a penny for my thoughts

Babe writes for fun ~ 20 yrs of old

[thesunshineshere]

hiiii I need moots <3

*interest are in hastags*

[zomquette]

Bites and Scratches

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sneaking around with your secret relationship with Daryl proves harder and harder with each passing day. It wasn't that you were ashamed or embarrassed of each other - you just didn't want the others knowing that part of your lives when so much was already in the open. However, after a particularly rough night and awkward post-morning, the cat's out of the bag. But not in the way you'd hoped.

warnings: Sex injury, suggestive dialogue, smut flashbacks, graphic smut (blowjob, m!receiving), injury, swearing, probably. Kenny is an antagonist character I made up, which is basically a prob lol.

You woke to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the scratchy blanket tangled halfway down the bed, but the kind that breathed against your bare skin, slow and steady. Daryl’s arm was slung low across your waist, rough fingertips ghosting over your stomach in lazy, unconscious strokes, his breath brushing the curve of your shoulder. His leg was half-draped over yours, anchoring you to the mattress like he didn’t trust you not to up and leave.

The guard tower wasn’t exactly luxury living, but it had two things you both craved more than a decent mattress—privacy and a lock. After three days of him being gone on a hunting run, privacy had become very necessary.

Your thighs ached. So did your hips. And your voice, judging by the way it cracked the second you tried to clear your throat. Jesus.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open before Daryl stirred behind you, his mouth pressing sleepily to your shoulder blade, then lower—across your spine, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs. You shivered.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice all gravel, the low drawl rumbling through your spine as his hand slid up under the blanket to cup your breast—slow, possessive, and so damn familiar it sent a shiver down your aching thighs.

His thumb dragged over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak with infuriating gentleness. You sucked in a breath, your body twitching under his as his knee slid between your legs like muscle memory, his hips already starting that lazy grind against your ass.

“Daryl—” your voice broke off in a strained gasp as his teeth found your shoulder, biting down just enough to make your hips jerk. “Oh, fuck—baby…”

He groaned into your skin, rolling his hips again, slower this time, deeper. “One more time, cmon…”

You didn’t have the heart to stop him at first. The heat in your stomach lit fast—your body wanted him, wanted to forget how sore you were and let him take you again just because it felt so good to be under him, with him.

But your thighs trembled, already overworked, and there was a dull, nagging throb in your hip from how hard you’d gripped him last night—maybe from when he’d half-dragged you back up the wall after you’d collapsed around his fingers, begging for more.

“Daryl,” you rasped again, twisting to catch his face with your hand. His eyes were hazy, already half-lost in the feel of you, pupils blown wide as he kissed a slow line down your neck. “I can’t baby—I’m too sore.”

He froze mid-motion, forehead resting against your shoulder, panting quietly. You felt the exact moment guilt settled over him like a wet blanket.

“Shit,” he muttered again, softer this time. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—I thought…”

“You thought right,” you said with a breathless, teasing smile. “I want to. I just physically can’t.”

His face flushed as he leaned up, cupping your jaw to kiss you—slow, apologetic, worshipful. “M’sorry. Just—got home and you were already waitin’ in bed, lookin’ at me like that…”

“I was naked,” you reminded him, laughing weakly.

“Exactly.” He kissed your cheek. “What was I supposed to do? Be a gentleman?”

You laughed again, softer, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed down your chest, nosing at the curve of your breast like he wasn’t ready to let go of the idea just yet.

You turned your head just enough to catch his guilty expression. “Don’t apologize,” you rasped, still half-smiling. “Just… maybe gimme a day to re-learn how to walk.”

You gazed at him then; his hair was a mess—flattened on one side, sticking up on the other, the kind of disaster only deep sleep (and other activities) could make. Yours… probably matched. Longer, wilder, and currently hiding most of your face when you peeked up at him.

“I really thought we were gonna break that bed frame.”

“We did.” He grinned into your skin. “You didn’t hear it snap when I—?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” He pressed another kiss between your breasts, slow and warm. “Totally worth it.”

His voice softened then, the humor fading just slightly. His lips brushed over the faint bruises he’d left on your ribs, fingertips moving with featherlight reverence like he could soothe the ache from the outside. “You really hurtin’?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his tangled hair. “A very sexy, grunting truck that doesn’t believe in pacing himself.”

He snorted, the sound muffled against your belly. “Told ya I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you said, threading both hands into his hair and tugging gently to guide him back up. “But I swear, if you even look at me with that face right now, I’ll kick you in the balls to even the score.”

He grinned, and gave you one last, lingering kiss—soft and slow, all lips and breath and whispered apology—before finally pulling back and reaching for your shirt. “Alright, alright. You win. But tonight?”

“Tonight I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about waking me up with your dick.”

His expression was utterly unrepentant. “I’ll be gentle.”

“You never are.”

“Takes one ta know one,” he muttered against your skin. “I ain’t never seen you like that. Was like you were tryna kill me last night.”

“I think we both tried to kill each other,” you murmured back. “Four times.”

“Five times,” he corrected. “You don’t remember the time where you bit me?”

You blinked, confused. “Bit you?”

