A little dabble about s1 pope ep 2 inspired by the photo above and Hozier song: "like real people do." - Trigger warning: blood, tension, yearning, touches.
With a bleeding nose and a bag of ice to it you stood there close to Andrew helping him clean off the blood on his body. It made you slightly unsure of how close was too close. his hands on each side of his body, fingers twitching like they wanted to move. You didn't dare look up at him as he pressed the ice bag against his forehead to stop the bleeding. Drying up the blood with a towel you started from his chest wiping down to the belt of his swim trunks. Carefully wiping around his belly button you felt his hand moving over your hip bone for security. A touch for a touch. You let him. He smelled of chlorine and that soft scent he had which you couldn't place of clean laundry and musk. It was just his smell masked on top of cold skin. You let his hand wander up under the corner of your shirt, finding your warm and naked skin. His touch was cold and wet. Fingers spread. Gripping you, not letting you move. You stood still gazing at his chest: red and strong muscles. His nipples were hard and his chest was rising and falling as you looked up at his wide neck all the way up to where he was bleeding into his mouth. He had not moved his eyes away from you this entire time. Those dark, hooded hazel eyes eating you up. His wet hair plastered against his forehead. His hand stopped at your lower ribs, as you moved the towel to wipe the blood that was under his nose. He didn't move an inch. His thumb circling your bare skin like a self soothing mimic. It was distracting having him this close and so intoxicating. You wanted to lean into him. His breath so close to your nose and mouth as he pulled you closer to him. Warm, wet skin against the fabric of your dry shirt. Staining it with the same wetness. Making you feel the sheer muscle and wall that was Andrew Cody. It was quiet and unspoken. It was too close for comfort and you wanted to run. Hide away from him in a place nobody could find you. But you stayed in place tending to his nose bleed, basking in the touch he had on your body and the closeness of him. It was just for a moment you told yourself, for a moment he was yours.
hiiiiiii this is my first time requesting a fic !!!
I heard that your requests were open so I said fuck it let’s do this !!!! I would like to request “ Izuku with a breeding kink” please and thank uuuu ( no pressure to do this , the last thing I want is to make u feel uncomfortable!) 💋💋💋
⊹౨ৎ Getting Stuffed ⊹౨ৎ
╰┈➤ Husband!Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader
✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦
╰┈➤ Warnings: Breeding, C*ming inside, baby making, talks of pregnancy, short, smut, izuku is a loving rough man.
╰┈➤ Words: 0.4k
It’s been months since you moved into this big apartment, a few extra rooms you had nothing to do with. It was finally time to upgrade from the comfy, but tiny apartment you both first bought when you got together. He had a office now, and you did too, a bigger kitchen and dining room- and I living room that could fit more couches then one.
“What do you think this room should be turned into?” Izuku asks while his arms hug your waist from behind, slowly humming a tone.
“Maybe we could have two guest rooms? Yeah, for when both our parents wanna come stay- Oh my gosh, should we host a family dinner for Christmas?” he watched the gears turn in your head while rambling on about Christmas. He had a idea in mind but he kept quiet. 
His thoughts weren’t silent for long.
“What’s this?” Izuku draped his coat over the chair pulled out for him. You sat at the table with food and candles ready for him. It was suspicious but he always loved the conversation that followed events like theses.
That’s when you asked what he thought about having kids. “I’ve been thinking and we are both doing so well right now, and I’m getting older so having a baby with a few more young years left would be ideal.” you listed reasons of your argument. He listens, still standing and ready for you to let him speak.
✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦
“I love you,” his teeth bite sloppily at your neck while he fucks into you, your legs spread around him. It’s been about two hours since he’s pounced on you and has stuffed you full of his loads two times.
“I’ve been dreaming of making your belly sweep for years, baby, I can’t believe I get to finally have a family with you.” Your nails dig into his back. And you definitely have drawn some blood. “Take it— take my cock.” He cried out and threw his head back as his hips rush into yours.
“Izu, I’m gonna cum again,” you drool and warn him of your upcoming orgasm. His hands fly down to your puffy clit and rubs it with his thumb and makes sure to place it just right.
“Cum, please baby. I promise to give you other load soon, gonna’ fill you up.” he looks down and sees your face scrunched up and eyes closed r before twitching as you cum undone. Your hole pulses and shots your sticky juices out, making it more wet on your things from his thrusts.
“Don’t stop— Don’t stop,” you babble on repeatedly as you wrap your legs around him to keep him inside.
His hand takes ahold of yours while pinning it against the soft sheets, “wouldn’t dream of it. Gonna fuck you for weeks until my seed sticks.”
¡!Don’t repost my posts on other websites, don’t translate them, theses are for me to publish on my own!!
