around him as innately as breathing, thighs coming to rest at his hips.

“Morning,” he pecks your mouth, still jutting into an indignant pout. And again. You share a quiet breath as his cock slides against your sex. “What’re you sulking at?”

You squint, “Cold. You took the blankets with you”.

Those words suddenly make known the temperature of the room. The thin hair on his arms prickles as he realises the sheets followed him down between your legs where they now pooled at his feet. Braced over you Hitoshi reaches down and drags them up over his back; blocking out the rising sunlight to create an insulated bubble where only the two of you exist.

“Sorry,” he frowns. “This better?”

Your expression gentles, hands moving from his hair to cup his cheeks. You brush your thumb through the arousal coating his chin with feigned distaste and his tongue darts out to chase it. “You’re all messy,” you tell him, fingers brushing back his bangs and repeating the motion when they fall forward.

Paired with the less than subtle rock of his hips he tucks a smile to the corner of your mouth. The ache in his cock worsens as the blood leaves his brain and it’s all static— it’s all you, you, you. “You’re all wet,” he murmurs, kissing the bow of your parted lips, lowering to trace the seam and pluck a soft hiss from behind your teeth.

Hitoshi readjusts his forearms and relieves some of the weight. “Still sore, baby?” his nose is squished against your cheek and it still doesn’t sate his need to be closer.

“A little,” you hum. He can feel your lashes brush the space between his brows, fluttering with the subtle undulation in your hips.

Petal soft, your fingertips dance across his chest. The pad of your thumb skims over the thin steel bar through his nipple, preoccupied while the other hand dips low between your bodies to wrap around his cock. You give a gentle squeeze and a coy look. He burns; raw want bubbles to the surface, honeyed then by his fatigue and diffusing into his bones.

Neither of you can stop smiling. Drowsy and love drunk. There’s a teasing comment waiting in the wings— something about forgetting your manners —that he lets be, privately soaking in his endeared amusement. He loves that you don’t need to ask, that you just come together and fit like two opposite poles.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises, palms smoothing along the dips and peaks of your body as he sits back onto his heels. “Tell me if it’s too much”.

He stretches toward the bedside table and your head tilts so your eyes can follow. The lube is where he left it last night. Next to it is a box of condoms, now half empty. A brief pause sees him pinch a packet. Too early for any mess.

Holding the foil edge between his teeth, Hitoshi sets the lube on the bed and slips both hands around your thighs to drag you into his lap. You exhale a soft gasp and the breathless noise makes his pride rear. He may not be as bulky as his daylight counterparts but he’s pleased that the strength accumulated over his years as a hero can be used so frivolously.

Hitoshi rests his hand low on your navel and lets his thumb slip to circle your clit. “Are you okay on your back like this?”

“Yeah—” your voice breaks on a yawn and your spine arches as you stretch. With his knees tucked up under you, thighs shelving your splayed legs, the tension seeps from your muscles and you recline into buttery repose. You wiggle your hips. “Yeah. I’m good. Don’t wanna move”.

Grin betraying his tone, Hitoshi tears open the packet and rolls on the condom, “Just going to make me do all the work, huh?”

“Yes,” you reply happily, tone so supple he wants to lean into it, mouth kiss bitten and feet digging into his lower back, beckoning him closer. The pressure of his fist is good, better when it’s wet. He drizzles the lube onto his hand and warms it between fingers. A kiss pressed to your knee in preemptive apology, he sinks into you.

Middle and ring finger. Hitoshi leans the heel of his hand to your clit, opening you up with languid come hither motions; careful as he promised, finding little to no resistance. You’re murmuring little incantations into the soft morning. He’s flushed head to toe at the sounds falling from your mouth without any filter of his own. “Look so gorgeous like this,” and you do. “Love you,” and he does.

Tethered by the sharp press your nails leave in his biceps you draw him down into the clutch of your thighs. Your arms wrap loose around his neck, chin tilting in a silent bid for a kiss and he goes easily.

“C’mon, I’m ready,” you breathe, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and gently pulling with your teeth. His nose bumps your cheek. Hitoshi reaches between your bodies and aligns himself with you.

You clench and he groans, sinking into the familiar heat, your cunt like silk wrapping around his cock. It’s a relief when skin meets skin. The hard lines in the room coalesce into a watercolour blur. He takes a shuddering inhale, eyes rolling above his lids before they fall to your face— now lax with contentment, no urgency, no rush.

Close for the sake of closeness.

“Fuck,” he turns to kiss you and feels your chest expand. The back of your thighs are sticky, wet. Hitoshi gradually pulls out, whines when you cling to his cock like you can’t be without it. He lifts his hips until you’re kissing the tip and rocks back into you, setting a steady pace, taking up space until the only thing your eyes see is him.

There are days that he thinks he might’ve hit the ceiling on love, and then there are mornings like this one that prove him wrong. You’re beautiful all the time, even more so when you’re sleepy. Something in him swells at the sight. You’ve no concerns over how messy or uncoordinated you look and that stirs up a hungry feeling in his belly.

