May 19, 2025
Day 19: Enemy
seen from United States
seen from Spain
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seen from Canada
seen from Yemen
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seen from United States
seen from Brazil
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Day 19: Enemy
Linktober 2025 Day 19: Link!
Print available here!
hands you an enies lobby robin
I’m Not Stoppin’
Kinktober Day 19 — Overstimulation
Summary: You should’ve known better than to crack a joke about Erik’s stamina…
Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Black f!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, use of the n-word, overstimulation, crying, praise, unprotected sex, creampie
Word count: 902
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
The Oakland rain had been coming down for hours. Outside, the streetlights spilled through the blinds in red and gold streaks, painting the walls like a warning. Inside, the apartment buzzed with early 2000s R&B music. A low, steady bass, the kind of rhythm Erik liked because it synced up with his pulse.
“Fuuuck! Erik, baby, please.” You moaned loudly, fingertips curled in the sheets as you held on to them for dear life.
Erik had been beating your back in for the last half hour, and you lost count of how many times you’ve come. His ass still hasn’t even cum yet.
Earlier this morning you made a silly joke about his stamina. His durability in the bedroom was pristine, and you had no critiques whatsoever, but sometimes he got the big head, especially after putting it down so good, so you told him that he needs to take viagra. You were both in your mid-twenties, so he didn't need any damn blue pills. Again, it was a silly fucking joke that you are slowly but surely starting to regret. Your pussy was stretched to the brim and wetter than the Florida coast during hurricane season.
Guys with fucked up families who persist despite it
day 19
awoooo
based off these photos from a production of sleeping beauty
Day 19: Park!! It's been a long time since I drew this women..
I needed an excuse to draw her
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔲𝔰
Summary: A simple night patrol turns into a revelation when you and Denki fight side-by-side with perfect, undeniable chemistry. After a teasing-filled mission and a quiet moment on the roof, Denki finally drops the jokes and admits he likes you—really likes you. One honest confession and a spark-filled kiss later, neither of you can pretend it’s just “partners” anymore.
C/W: Fingering, cream pie, praising, sub reader, Dom Denki, unprotected sex, rough sex, fem reviving, multiple rounds, messy sex, sensory dep, electricity, shower sex
WC: 4k
An: Day 19. I hope you guys enjoy; sorry that I'm super late. @blushinglemon
The night patrol was supposed to be simple: clean up a group of tech thieves downtown and head home before midnight. With Bakugo on point, “simple” went out the window five minutes in.
“Quit lagging, Sparky!” Bakugo barked, blasting open a warehouse door.
“I’m not lagging, dude! You just run like an explosion!” Denki shot back, electricity already crackling along his fingertips. You followed behind with Sero and Mina, sighing. “Remind me why we let them lead?”
Mina giggled. “Because it’s fun to watch them yell at each other.”
The team moved in fast. Denki took out the lights with a quick burst—clean, precise. You covered his flank, using your quirk to pin two fleeing thieves. It was smooth, almost wordless teamwork.
“Nice catch, partner,” Denki said, brushing past you with that easy grin of his. “Focus,” you muttered, ignoring the tiny jolt in your chest that had nothing to do with electricity.
A few more minutes, and the fight was over. Bakugo stomped off to report to dispatch, leaving the four of you to wrap up.
“Not bad,” Mina said, leaning on a crate. “You two were totally in sync. Cute.” Denki flushed a little. “We’re just good partners, that’s all.” You crossed your arms. “Exactly. Partners.”
Mina smirked. “Mmhm. Sure. Keep telling yourselves that.”
The ride back was quiet. Everyone split off at HQ until it was just you and Denki again, walking the dim hallway toward the locker rooms. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a tired, buzzing kind of silence.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You, uh… got a scratch on your cheek.” You frowned, touching it. “Oh. Didn’t notice.” Denki stepped closer before you could react, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. “Got it.”
You froze. His hand lingered for just a heartbeat too long before he stepped back, grinning like it meant nothing. “See? I can be gentle.”
“You’re lucky I’m too tired to hit you,” you muttered, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be. He laughed. “You say that every time.” Later, after the debrief, you found him on the roof—the same spot he always ended up after missions. The city lights reflected in his eyes like sparks waiting to jump.