Steve had school girl dreams. Not of anything inappropriate of course. Just you and you offhandedly mentioning “oh yeah I went to a catholic school before we moved to Hawkins.” His head whips around like a dog who just heard ‘walk’. Now he’s gotta play it cool. He clears his throat and tries to play it off, turning his head back to the magazine he was now pretending to read.
“Mmhm oh that’s cool. So did you like wear a u form and everything?” He thinks he’s doing well to conceal his excitement. You’re laying on your stomach with your ankles crossed in the air, flipping aimlessly through one of the Vogue or Seventeen subscriptions he had bought you.
“Yeah plaid skirt and all, gosh that was so oppressive.” You tsk at the thought. Steve’s leans against his bed with one knee up and his wrist on top. He had to clear his throat the time quieter to bite back the smile.
“You wouldn’t still have this uniform do you?”
“I don’t know Stevie, half of my shit is still in boxes waiting for me to leave for college.” You sigh and toss your magazine to the side “why do you care so much anyway?” You’ve got that critical glint in your eye. The one that says I can see right through you.
“No reason really I just loved knowing things about you.” He smiles up at his girlfriend placing his muscle car magazine to his side as he twists up to plant a kiss on her pouting, critical lips.
“Mmm well played Harrington.” You smile and duck back into your magazine. He breathes a sight of relief.
Time passes and you forget your comment but Steve doesn’t. Steve cannot help but remember “plaid skirt and everything”. In his sleep images of you flash. Images of you on your knees, praying of course. Biting your lip and you confess your sins of the flesh to you father. (Daddy Harrington sits on the other wall of the booth and tell you exactly how to repent.) images of you with your shiny little cross necklace bouncing across your chest as he fulfilled his mission. Smiling at him while holding a dainty little naught Bible and swinging around in your perfectly pressed uniform. Plaid skirt and all.
And then your mom snaps. Spitting is here which means cleaning and you dad and his bad back. You end up calling Steve at 7:24 in the morning on the verge of tears. You mom is shrieking about the state of her house and she wants you to “fix the attic”. But the attic is warm and dark and scary. And the boxes were heavy.
“Please help me.” Steve is still rubbing the school out of his eyes 20 minutes later when he shows up at your door step with half dried hair. He only removes his shoes before you wearily lead him to to the pull out attic door. A ladder slides out making you shriek and he braces a hand on your shoulder.
“It’s okay baby.” He climbs up the ladder without a second thought. He gets three rungs up before he pauses “did your mom make anything to eat yet.”
“Yeah there might be some sausage left.”
“Do you think you can sneak some up to your room?” He gives you those deep brown puppy eyes. Unrefusable.
“I’ll try Stevie.”
“You’re a saint.” He extends a kiss “so how many are there?”
“There shouldn’t be too many, they’ve all got my name on em.” You trot off in your little gingham sleep shorts with a smile before he continues up the ladder to your frankly horrifying attic. He pulls a thin old rope and a lightbulb straight from a slasher flick turns on. He sees a couple boxes labeled ‘XMAS’ and ‘Easter’ and various other holidays and years ‘1967’ piques his interest. That’s when you were born. He turns his head left and sees it.
Four boxes labeled with your name labeled things like ‘awards and decor’ and ‘books’nstuff’ he drags all for of them safely out of the dust and scariness of the attic before promptly closing up the attic. Steve lines them up neatly against the wall of your bedroom then uses the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Even if he had been exposed to Upsidedown particles he still worried about his health.
When he returned you were kneeling over the box labeled books. You sat criss cross with a copy of The Bell Jar in one hand and War and Peace in the other. Your head only rises from studying the worn paper backs at the sound of your twin mattress creaking. “Oh hi baby, I managed to get you some scrambled eggs and a pastry too.”
“You’re the best.” He tells you while pulling the napkin into his lap and placing the plate on top. Methodically you line up each and everyone of your books in your then empty book shelves. He breaks down the box for you and you sneak it to your recycling and wash the plate before your mom, who had been manically shampooing the rug could notice. Your comb through your awards before realizing that they were all arbitrary other than some of your Honors Society medals and variety plaques that young hung on your wall. But your ‘participation ribbons’ and soccer trophies from the Presidents’ Day tournament when you were 8 didn’t hold as much value anymore. The third box is where things started to change.
“Oh my gosh my speech and debate shoes. Wait I wonder, you Beale y dive into the box looking, “oh my goodness my Saint Xaviers uniform.” Steve’s head springs up once again. You’re holding up a short sleeve white button down with ruffling. And you start going in about how strict your administrators were about how black and shiny your shoes were, how you would get detention for wrinkles in your blazer. He can’t focus as you wave that sinful button down around. Then kryptonite. You pull that damn plaid skirt out from the depth of that wrinkled cardboard box.
Time stops. Steve had never been so focused. You wave it back and forth like a dirty flag. “Aw and the nuns tried to paddle me for wearing light gray socks.”