His cock twitches and a match sparks. Despite your earlier words you’re trying to meet his thrusts. The air isn’t cold anymore. “Baby,” his mouth falls open as your fingers curl desperately into the roots of his hair and his weight almost gives. “Gonna make me cum—!”

You sound like your tongue is too big for your mouth. “Fuck. Please,” Hitoshi shudders, mouths at the underside of your jaw. His hand reaches down and he plays with your clit, the sensitive bundle swollen and pulsing. Unrelenting gentle strokes. “Cum for me. Please— let me feel you”.

Your thighs clench. Muscles trembling against his waist. A sweet moan gets caught in your throat and your face pinches, held in suspension for an instant, and then you’re set in motion. You keen, the sound tapering into breathlessness, orgasm washing over you.

Hitoshi daren’t blink while he fucks you through the last waves, hips barely parting with your own. That split second when all the tension snaps and pleasure floods— he never tired of it.

It’s not as intense as the night before, that much is clear. You exhale a little laugh, clouds parting and your eyes brighter, drawing his head to your chest where you cradle him and catch your breath.

There’s a hot coil in his belly. He can feel his heart beat in his cock, his throat. Hitoshi’s hips slow to a stop, feeling no real urgency to tend to himself. You make a curious noise, and he peers up at you.

“Why’d you stop?” your fingers comb through his soft bangs. Sweatier now, they stay in place when you push them back. He turns into the touch like a satisfied cat.

“S’it alright?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not too sensitive?”

“Yeah. Want you to feel good,” your head lolls into the pillow, and he has no doubt you could fall right back to sleep. Your lidded gaze meets his, and he chokes as you purposefully clench. “Cum inside me so we can go eat breakfast”.

Hitoshi huffs a laugh through his nose, conceding to your wishes. You bring your foreheads together, tongue slipping lazily into the seam of his lips as he begins a languorous pace. Every time you pull away you come back a little longer, tracing the grooves in his teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth.

That white hot sensation trickles out into his veins. Splotches of pink mark his chest, crawling up his neck. Anticipation prickles at the base of his spine as his thrusts lose rhythm. Everything smells like you— like sex— warm and inviting. You’re wetter than before. Sloppy.

“Oh fuck,” the quiet slap of skin echoes around the room and he feels feverish. He hears his voice break, “Fuck, baby. Feels so— I’m so close—”

“Yeah?” you dig your heels into his back, bringing him deeper. “Gonna cum for me?”

A full body shiver runs through him. His jaw slacks as something inside him is released, vision blacking out as his eyes squeeze shut. The pleasure floods all at once, gently engulfs him, and he sinks into it like hot water.

Your lips are everywhere; kissing the space between his brows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the rings looped through the shell of his ear, his mouth, his pulse. All he knows is the darkness behind his eyelids and you.

Hitoshi gives a breathy groan as he starts to soften and crowds impossibly closer. Another blanket of fatigue settles around his shoulders and you whine at the sudden dead weight.

It’d be nice to stay like this. Have you keep his cock nice and warm as the day crawls on, only getting out of bed when you desperately need to. But just as that thought enters the forefront of his mind, an abrupt gurgling disrupts the peace.

His stomach.

You laugh, walking your fingers down his spine and finding the mole beneath his shoulder blade. “Get up. You need food and coffee”.

He sighs, burrowing into the crook of your neck. Maybe after breakfast, then.

[sylure]

𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐫

sometimes the gentle treatment of your lover makes you almost forget the monster he is. he swore no force could ever reach you, taint you or keep him from claiming you fully. and tonight fate will finally be on his side as he chases his bunny through his temple and lures you down his very own rabbit hole

— pairing: dom!sukuna ryōmen x female reader

genre: dark content, nsfw 18+, minors dni

wordcount: 3.3k

tw/cw: historical au, predator/prey, breeding, marking (biting, scratching, hickeys), aphrodisiac, pet names (little one, toy, pet, bunny, little slut), blood, lots of impregnation talk, description of rituals/dark sorcery, dubcon, monsterfucking, manhandling, size kink, spanking, cunnilingus, light degradation, slight exhibitionism, yandere themes, brief mention of minor character murder, sukuna loves you to the best of his ability

Despite the warnings of the simple-minded folks, the sorcerers and your common sense, there is no place as comfortable and safe to you as the lap of the greatest monster in history. With your smaller body surrounded by greedy hands; their nails scratch your fragile skin as Sukuna can’t keep himself from playing with the thin fabric of your dress. He runs his fingers along your waistline before holding your hips in place for his growing erection to move against the fat of your ass.

The King of Curses loves to hold his little toy close. Always having you in his lap or at his feet whenever he returns to spend time with you, his pet.

Therefore his black claws dig possessively into your figure to pull you close the moment Sukuna straightens his posture. His broad chest now warms your back as he mouths on the bare skin of your shoulder, so you may feel his cocks press against you.