“Didn’t think you’d still be up here,” you said, stepping beside him. Denki shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Brain’s still wired.” He smiled faintly. “Pun intended.”
You snorted. “Terrible.”
He grinned wider. “You look terrible.” You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. That stupid, cocky smile had grown on you in ways you didn’t want to admit.
“Hey,” he said quietly after a while. “Are you okay? You were pushing hard tonight.”
“I’m fine,” you said automatically.
He gave you a look. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You drive me nuts, y’know that? I swear, one of these days you’re going to scare the life out of me.” You glanced over, smirking. “I thought you liked a little shock.”
He barked out a laugh, but there was something real underneath it. “Yeah, but not when it’s you in the middle of the blast zone.” The quiet stretched. Wind tugged at your hair; the city hummed below. Denki’s voice softened.
“Can I be honest for a sec?”
You nodded.
He hesitated, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t know how to shut it off around you. The jokes, the flirting—it’s just easier than saying what I actually feel.” Your breath caught. “And what’s that?” He met your gaze, all humor gone. “That I like you. A lot more than I should.”
You blinked, heartbeat loud in your ears. “Denki…”
He laughed weakly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just had to get it out before I short-circuit from keeping it in.” You took a small step closer. “You really are an idiot.” He smiled, soft and crooked. “Yeah. You're an idiot, maybe?”
You rolled your eyes, but your hand found his jacket anyway, tugging him down just enough to kiss him. It wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped, your heart pounded—but it was warm and real, sparks flickering faintly between your palms. When you pulled back, he was grinning like a fool. “So, uh… that’s a yes?”
You laughed. “That’s a ‘shut up before I change my mind.’”
“Can’t promise that,” he said, leaning closer again.
This kiss was different. Less surprise, more intention. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your jawline with a tenderness that made your knees feel suspiciously weak. And then you felt it—a faint, thrilling crackle of energy, a static buzz that passed from his skin to yours, raising every tiny hair on your arms and sending a shiver straight down your spine. It was just a whisper of his Quirk, a subconscious leak of the power thrumming through him, and it lit up your nerve endings like a live wire.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, his breath coming a little faster. “My place?” he asked, the question hanging in the charged air between you.
You didn’t trust your voice. You just nodded.
The trip to his apartment was a blur of buzzing anticipation and stolen glances in the dim elevator. The second your door clicked shut, the playful bravado he wore like armor finally, completely fell away.
He backed you against the door, his body a solid, warm line against yours. “I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. “For so damn long.”
His mouth was on your neck, your jaw, capturing your lips again in a deep, searching kiss that tasted like ozone and want. You fumbled with the clasps of his hero costume, your fingers clumsy with need, until he gently stilled them.
“Let me,” he said, his voice a low thrum. “I wanna…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, a stronger, more focused wave of electricity cascaded over you. It wasn't a shock; it was a surge. A delicious, paralyzing current that locked your muscles for a glorious second, making you gasp into his mouth as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure rolled through you. Your costume, designed to insulate, did nothing to stop the sensation from igniting your skin.
“Just a little,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your sides. “To feel you…”
He made quick work of your clothes, his own soon joining the pile on the floor. He led you to the bed, laying you back against the pillows, his gaze dark and full of awe as it traveled over your body. He kissed a path down your sternum, over your stomach, his hands following everywhere he touched, leaving a trail of tingling, hypersensitive skin in the wake of his carefully controlled power.
Then he paused, a mischievous, wicked glint in his gold-flecked eyes. “Trust me?”
Before you could answer, he brought his hands up, palms facing your ears. A low, resonant hum filled the air, and then… silence. The world went muffled and distant, as if you’d been plunged deep underwater. You could see his chest moving with his breath, see his lips forming words you could barely hear, but the usual ambient noise of the apartment—the fridge, the distant traffic—was just… gone. Your sense of touch, however, exploded.
Deprived of sound, every sensation became magnified, overwhelming in its intensity. You felt the dip of the mattress as he moved, the whisper of the sheets against your legs, and the warm puff of his breath on your inner thigh. You gasped, the sound strange and hollow in your own head.
He smiled, a slow, wicked curve of his lips you felt more than saw. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, and his mouth found your cunt.
The sensation was earth-shattering. The soft, wet heat of his tongue, lapping and circling, was everything. But then he added the spark. A gentle, precise flicker of current directly on your clit.