He leaned up, pulling his hair back with one hand to reveal a faint purpling crescent just under his jaw. You stared at it.

“I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with a crooked grin.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine,” he said grinning.

Faint now—barely a shadow of purple—but when his fingers brushed that mark, fresh out of bed and still hazed in the best possible way, the memory hit like a fuckin’ freight train.

He could still feel it. The pressure of your teeth sinking into that tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just desperate.

You didn’t mean to. You were barely there.

One minute he’d had you on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hands curled into the sheets like they were the only things keeping you tethered. He was over you, in you, grinding so deep and slow it was less a thrust and more a claiming—rhythmic, relentless. Sweat dripping off his skin onto yours. His thighs snug to the backs of yours, his hand gripping your hip so tight his knuckles ached the next morning.

Your body was boneless, trembling, oversensitive from everything he’d already done to you. He’d taken his time—fingers, mouth, words. Wrecked you soft first. Had you sobbing into his chest with nothing but a hand between your legs and his voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how sweet you tasted, how long he was gonna take his time tonight.

And then he’d flipped you.

And then he sank into you.

He hadn’t even meant to go that deep. But your hips arched into it, seeking more without words. Your mouth had fallen open in a soundless moan. Your hands fluttered—reaching for him, for the pillow, for anything—but settling on nothing. It was like your body couldn’t decide what to hold onto because it was too busy falling apart.

You didn’t say his name. You whimpered it.

And he’d lost it.

“Yeah, baby,” he’d growled into your hair, the tip of his nose dragging along your scalp. “That’s it. Doin’ so good. Attagirl.”

Your only answer was a sob. Not from pain. From need.

And then it happened.

Your head tilted. Just barely.

And your mouth latched onto the side of his neck.

Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to bite. To mark him. To hold onto something solid while your brain turned to static.

It startled him. For half a second, he paused—not his hips, not the thrust—but in his mind. That flicker of shock. Of fuck.

But then he groaned. Deep in his throat. Low.

Because it was you. Biting him like that. Because you were so far gone, so soaked and soft and open for him, that you needed your teeth to ground yourself.

And he couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice and he drove into it like he was trying to become part of you. His hand slid up to the base of your neck, not to push you away, but to hold you there. Keep you close. Keep you biting.

You moaned against his skin, mouth still open, teeth still sunk into him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing—like it was just instinct. Just need.

His rhythm picked up. Harsher. Filthier. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your muffled cries against his neck.

“You want it that bad?” he’d rasped, eyes shut, trying to keep himself from blowing then and there. “That gone already, huh baby?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but bite down again, just a little tighter, and whimper something that didn’t even sound like language.

He felt you break around him right there.

Felt the way your whole body tensed. The way you gasped against his neck. The way your walls fluttered around his cock like your body was trying to keep him, pull him deeper, own him.

It undid him.

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your shoulder, chest caving in with the force of it. It was one of those orgasms that left him shaking—like his body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore. It felt like it went on forever, the way he kept filling you—

“Daryl?” you mumbled, voice raw and sleep-rough, laced with that hoarse rasp that hadn’t quite left since last night. “You good?”

He flinched, blinking hard—ripped clean out of the memory, the phantom feel of your teeth still tingling beneath his skin. His hand dropped immediately, and he turned slightly, eyes darting anywhere but your bare, tangled figure behind him.

“Yeah. M’fine,” he muttered, clearing his throat a little too fast, a little too loud, like that’d somehow cover up the very obvious problem still tenting the blanket.

You stirred against the sheets, shifting slow and ginger like every muscle ached. “Where’re my clothes?” you croaked, trying to sit up before groaning and falling flat again. “Oh my god. I can’t feel my spine.”

Daryl still couldn’t look at you directly. Not yet. Not while his dick was throbbing against the fabric like it had plans.

Your eyes fluttered open, searching blearily for him. “Daryl?”

He glanced toward the window to avoid the sight of your completely naked body spread out like a goddamn painting—and that’s when he saw it.

Your bra.

Swaying gently from where it had somehow ended up hooked on the balcony railing, one strap dangling out into the open air like it was waving good morning to the world.

He stared at it.

Then blinked.

Then let out the quietest “shit” under his breath.

“What?” you asked, brow furrowed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just scratched the back of his neck and nodded toward the open window. “Uh. Found it.”

You followed his line of sight.

Saw it.

And groaned like someone had punched you in the soul. “Oh no. Tell me that wasn’t out there all night.”

“Dunno,” he muttered, already moving toward the door. “Wind must’a caught it or somethin’…”

“Or you threw it,” you countered, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled scream. “Oh my god.”

He got up, throwing off the blanket and stepping out completely naked without a care in the world, grimacing slightly as the morning sun hit his bare chest. He grabbed the bra and yanked it off the railing like it had personally offended him, muttering, “Least it didn’t land in the fuckin’ tomato patch.”

You saw the moment his mind wandered. He paused there, bare back rising and falling with each deep breath, cock hard and heavy between his legs, bobbing faintly as he stood in the sun.

You watched him cross the tower, completely bare and unbothered, like the sunlight wasn’t striping every muscle of his back in gold. His steps were loose, fluid, still heavy from sleep and the kind of night that left you both bruised and breathless.