You're aware of his desires equally as much as the distinct irritation laced in Sukuna’s words as he speaks. “So, this maggot dared to crawl its way up here, to beg me for help…” the curse muses, voice hushed yet ever so vibrant as he speaks against your neck. “While all I want is to fuck my little slut.” His brows crease in anger, eyes remaining to watch you as his hand parts your legs over his thick thigh.

“Your cunt yearns for me. I could smell you for the past hour.” He accentuates his statement by running his fingers over your barely clothed slit, staining the fabric of your dress in your arousal before he continues to speak. “I bet even a dumb little larva like him can smell your sweet nectar.”

The little show ends with a spank to your clit and a soft moan falling past your lips upon the impact, as they part to beg him for more; if it wasn’t for the curse himself to go on.

“Yet here you are.” Finally, Sukuna looks down to the man at your feet and witnesses his bulging eyes focused on nothing but you and the hand between your legs. “Staring at my property.”

In fashion, Sukuna’s hands play with your perky nipples, unable to resist the urge to roll them between his claws until your sweet whimpers sound the room. Simultaneously, you feel his teeth tear the thin skin of your neck as he covers your eyes with one hand before black engulfs you. There is a quick movement of his shoulder as Sukuna flicks his arm before the breaking of something, bones, replaces your sounds of arousal.

“You’re mine.” he simply states, before moans of ecstasy vibrate against your body. Large hands guide your hips for your ass to move once more and spoil the king further. “Now go, little one. Go and hide for me to come and find you. Amuse me.” The monster behind your urged, before he pushes you off his lap to leave an encouraging slap on your ass.

Yet it's hard to stand on wobbly legs after spending hours seated on Sukuna’s lap. Even harder to walk, run, when your arousal is dripping out of your core. Nonetheless you tiptoe around the remains of the unfortunate man and out of the great hall.

Worried feet carry you through the devil’s lair; past all your previous hiding spots to guide you deeper down the temple. Your heart races inside your ribcage, and the thumping of your blood inside your ears is almost as mind numbing as the throbbing of your cunt.

Indeed, you’re scared—as you should be. But also excited for your monster to come and reap you. The dumber part of your mind tries to convince you to simply stand here and have Sukuna find you immediately; but you know what will happen if you don’t play by his rules.

Therefore you run, little lamb. Run from the beast as you make your way through his temple and come to a halt in front of the most eerie room—his room. The one he always told you to stay out of. But didn’t he command you to amuse him?

So what does his dumb little bunny do? It steps inside to let his trap finally snap shut.

The giant curtains floating in the wind obscure your vision before the heavy doors fall shut right behind you—causing you to nearly jump out of your skin and stumble backwards for your feet to trip off the heightened path and come in contact with something liquidy. You do not dare to let your gaze drop as realisation crawls its way up your body.

But now you’re already here. Here, in Sukuna’s most private chamber. Curiosity causes you to swallow your fears and step deeper into the room, your red footprints leaving a trail of your exploration on the ground and staining the white carpet illuminated by the faint moonlight from above.

The centre of the room is made entirely out of white linen and pillows, surrounded by countless amounts of vases filled with dried rose bouquets. You would almost call it romantic.

And naturally, the silly girl inside you is mesmerised and equally confused. Why would he ever forbid you to see this? Why would he take you anywhere but here? Was it a place for him and his past partner? Did he have a real partner prior…?

Yet the heavy footsteps from outside rattle you awake. Get you to move again and lead you far away from the bed and into the darkest corners on the opposite side of the large room.

You hide behind thick curtains smelling like… jasmine and vanilla. And at this point your heart can barely manage to stay inside your chest. The thrill of the hide makes cool drops of sweat run down your spine and has your breath turn shallow. Yet the ache inside your cunt grows the more you inhale the rich fragrance as your head begins to feel dizzy the moment you press yourself against the cold stone wall.

In stark contrast to your fears, Sukuna is enjoying himself. You really have outdone yourself this time. Running off while leaving the smell of your sweet nectar in your wake—it’s the perfect night to make his little bunny spread her legs and pump her full with his semen. It’s also the only fitting prize for finding his prey.

And yes, while the King of Curses may never admit this to anyone, he is too excited to give you the full three minutes he promised. So he abandons his spear by his throne, shrugs off the heavy kimono from his shoulders to allow himself some room for the hunt.

His boisterous movements—prior a warning for you—now turn inaudible as he makes his way through his temple. Gods, it’s impossible to not smell you. Your slick must be dripping out of your core, running along your soft thighs to cover them in a sheen layer of the sweetest honey he ever tasted.

A greedy lick moistens Sukuna's lips in anticipation before a grin already spreads over them soon after until he stops right in front of the room. The only place he made you promise never to enter.

And you swore it on your little mortal heart to stay outside, to not enter, to not look should a door be left open.