Your back arched clean off the bed, a silent scream caught in your throat as a bolt of white-hot pleasure, sharp and perfect, tore through you. He did it again and again, a devastating rhythm of soft licks and sharp, electric jolts that had you writhing, grasping at the sheets, utterly at the mercy of the sensations he was conducting through your body. The sensory deprivation made it an all-consuming universe of feeling, each tiny shock a supernova in the silence.
Just as you were teetering on the very edge, he pulled away. The world rushed back in—your own ragged breaths, his low groan—as he released the field of static around your head. You were dizzy, disoriented, and panting.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice rough with his own need. He flipped you over onto your hands and knees, his body covering yours. One hand gripped your hip, the other finding your wet cunt, sliding two fingers inside you with a groan. “God, you feel…”
He curled his fingers, and a low, sustained current flowed into you. It wasn’t a jolt this time; it was a vibration, a deep, internal thrum that made your muscles clench around him uncontrollably. You cried out, pushing back against his hand, seeking more, always more.
He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at your soaked entrance. “I can’t wait,” he growled, and he pushed into you in one smooth, electric slide.
You both groaned in unison. The feeling of him filling you, stretching you, was magnified a thousandfold by the residual energy buzzing across your skin. He set a fierce, steady pace, each thrust sending new waves of current through you. Tiny arcs of light, visible in the dark room, danced where your skin met his.
“You’re so perfect,” he choked out, his rhythm starting to falter. “So… fucking… perfect.”
His control was slipping. The currents became less precise, more wild, arcing across your back and thighs like miniature lightning storms, each one a jolt of pure ecstasy. You felt the coiling tension in your own belly snap. Your climax ripped through you with the force of a thunderclap, your body seizing around him, milking him, pulling a guttural shout from his lungs.
He drove into you one last, deep time, and you felt the hot, thick ropes of cum fill up inside you as his own quirk short-circuited completely in a final, glorious burst of light and sensation that left you both trembling and collapsed onto the sheets.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing. The air smelled like rain and sex and burnt ozone. Denki shifted, carefully pulling out and rolling to your side, gathering you against his chest where his heart was still hammering against his ribs.
He nuzzled into your hair, his voice a sleepy, satisfied mumble. “…told you I could be gentle.”
You let out a breathless laugh, swatting weakly at his arm. “That was not gentle.”
He grinned, the familiar, cocky spark back in his eyes even as they drooped with exhaustion. “Okay, maybe not. But you liked it.” His hand stroked down your back, a simple, comforting touch now, all the electricity spent. “So… does this mean I get to keep you?”
A breathless laugh escapes you, your body still humming with the aftershocks. “Keep me? You barely survived the first round, Sparky.”
His grin is pure, unadulterated lightning. “Is that a challenge?” He rolls, pinning you gently beneath him again, his weight a familiar and welcome anchor. The playful glint in his gold-flecked eyes is back, but it’s layered now with a deep, possessive warmth that makes your stomach flip. His fingers trace idle, tingling patterns on your hip. “Because I’ve got a whole lot more charge left in me.”
You arch a brow, trying for nonchalance despite the way your pulse is already kicking up again. “Oh yeah? Gonna try and short-circuit me?”
“Nah,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. The contact sends a fresh, gentle buzz through you. “Gonna light you up from the inside.” His hand slides from your hip, down the curve of your thigh, his touch sparking a trail of goosebumps. “Turn you over for me?”
The request is soft, a question, not a command. You answer by shifting under him, rolling onto your stomach, and then pushing up onto your knees. The cool air of the room hits your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he settles behind you. His hands glide over your ass, squeezing gently, worshipfully.
“So damn perfect,” he breathes, and you hear the raw awe in his voice. It unravels something deep within you.
One hand stays on your hip, holding you steady, while the other traces the line of your spine. You tremble, anticipating the spark. It doesn’t come. Instead, he leans forward, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the small space of your back. The sweetness of the gesture is almost overwhelming.
Then his fingers find you again, slick and eager from before. He slides two inside with a low groan, and the stretch is blissful and familiar. “You’re still so ready for me,” he whispers, curling his fingers.
You push back against his hand, a soft moan your only answer. You feel his breath hitch.