“Can you try it on?” Steve cuts you off. He doesn’t mean to but he’s not operating on meaning anything. Or thinking all that deeply.
“Try it on, Stevie you know I only hit puberty like a year ago. I’ve gained like twenty pounds and grown three inches. I’m honestly a medical marvel seriously there’s no way it’ll fit.”
“Still?” He pleads in a way, you would feel bad if you even considered denying him.
“I will never understand you Steven Harrington.” You start to shrug out of your pyjama shorts leaving a pair of somewhere between pink and gray underwear hugging your hips. You step into the skirt and pull it up. It snags at the width of your hips. “I hope you know this is ridiculous.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“The shirt too?’
“I mean,” he starts and you scoff and placate him you pull your pointelle tank off and he withholds a moan at the sight of you topless. You pull the shirt of and start buttoning. It’s all fine at your waist but there seems to be more and more pulling you get up to your boobs. “I used to have to be buttoned all the way to the top, but that’s for teachers pets.” You leave the top one open and Steve gulps at the sight of you.
“Do a circle.”
“Steve,” you white but you acquiesce. As you spin in a little circle he just drink the sight in. Your ass spills out the bottom of the hem. Steve stands and crosses the room. He holds one arm and the back of you neck and kisses you as passionately as the first time he had. It’s not long before the button are popping off of your white shirt as Steve’s fucks you into the mattress.
“Say the our father.” He demands
“Steve,”
“Say it! Please.” He begs
“Our father, who art in heaven” as the mattress squeaks away and your mom blares her Prince record screams.
fratboy!sukuna drabble about smoking weed for the first time <3
fratboy!sukuna convincing you to smoke weed with him AHHHH
since it’s your first time, it’s just the two of you in his room at the frat house and he’s being SO cocky about it…
“aww, baby’s first hit.” and his tone is so mocking but he’s actually a little worried because he doesn’t want you to freak out.
he helps you light the bowl and his face is so close to yours as you take the hit, his eyes focused on the way your lips form an ‘o’ around the mouthpiece.
and like…he didn’t expect to get horny from the sight but now he’s rock hard in his pants because his sweet, innocent girlfriend looks so fucking good with her lips on his bong.
you blow out the smoke after you hit it and you splutter and cough which of course makes him laugh.
then OF COURSE, he’s like
“let me show you somethin’.”
and he takes a hit and before you can even register what’s happening, he cups his hand around your neck and his lips touch yours and he blows the smoke into your mouth.
the transfer makes it less harsh and so you ask if he can do it again and by the time you guys are done you’re so high, eyes red and glassy.
and you feel a little bolder now so you crawl into his lap and start placing kisses on his face, all the while he’s BEEN horny for you and he thinks to himself…
Damian Priest and his new wife consummate their marriage in Puerto Rico — part I (part II)
Damian Priest x female reader (1st person)
Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), 18+
———
“I can’t believe my own eyes” Damian mumbled happily as he wiped away a small tear that had crept down his cheek. “You look fucking incredible, baby,” he continued, “I can’t believe I get to marry you.”
This man just knew how to make me feel so insanely loved, appreciated, and seen. It was a no-brainer from the moment we first met— of course I was going to marry him.
The large, toothy smile he flashed contrasted his dark demeanor and tall self in his black, velvet suit. He was the one who looked fucking incredible. I had never thought I’d end up with someone as passionate, caring and amazing as Damian — but here we were, standing face to face at the end of the aisle. Surrounded by all of our loved ones, ready to say our I dos.
Time stood still as we said our vows, and what felt like hours, were only the first minutes of our forever together. I had tried my very hardest to not cry and ruin my makeup, but I hadn’t made it through Damian’s vows without tears running down my face.
You may kiss the bride and he sure did. He took his sweet time, slowly caressing my cheek with his giant hand. A hand that had, ever since I first met him, always been decorated with multiple rings of all shapes and sizes, but now only held the most important of all. A ring that symbolized our commitment, our love, everything we’d been through and everything we would be going through. It was silver and cool as it lingered on my cheek.
He leaned in and connected our lips in the most tender kiss we’d ever shared. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, and I was almost afraid it was going to pop out of my chest and out of my wedding dress. It was clear he never wanted the kiss to end, as he held me tightly, almost as if he were afraid I was going to blow into the ocean with the soft Puerto Rican winds.
The party was an absolute love-fest and I loved being Damian’s bride. We had been dancing all night, enjoyed the amazing Puerto Rican cuisine, and we were the happiest we’d ever been. My friends and I were having the time of our lives, sipping on tequila and enjoying some more dessert.
My eyes searched the area for my husband. And there he was, in a group with his friends. He was already looking at me, seemingly not listening to a word his friends were saying. He had a dark expression in his eyes, paired with a smug I know something you don’t-smile.