Until, until you are ready. He didn’t form these words, but it must truly be a blessed night if you found your way into his little paradise. Hh, how long Sukuna waited for you to lure you in. To find you sprawled out on his bed, warm womb begging for him to be bred during the richest moon of the year.

How many times did you play this little game of hide and seek at this point? He only remembers the disappointment fastly coursing through his body when he found you anywhere else but in here.

But now, tonight, as he opens the doors to his sanctuary it is you who welcomes him—or not. Of course you are hidden. The obedient little thing that you are always tries to please him, listen to him. Plus, you're probably high on the aphrodisiac at this point by how much he can smell your sweet juices.

“Little one,” Sukuna drawls and basks in the vibrations of your whimper against his skin. It’s maddening to be as receptive as he is when it comes to you. Yet the grin etched on his face tells the tale of how much he loves this.

“Will you come out for me? Or must I make you?”

Of course there is only one valid answer. You both know it.

Therefore, your head falls against the wall, desperate to cool your body off as your fingers fist the rich fabric of the curtains while your thighs rub against another, cunt clenching around nothing over the image of Sukuna dragging you out of your hiding spot to tear your skimpy dress off your body before stretching your tight little hole to the fullest.

Your soft moan steals a chuckle from the curse, and soon he moves. Knowing exactly where his bunny is hiding as he confidently strides over to you.

You feel his presence even if you can’t see him. Feel the fear crawl up your spine when you imagine the monster he is, the King of Curses, a mass murderer and yours—your lover.

Your lover who leans in against the curtain. The fabric messes with your sensitive body before he simply tears them down and exposes you to him.

Yet he didn’t expect this.

Your blown wide pupils staring at him, tears threatening to pool from your eyes and your little heart thumping against your chest so loudly he can hear it. Your smell has his cocks throb in excitement, heads leaking with pre-come accompanied by aching balls that he just can’t stop himself from moaning as he leans in.

“Found my pet,” Sukuna’s deep voice muses against the skin of your neck. Your knees buckle beneath his dominance and the sheer difference in size of your little hands pawing at his chest.

His claws dig into the fat of your ass, hoisting you over his shoulders with ease to expose all of your glory to his hungry eyes: the way your pussy pulses and shines in arousal as he carries you to bed, thighs twitching when his hand roams over the back of your leg before slapping the subtle flesh of your ass.

You whine, eyes rolling into the back of your head upon the fingernail grazing your swollen lips. Sukuna is coating it in your rich arousal before pushing inside your tight core with a deeply satisfied rumble in his chest. And it’s your mouth that seals tonight’s fate as you moan his name. Each syllable sounds so beautiful as they fall from your soft lips like he is indeed your god. “Su-ku-na.”

Your back meets the mattress faster than you could brace yourself for impact, knocking the air right out of your lungs before he is on top of you.

Thick thighs spread your legs for him to relish in your heavenly smell while he immediately tears the white fabric off your gorgeous body. Two of his hands cup and squeeze your tits as he holds you open for his tongue to taste your slick. Lapping at your folds like a parched man and moaning shamelessly right against you. He eats you out with vigour, like he doesn’t get to fuck you anytime he desires. He resembles a deprived man, starved off the sweetest nectar, and now finally set free. Greed and desire fuel the strength of his fingers pumping in and out of your pulsing walls until he can feel you fall apart.

And oh, how pretty you whine for him. It’s the most alluring serenade he could ever listen to. The feeling of your desperate hands holding onto his muscular arms as he delivers you utmost pleasure leaves him empowered—empowered in a sense none other could ever make him feel.

Truthfully, Sukuna is addicted to your moans. He already loves to make people cry and scream his name in horror, but the ring of your saccharine voice praising his name like the greatest blessing to mankind lets every other form of pronunciation wither.

And the cherry on top is the perfect feeling of your soft hips pressing against his face, chasing your high delivered by Sukuna’s sacred fingers until your thighs tremble in his hold and white clouds your vision.

But the lighthearted feeling of your orgasm is short-lived. Patience is a virtue but time is of the essence, as Sukuna likes to think, the moment he flips you on your stomach. Big hands grab your hips and another pushes between your shoulders to correct your posture until your ass is on full display for his greedy eyes. Cunt glistening in the moonlight—similar to his lips smeared in your arousal, cum and Sukuna’s own spit as he bites into your left ass cheek. Carelessly breaking the layers of your skin and staking his claim, granted a token of his conquests, as you wail in pain.

The firm hand between your shoulders keeps your chest pressed against the mattress, back arched perfectly for Sukuna’s girthy cock to split you open and hold you in place once he enters you.

By now you are almost used to his brutality. Yes, even with a fragile little thing like you, Sukuna won’t pretend to be soft or caring. No, the stretch of your cunt is too delicious to spare an ounce of consideration to your body.