“Alright,” he says, his voice dropping into a register that’s all thrilling promise. “Ready?”
His hands come up, palms facing your ears again. That same low hum fills the air, and the world vanishes.
Silence.
It’s absolute. You can’t hear your own breathing, the rustle of the sheets, or the pounding of your own heart. Your vision sharpens on the rumpled comforter in front of you, every fiber in hyper-focus. Your sense of touch becomes your entire universe.
You feel the mattress dip as he moves. You feel the warm, calloused grip of his hands on your hips. The blunt, insistent pressure of him on your cunt.
He pushes in.
The sensation is staggering. The thick, slow stretch of him filling you is all you can process, a blissful, overwhelming invasion. Deprived of sound, the feeling is magnified, drawn out, every millimeter of his entry a seismic event in the void.
He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you both hold there for a timeless moment. You feel the tremble in his thighs pressed against yours. Feel the frantic beat of his heart through where his hands grip your skin.
Then he moves.
The first thrust is a slow, deliberate drag that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. The second is harder, punching a silent gasp from your lungs. He sets a rhythm that is both punishing and perfect, each drive sending shockwaves of pure sensation through your silent world.
You feel his control begin to fray at the edges. A faint, pleasant tingle starts where his hands hold you, a precursor. It spreads, a low-voltage current skating over your skin, making every nerve ending sing. It’s not enough. You push back against him, a wordless plea for more.
He understands.
The next thrust is accompanied by a sharp, brilliant crackle. A jolt of his Quirk, perfectly aimed, arches through your core. Your back bows, a silent cry trapped in your throat as the electricity intertwines with the friction of his cock, creating a feedback loop of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. It whites out your mind, leaving only feeling.
“God… you feel it….” The words are a vibration against your back, a muffled rumble you feel more than hear. He’s losing his grip on the sensory deprivation, his own pleasure breaking his concentration.
Another thrust. Another, stronger surge of power. It lights up your insides, every nerve screaming in ecstasy. You can feel him everywhere—the solid heat of him pistoning inside you, the electric current weaving around him, and the delicious strain of your muscles. You are nothing but a vessel for the lightning he’s conducting through you.
His pace becomes frantic and erratic. The sensory deprivation field flickers, sound rushing back in waves—his ragged, grunting breaths, the wet, slapping rhythm of your bodies meeting, your own high, keening whines.
“I can’t… I’m gonna…” he chokes out, his voice strained.
The dam inside you shatters. Your orgasm erupts without warning, a silent, convulsing wave that locks every muscle in your body. You clamp around him, milking him, and the sensation pushes him over the edge.
With a guttural shout that seems to shake the room, he drives into you one last, deep time. You feel the hot, pulsing release of his cum inside you, a flood of warmth that seems to go on and on. His Quirk short-circuits in a final, glorious burst, a cascade of sparks that dance across your skin like tiny stars before fizzling out.
The silence he’d created snaps back completely, leaving you both in a heap on the bed, panting and trembling. He collapses over your back, his weight heavy and satisfying. You can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your spine.
His thumb strokes your cheek, the simple touch still buzzing with the faintest remnant of his power. That dazed, lottery-winning grin hasn’t left his face. “Told you I had more charge.”
You shift against him, your skin hypersensitive and still humming. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you,” he says, and the raw honesty in it makes your breath catch. He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that tastes like exhaustion and ozone. When he pulls back, he wrinkles his nose playfully. “We’re kinda… sticky.”
A laugh bubbles out of you. “You think?”
He shifts, sitting up and pulling you with him. “C’mon. My shower’s big enough for two.” He stands, offering a hand, his lean form silhouetted against the city lights bleeding through his window. You take it, and a tiny, happy arc of electricity jumps from his palm to yours, a secret little hello.
His bathroom is surprisingly tidy, all clean lines and warm light. He turns on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before guiding you under the spray. It’s blissfully hot, washing away the sweat and the lingering static. He reaches for a bottle of shampoo, but you intercept his hand.
“My turn,” you murmur, squeezing a dollop into your palm.
He looks surprised, then delighted. “Yeah?”