He held up his glass of rum in a gesture to me and he took a large sip. I mimicked his gesture, held up my own glass and took a sip.
The liquor had my cheeks burning up. Or maybe that was Damian’s doing? The way he was looking at me intently, not breaking eye contact. Or maybe the way he was sitting, no suit jacket, sleeves rolled up with his legs spread so far, I could’ve fittingly been sitting on my knees in between. He rested his other hand on his thigh, near his knee, and I noticed that he was tapping it rhythmically with his index finger.
That little tease. He knows I love his muscular thighs.
His shirt was unbuttoned quite far down his chest, revealing some of his delicious pecs, tanned, tattooed skin and the large, silver cross he had on a slim chain. The cross glimmered in my eye, ironically, because there was absolutely nothing holy or sacred about the filthy thoughts that entered my mind, upon seeing my husband like that.
The air between us was thick and filled with anticipation, as we made our way to our suite. We were both slightly buzzed on our respective brown liquors, but still very well aware of what was going to happen when we got through the door.
He turned to me before he breached the doorway, lifted me in his arms and kissed me. It was as tender as the one we’d shared after we officially became Mr and Mrs.
“What was that for?” I asked lovingly, my words slightly slurred.
“I just wanted to kiss you gently one last time, before I go disrespect you completely in bed” he coldly stated.
His lips were on mine again immediately after we’d closed and locked the door. His body was pressed against mine and I felt his neediness in both his kiss and the hardness of his dick against my dress-clad stomach.
I kissed back ferociously as I backed him towards a chair in the room. I pushed him down to sit, him a little shocked at the tiny display of dominance.
“You sir,” I started as I swiftly placed my long, bare, stiletto-wearing leg on the chair in between his legs, “you’ve been upgraded to the premium wife-package. This means you can do whatever the fuck you want to me, whenever the fuck you want.”
He was gawking at me, very intensely. Speechless, curious, and with his mouth slightly opened.
I moved my foot dangerously close to his crotch and leaned in to speak again: “Do you want Mrs. Priest to put your big cock in her mouth?”
Damien groaned and nodded enthusiastically, “Yes mamacita, please do.”
“Mrs. Priest has a filthy mouth, huh?” He bit his lip as I sank to my knees in front of him.
I almost had to duck, as I freed him from his pants and boxers. His dick looked extraordinarily large and plump, and somehow intimidating to me as I was only inches away.
I gently started to pump him in my hand as I made eye contact with him. He was smirking down at me, eyes big with anticipation.
His giant hand caressed my cheek, as he determinedly grabbed my hair in the back of my neck and gave it a tight pull.
I took the tip in my mouth and sucked, causing Damian to groan and buck his hips. I took him even deeper in my throat — and gagged.
“Fuckkk baby”, he intuitively bucked his hips even more, but it was a lost cause. I couldn’t fit anymore of him in my mouth and throat, even if I desperately wanted to. His shaft was too long and don’t even get me started on his width.
The sight of Damian’s bride choking on his dick was enough to get him near the edge of his release.
He thought I looked amazing and angelic in white. The fact that we were now married was fucking electric. We had truly found our soulmates in one another.
Damian tapped out, not wanting to come already, as he pulled my mouth to his and gave me a longing and starving kiss. Whilst our lips were interlocked, he rose to his feet and all of a sudden he was towering over me again.
He gently pushed me back on the bed, lifted my leg and placed the sharp heel of my stiletto on the part of his chest that was bursting out of the opening of his tight shirt. He pushed up against it, my heel sinking ever so slightly into his skin. He licked his bottom lip and smirked, whilst rubbing my bare calf.
“So.. this wife-package.. what more does it include?” He asks.
“Well what do you think?” I cockily asked.
“I think it means I get to touch you here.” He inched smoothly down my leg. I nodded.
He continued. “And here.. especially here.” His hand met the lacy white border of my panties before he pushed a long finger inside of me. I gasped eagerly. This man was going to be the death of me.
“Dios mío mami, you’re soaking wet,” he breathily stated, “you’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”
He knew exactly how to use his words — how to turn me into a complete fucking mess. He added another finger, starting to stretch me out. Lord knows I needed it, if I were going to take all of Damian.
Never had I ever needed this much preparation before being with anyone, but he was a welcome exception. You’d think years and years of dirty, rough — mind blowing sex —would’ve made it much easier to take his impressive size, but it sure as hell hadn’t.
“I’ve been thinking about this ever since I walked down that aisle. You look fucking unreal in that suit,” I admitted.
He released my leg, leaving an impressive indentation on his chest, from where my stiletto had slightly impaled him.
He quickened the pace of his fingers, ironically impaling me instead. “Keep talking baby and I’ll add a third.”