So naturally, you can take, you will take him—all of him and all of his semen. And as he pushes inside your walls you whine for him, hips moving back against him ever so eagerly while your sweet lips beg for him. “All of you, please. Please, I need all of you.”

The amused drawl of “Oh?” battles his little grunts before Sukuna bottoms out and relishes in your pussy spasming around his girth. Tight walls filled with blood to a point where you can’t stop pulsing, can’t stop rutting against his pelvis.

“My little pet is in heat,” the devil behind your shoulder muses, voice low and seemingly dangerous. “Does it hurt?”

You nod meekly, a whimpered "yes" being drowned by the linen but your hips just won’t stop rolling against his own, womb overjoyed by the thick cock pushing against your walls.

And if there is one thing Sukuna can’t say no to, it is playing with his prey—be it any weak mortal or you. “Need me to fuck you senseless tonight? Need my cocks to fill you until you’re leaking with my semen?” His shallow thrusts leave you yearning. “Nice and full and warm. Is that why you came into this room?”

Your needy mind can barely follow his words, unable to understand what he is referring to as the delicious drag of his cock keeps you crying for more.

“Answer me.” Sukuna demands. Superiority oozing from his body as he pins your hips in place and forces you to hold still.

“W-what—” Oh, if only you weren’t so adorable while disobeying him.

Sukuna’s mouth ruins the skin of your back, sucking deeply on your body while his teeth bite over and over into your weak form before he laps up your blood and brings his stained lips against the shell of your ear.

“I'm breeding your sweet little cunt until the sun rises and you’re going to take every. single. drop. of. my. seed.” With the last words he already thrusts harshly into you. He fooled himself long enough, told himself he is not addicted to the clenching of your cunt until you beg him to fuck you. Yet here he is, barely done with the sentence and already ruining you.

Big hands claw into your waist, they force your body to arch impossibly as the man on top ruts into you. Deep and harsh thrusts that make the fat of your ass jiggle with every move.

“Such a good little bunny, my pet…” Sukuna murmurs. And you may never know if his praise is condescending, not when your little brain can only focus on his girthy cock delivering the utmost pleasure to your body.

But you feel his eyes burn into the back of your body, the greed and hunger in them sending shivers down your spine as his cock hits your sweetest spots repeatedly. You moan for him, tears wetting the sheets the same way your arousal coats Sukuna’s balls and cocks. You really make it too easy to get fucked, ruined and bred with how much you’re leaking for him.

“More, little one. You can do more,” he groans as his head falls back in ecstasy. A strained laughter is punched out of his lungs while his nails now dig into your plump ass. Sukuna lifts your frail body off the bed with ease until he practically holds you up. Cunt exposed and back arched to perfection, promising for his seed to shoot directly into your womb, pledging to stuff you as soon as he feels his orgasm approach.

Yet he nearly breaks you, ignoring how weak humans can be when the moon sits right above your bodies and witnesses this fruitful moment with its cold smile.

“Now come for me, come all over me and I will reward you with the grandest pleasure.” Sukuna promises, eyes falling back down to your quivering form as you pulse around him. The spank to your clit frees you from your struggles and has you coming hard as you moan your lover’s name like a little prayer. Cunt gushing around him and holding him like a vise.

Until the warmth of his seed fills you up, the sticky fluid coats your insides and paints your walls white as Sukuna moans deeply. His satisfaction drapes over your body, lulling you in sheer bliss, while he continuously holds you up and pumps you full.

Soon after, Sukuna’s thrusts turn languid before his hips only roll against yours to spread his seed. “Take it all,” he whispers into your ear as he leans above your body, the softness to his words surprising you. “Let me plant my seed inside your womb and have it blossom, little one. Blossom like the roses, hm?” He nudges your face for you to witness the withered roses coming back to life, blooming under the moonlight and your fertility as his seed drips from your cunt.

“Sukuna!” yet he shushes you. The grin on his lips burns against the back of your shoulders as the curse pulls his heavy cock out of your cunt. Only to replace it with his second one, standing tall and promising, before thrusting inside in one move and filling you to the brim once more.

You only now understand the purpose of this room. The reason for its existence and the eerie feeling of the entire scenery as the aphrodisiac wears off.

The King of Curses lured you into his trap, wrapped you in a blanket made of fake safety until you found your way inside these four walls. Binding you to him for eternity and turning you into his breeding station until your body gives out. And all in the name of love, his unique way of loving something.

[dabisqueen]

Dripping For You

Header by me (some random manga panel redraw)

Dabi/Touya x fem!reader

⇢ word count: roughly 1.7K

⇢ plot: there's none, just slow sex.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fluff, slow sensual unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, slight breeding kink

⇢ personal note: teamwork with @/crumbly-scrombly— thanks so much for this

He's waking you with a gentle kiss to your lips, shifting in the bed to whisper in your ear "Morning babe."

"G'morning," you mumble, your mind still clouded with sleep.