You nod, working the lather through his surprisingly soft blond hair. His eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh escaping him as you massage his scalp. It’s domestic. Intimate in a way that makes your chest feel tight. You rinse his hair, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the strong column of his neck. Your hands slide down his chest, over the defined muscles of his abdomen, and he watches you through half-lidded, gold-flecked eyes, his breath hitching.
Your fingers curl around his length, already hardening again under your touch. His head falls back against the tile with a soft thud. “Fuck…”
You stroke him slowly, the water sluicing over your joined hands. “You recover fast, Sparky.”
He captures your wrist, not to stop you, but to feel your pulse against his thumb. “It’s you. You’re my catalyst.” He turns you gently, pressing you against the warm, wet tile. His body molds to your back, his erection nestling against the cleft of your ass. “Want to feel you,” he breathes into your ear, his voice low and wanting. “Like this.”
One hand slips down your stomach, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps. He doesn’t tease. His fingers find your clit, and you gasp, arching back against him. He circles the sensitive nub, once, twice, with a maddening softness. Then his fingertips begin to glow, a faint golden aura surrounding them.
The first spark is a gentle zap, a direct hit that makes your knees buckle. He holds you up, his arm a strong band across your torso. “Okay?” he murmurs, his voice thick with concern and desire.
“More than okay,” you manage to choke out, pushing your hips back against him.
He lets out a ragged breath, and the current intensifies. It’s not a jolt anymore; it’s a sustained, vibrating hum of pure energy, focused entirely on that one exquisite point. It’s like every nerve ending in your body has rerouted itself to where his fingers are working magic. Your vision blurs at the edges, the sound of the shower fading into a distant roar. The sensory world narrows to the water on your skin, the cool tile at your back, and the electrifying pleasure building between your legs.
His other hand joins, sliding down, two fingers pushing inside you with ease. He crooks them, finding that perfect spot, and sends another, deeper pulse of electricity straight into your core.
You cry out, the sound echoing off the tiles. Your inner muscles clench around his fingers, trying to milk the sensation. It’s too much. It’s not enough. The dual assault—the precise, vibrating torment on your clit and the deep, throbbing current inside you—is unraveling you completely.
“Denki…” It’s a plea, a prayer.
He understands. He withdraws his fingers, and you nearly sob at the loss. He turns you around to face him, his eyes dark with primal need. He hoists you up effortlessly, your back against the tile, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He guides himself to your entrance, and with one powerful thrust, he’s buried inside you.
The water cascades over your joined bodies. He holds still for a moment, just feeling you, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re everything,” he whispers, the words barely audible over the spray.
Then he begins to move. It’s a different rhythm now—deep, rolling thrusts that leverage the wall for support. Each one rocks through you, hitting that same deep spot his fingers found. His control over his Quirk is seamless now, a part of the act itself. With every inward thrust, a wave of that same vibrating energy courses through his cock and into you, lighting up your entire nervous system.
You’re so close, teetering on a precipice made of lightning. You can feel your own release coiling, tight and urgent. He feels it too. His movements become more frantic, his breathing ragged in your ear.
“Look at me,” he gasps. “I wanna see you.”
Your eyes, which had screwed shut from the intensity, flutter open. You meet his gaze. The gold in his irises is practically shimmering, alive with power and adoration. It’s that look that pushes you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a breaking wave, a silent, screaming release that seizes every muscle in your body. You clench around him, and the sensation is his undoing. With a guttural groan, he drives into you one last, final time, his own climax triggering a massive, uncontrolled surge of his Quirk.
It’s not Sparks. It’s a flashbulb pop of pure energy that whites out your vision for a second. The pleasure is magnified a thousand times, electrifying every cell as you feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release filling you, claiming you. The creampie is a warm, satisfying flood amidst the electric storm, a grounding point in the overwhelming sensory chaos.
The current dies as quickly as it came. He slumps against you, both of you trembling, held up by the wall and the water. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin. “I think… I actually short-circuited that time,” he mumbles, his voice slurred with spent pleasure.
You can only hold onto him, your own body humming with the aftermath. The water begins to run cool. He slowly, carefully, lowers you until your feet touch the floor, though your legs feel like jelly. He reaches behind you and turns off the shower.
The sudden silence is deafening. He grabs a large, fluffy towel and wraps it around you, then one for himself. He’s watching you, a soft, wondering expression on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a wondering, breathless, “Wow, how did I get so fucking lucky?”