Dabi's fingers trace from your navel down your belly, over your mound into your panties and start rubbing slow circles over your sensitive nub. It instantly ignites a warmth in your core, one that you desperately need him to turn into blazing heat.

He keeps increasing his pace before slowing down again, the bliss you're feeling carrying you up and down like the tidal waves of the ocean.

But even though you mewl and beg for more, for him to go harder he shushes, "Quiet babe, trust me on this one." 

When a thin sheen of sweat covers your body, when your eyes fall shut with pleasure, he's shifting, guiding his warm body on top of yours and in between your legs, slowly prying them apart with his weight. 

You feel him slowly rubbing his hardening cock along your folds and you bite your lip, wrapping your arms around his neck to nudge him further on, just a little. Pulling him down, your lips meet, tongue dipping out to taste him.

“C’mon Dabi, don’t tease me–” you desperately gasp between open mouthed kisses.

“It’ll pay off, just lemme do my thing,” he mumbles lowly, the pressure between you two building up.

His smokey scent is on you and his warmth nauseating. You want him – no – need him, sweet whimpers involuntarily escaping your throat as you rub up against him, earning a few hot gasps from Dabi.

He looks at you and gently cups your cheek with his rough hand, loving the way you need him but also torn on keeping you waiting. 

Pushing his lips onto yours and shoving your panties aside, he can finally give you the thick fill of his cock you frantically crave.

His hot, spongy tip prods at your eager entrance and then he slowly inserts himself. It's so intense, the way he leans into you, his lips tracking the lines on your neck, it has you arch your back in an instant.

Dabi reaches down to firmly intertwine his fingers with yours, sinking into you in a steady, slow rhythm. The bed creaks gently as his dick drags along your tight walls and you can really feel every vein, every ridge, every time he bottoms out and his tip just kisses your cervix softly.

You can't help but notice how lovestruck he looks, how he takes this much time to worship you, kissing you repeatedly, gripping you closer to him as if you could just disappear at any given moment.

You hear his soft low groans each time you clench down on his cock, your toes curling in bliss, your nails digging into the back of his hand.

"Touya, harder, please–" you beg but he shakes his head, continuing his agonizingly slow pace.

You start to sob realizing that you cannot touch yourself to relieve the lingering ache coiling in your belly because your hands are imprisoned by Dabi's strong grip.

You are helplessly trapped in this gentle pace. He doesn't go hard enough on you to crash you straight into the orgasm. No, he prefers to torture you gradually, giving you pleasure in slow ebbs and flows. You can't help yourself, you need him further, so you wrap your legs around him, pushing Dabi’s hips deeper into you.

It's almost pathetic how much you beg and mewl for him. If it wasn't for Dabi's steel will he would’ve already flipped you into a mating press, pressing his hard throbbing cock into your wanton walls. But this, this is careful, planned, he knows this all will be worth it, and so he just keeps kissing you apologetically. 

His mismatched lips tasting you as he presses them on you, his heart racing along as he keeps up this agonizingly slow and steady pace. But also loving to hear your sweet sounds of pleasure, wanting him this much, this fire of lust consuming the both of you.

He wants to keep this going as much as possible – thrust by thrust, drag by drag – bottoming out slowly again and again, the intensity hitting differently.

You start moaning louder as he steadily pumps his hard cock in and out of your swollen cunt. Each powerful thrust is deliberately timed to your breathy gasps, each shove is calculated to ensure maximum friction and pressure against your rippled warm walls.

"M gonna… fill you up with my… cum–" Touya mumbles, completely drunk on you, whispering praises and love confessions to you.

"Gonna put a baby inside of you–" he bottoms out once more before slowly dragging his cock along your tight walls.

He is so delirious on your pussy he doesn't even realize he is allowing himself to daydream a better future with a family that actually wants him, a family which doesn’t see him as a mistake.

“Mmh, you're gonna look so good as a mommy," his grip on you tightens and his words slur as he loses himself more and more in pleasure.

Your head starts spinning from his words and you go limb underneath him. He has to restrain himself to not go harder, not to impale you on his throbbing cock.

A family with you.

“'M Gonna fill you up to the brim,” his hips shake, he is about to burst, "Gonna make a happy family with you–"

Bottoming out particularly hard, you clench up around him, a breathy moan falling from your lips. His hips strutter and he halts for a moment, having to use all his concentration and willpower not to cum right then and there. 

You feel so amazing, with your soft warm gummy walls squeezing him oh so well and his cock is twitching, he's feeling his balls starting to tense up and manages to breathe out between clenched teeth, "B-Bite me, now!"

And you do. Without thinking, your teeth sink into the soft flesh of his shoulder and for a moment there's just this pain slicing into his brain but it's all he needs to continue. With his senses back and his cock stilled, he continues dragging his hard girth out of you – just to press back in at this agonizingly slow pace that has you soon see stars.

He's so into this he doesn't want it to end. But the delirious expression you have on your sex-flushed face as you're starting to climax excruciatingly slow is all he needs to drive himself even further, continuing his pace, angling his dick just a bit differently inside of you.

It all starts in the tip of your toes and fingers, rippling in small waves through your body. It feels like you're floating, and everything around you fading as the orgasm reaches its peak, a warmth filling your core, spreading through your body and rolling in gentle waves through your body. 

Continuing to drag his cock along your pulsating walls, he prolongs your euphoria, every time he bottoms out a new wave of warmth and pleasure rolls through you.

He's driving you crazy with this level of stamina, and he soon switches his position, flipping you over so that you’re in his lap, slowly meeting his thrusts, gasping and panting along with him, naughty squelching sounds emanating from your pussy in tune with the soft creaking of the old rusty bed.

And you're still so out of it, you can't move, body like putty. He's holding you up as he slowly fucks into you, sucking in a nipple to roll his tongue around it, taking on the other before leaning his head against your chest.

Looking up at you, he sees that you're just as in love as he is and, both of your hearts beating in sync as they do everytime the two of you join together. And it almost feels like one completes the other in a wonderful way, as if two souls become one whole making you soon cum again.

He's dripping with your juices right now, a ring of frothy white at the base of his cock from you cumming so often. Instinctively, his arms wrap around you while he takes in your scent.

And then he can't hold back anymore, he feels his orgasm bubbling up, his guts tensing, and he presses his face between your breasts, where your scent is the strongest, so irresistible and intense. 

He wants to thrust up so badly, wanna give in to his urges but he holds himself back, edging himself subconsciously and then he feels it. The intense heat starts in his crotch, rippling through his body in waves and he shudders out a groan, breathing hot against your skin while he feels his balls tightening up, his cock starting to twitch when he unloads his pearly essence into your warm womb.

Pleasure crawls up his spine, making his vision blurry as he continues to drag his length in and out of you, cock still splurting and twitching. It makes you clench around him again, cumming for yet another time. Your head falls back and you slump down on him, impaling yourself on him even more. 

Sweaty, warm skin pressed against each other, you both come down from your high, his calloused hand tracing the curve of your back. Regaining your breath, he slowly gets soft inside of you and you feel him scooting down on the bed, taking you with him.

His cock slips from your tired heat, leaving a trail of your combined release behind as he lays down with you, rolling over on his side. 

His arms circle your waist while his nose presses into your soft hair, breathing a merely audible, "I love you… s'much."

You feel him caress your belly unintentionally and your cheeks go ablaze, knowing just too well what he is implying. Closing your eyes, your heart doubles in size as you reply, "Touya, I love you too–"

[dabisqueen]

Grrr I feel like Dabi would get frustrated by slow sex but gawd would I love a gentle fuck from him. I want to bask in the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of me, I want to remember what every single vein and piercing feels like. Dabi would be shocked but very smug when I cum harder than I ever have before just from meditating on his cock 🫣

Nonny, where are you all hiding at?!?!

Daaaaaaamn!!!!

This is by far the hottest thing I've read in a while. Just imagine, each barbell of his slowly sliding in and out.

The drag of his Prince Albert piercing unnervingly slow rubbing over your sensitive spot.

It's just a drag and pull and with each slow push of his your crawling towards the edge, with each pull you're dragged towards it.

You're moaning louder than ever before when you cum. Shaking, legs trembling, totally delirious, eyes screwed shut and mouth open.

He watches in awe and tells himself to do this more often, to edge you until you're beyond conscious, and then he's gonna do the same thing to you.

The slow push and drag.

Over and over again.

[mintmatcha]

Aizawa is tucked halfway under the kotatsu, pouring himself into the papers scattered across the tabletop. His hair, still damp from the shower, is pulled up and out of his face in a loose bun, bits of hair threatening to come unraveled with any suddenly movement. He tuts his tongue at something written down, mumbling about ‘Kaminari’ and drawing an x across the whole page. Then, he sticks the pen back in his mouth. It bounces between his teeth as he continues to read, huffing and sighing as he goes along.

He’ll be asleep soon, probably on top of those papers, but your night is just beginning.

“Shouta, I’m headed out; the girls are waiting for me.” You stroke his hair as you pass behind him and Aizawa leans into the touch. Your boyfriend isn’t one to explore the city’s nightlife, so he’s usually more than happy to let you go out with your friends and stay home alone. “Don’t wait up.”

He barely spares you a glance, humming a soft tone as a goodbye.

Then, he looks up again and the pen clatters to the table.

 “Wait a second. Come back here.“ He jerks his chin, directing you back to him. You slowly turn on your heel, teetering back on your stilettos. Shouta’s gaze burns into you as you approach, drinking up every inch of your body, reaching for you the second you come close enough. His hands find your ankle, tracing over the bone there before trailing up, past your knee, all the way up to the hem of your dress.

“God damn,” he breathes, squeezing the give of your thigh appreciatively, “You can’t go out in this.”

Every bit of excitement that’s built inside you immediately dies. “Shouta.”

He gestures to you as if its self explanatory. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“What do you mean ‘where’s the rest of it?’“

“Your ass is going to fall out.” He grips the hem of your dress and tugs it lower– which also lowers your neckline. Suddenly, your tits are spilling over the top, nipples peeking out the hemline. “God, that’s worse.”

“Shouta!”  you scold, slapping his hands away and correcting your dress, “I’m not changing!”

[mintmatcha]

“I’m not saying you have to change.” Aizawa’s touch creeps back, hooking behind your thighs and pulling himself closer to dot chaste kisses along the inside for your knee. “Just add a coat.”

“So you don’t think I look good?” you coo with a pout.

He deadpans. Looking up at you through his lashes, Aizawa opens his mouth and bites, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks the fat of your thigh into his mouth. Pain blooms from the spot, tensing your muscles and trailing into your core in a much more pleasant way that it should. When he lets go, you almost miss him… until he dives back in, running his tongue appreciatively over the indentations his teeth left in your skin. You’re already bruising, broken blood vessels coming to the surface as he presses his lips against it again.

“Now go put on something long enough to cover that.” He spanks your flank before leaning back to the table, corners of his mouth turned up with a smug little smirk, like he thinks he’s won.

[mintmatcha]

“No.“

Aizawa turns back around, tired.

“I’m going to go out with my girls-” you hike your skirt even higher- “with my slutty little hickey on full display.”

You step into him, heel sandwiched between his folded legs. Like this, his face is almost at the same height as your cunt, only a stretch away. He doesn’t even pretend to look somewhere else; Aizawa tilts his head ever so slight to peer up your skirt, enthralled as much as he is annoyed.

“Wanna give me another before I go?” You point to a spot on your other leg.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Aizawa lets out a heavy sigh as he comes back to you again, almost begrudgingly kissing the bareness there. “My old heart is going to give out thinking about you-”

He bites again with enough force and time to make you squirm, lingering for a long moment before pulls off with a wet pop. Hungrily, he explores again, pushing up your leg with just his face. Your skirt catches against his face as his mouth explores upward, cotton bunching over the ridge of his nose and trapping the heat of his breath against you.

“On that dance floor-” He finds another spot higher, right where your hip meets your thigh. The nip here is all teeth, just barely scraping-  “Being eyed up by men who want you.”

His lips brush against the tiny fabric on your panties, just a ghost of a touch. “Stay home and let me worship you instead.”

[kirbyskisses]

cw: breeding

dabi who practically explodes when you call him his real name while fucking. the revelation that it’s not just the villain you love - it’s all of him - the villain, the tortured child, the man who loves you - every part of him.

your mouth lets out a weak “touya” while he’s inside you and suddenly he loses all control - hips rutting ‘nd bucking into you like a dog. he practically cums on the spot, shaking and grunting loudly through a world-shattering orgasm.

then, he’s practically drooling; doing and saying anything to hear it drop from your lips.

“say it again, babygirl. c’mon, say my name.” he moans - dick as deep as it can go, before sliding out all the way to the tip and shoving back in, kissing your most plush, sensitive spot with every stroke.

“t-t-touya~” weakly rolls its way out of your lips as white cream from just before spills out of you onto the sheets below with every thrust.

“no, louder baby, c’mon… say it for me”

“t-touya-”

“that’s it. who’s making you feel good?”

“you are, touya~” you squeal, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs to push you further into a mating press.

“whose pussy is this, doll?”

“yours, touya. it’s j’st for you!”

“that’s right. all mine. and i’m the one you love right? i’m the whose baby you want - whose cum you need, aren’t i?” his blue eyes stare down at you in a mix of possessiveness, love, lust and desperation.

“yes. yes it’s you, touya - I love you, touya. want you, touya. want to have your baby, touya.”

dabi touya swears he’s never cum harder in his life.

[dilucpawz]

sensitive!dabi who can’t control how leaky his cock gets when all you do is lightly brush against it. the corners of your lips turn into a teasing smile, as you rub against him once more, making sure he catches a glimpse on the sultry roll of your hips.

sensitive!dabi whose blood rushes to his cock the moment you begin to kitten lick up to his pinky tip, lips wrapping around the thickness of his head, pulling back with an audible pop! it makes dabi dizzy, his head spinning with stars as your mouth inches further and further down, until your nose tickles his pelvic bone.

sensitive!dabi who groans out your name as his wrist flicks up and down with each languid stroke of his cock, slit oozing with his former arousal, milky and creamy as it glistens underneath the back light from the phone. the video capturing the moment cum shoots out all over his fingers, your name barely a whisper.

sensitive!dabi who swears on his soul that licking his nipples doesn’t do anything for him, yet every time you let your lips graze over the bud, his fingers always find themselves grabbing a fistful of your hair, pushing your head closer and closer until you skillfully let your tongue swirl around the perked nipple, glancing up just in time to watch azure eyes roll back.