Your body ached—hips sore, thighs humming with the kind of exhaustion that edged into satisfaction—but your mouth; that still worked just fine.

And you moved.

Blanket slinking off your skin, your knees dragging slowly over the cold cement floor, crawling towards him like some animal, naked and hungry. You knelt behind him, letting the early light warm your back, and reached around him with both hands—one to steady yourself, the other to wrap around the base of him, hot and pulsing in your grip.

He twitched.

You leaned forward and kissed the tip. Soft, reverent. He didn’t say a word—just braced his palms on the railing and let you have him.

Your lips parted and you took him in slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside, feeling him swell in your mouth as his breath hitched, chest tightening. You worked him deeper, steady strokes of your hand matching the hollow of your cheeks, spit glistening as it slipped down your chin, but you didn’t care. You loved him like this—quiet and coiled, trembling under your touch, too focused on keeping still to remember how to breathe.

And then—

“Daryl?”

The voice struck like a match.

Rick. Of course.

You froze. Only for a second.

He didn’t.

His hands flexed hard on the railing. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense, the sharp pull of his stomach, the way his cock jumped against your tongue.

But he didn’t push you away.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked and he coughed, tried again. “Y-Yeah?”

You didn’t stop. You licked a stripe from base to tip, then sealed your mouth around him again and sucked slow, just to see if he’d twitch. He did.

“What’re you doin’ up there?” Rick called. “Ain’t your shift.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched. You could see it even from below. One hand stayed planted on the railing. The other dropped down to your head, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide you—just to ground himself. You weren’t sure if he was about to come or pass out.

“Laundry,” he said gruffly. “Flew up here.”

You grinned around him. He could feel it.

There was a long beat of silence.

You slid down further, taking him deeper. Your nose bumped his skin, your tongue pressed firm and flat, your hand twisting in rhythm just below your mouth.

“You alright?” Rick’s voice again. “You sound winded.”

“I’m fine,” Daryl bit out, throat straining. “Hot up here. Sun’s right on the damn glass.”

You moaned, low and thick, letting the vibration hit the base of his cock like a shockwave.

His breath stuttered. His hips jolted forward.

And you felt it—the shift.

That sharp tremble that raced up his legs, through his stomach, into his hands. He was close. Fighting it. Losing.

Rick’s voice droned on in the background, something about the southern fence line, something about wood supplies, but Daryl wasn’t listening. Couldn’t.

His grip in your hair tightened—not rough, just desperate. His body hovered on the edge, every muscle locked down, trying to stay still while his cock twitched in your throat.

And then—

Rick turned. Walked away. His boots echoed down the pavement. The sound faded.

Gone. Finally.

And Daryl broke.

He came with a groan that shook loose from his chest like it had been trapped there, hips jerking forward as his release spilled hot and fast down your throat. You took all of it—held him deep, swallowed hard, one hand still moving, coaxing every last twitch from him until he was sagging against the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.

His breath heaved in ragged gasps, body gleaming with sweat, legs shaking.

You pulled off him with a slick pop, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed the sharp jut of his hip.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t decide whether to collapse or kiss you stupid.

You were already smiling.

Still on your knees. Still wrecked from the night before. But pleased. So fucking pleased.

You arched a brow. “Still hot up here?”

He swallowed thickly. “You’re an evil woman.”

You got up, snatched the bra from him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. “That’s why ya love me.”

He mumbled in response, something in between a a hum of agreement and ‘shut up’.

He gave you an exasperated look before shaking his head. You just sucked him off and you're acting like it's just another Tuesday?

"It is Tuesday," you said, still smirking.

Had he said that out loud!?

“We didn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug, tugging his pants on. “Ain’t my fault.”

“You’re the one who kept saying ‘just one more time.’”

“Yeah, well…” He looked down at you and gave the softest smile, all warm and wrecked and adoring. “I missed ya.”

You stared up at him for a long second, eyes soft, before reaching out and curling your fingers around his wrist. “I missed you too, Dixon. Just… maybe tonight we try sleep instead of cardio?”

“No promises,” he muttered, bending to kiss you once more—slow, sweet, and maddeningly deep.

He bent to grab his shirt from the chair, the morning light catching the planes of his back — and your breath caught mid-inhale.

“Oh… my god.”

He half-turned, brows drawing together, but you were already moving.

“Turn around,” you murmured, low but firm, your hands already finding his hips and guiding him to face away from you.

The sight made your stomach tighten — angry red lines raked across the breadth of his back, some shallow, some deeper, all raw against his skin, with the faintest shadow of a bite mark blooming at the base of his neck. You stepped in close, the heat radiating off him soaking into your bare skin, your palms smoothing over his sides before trailing up his back, fingertips skimming the raised welts like maybe your touch could erase them.

“Baby… oh my god, does that not hurt?” The words came out soft, almost guilty, your hands still roaming over his skin like you were cataloging every mark.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he said with a shrug, but that casual dismissal only made your chest tighten more.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, stepping around to face him fully. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, before you hid your face behind them. “I didn’t even realize I—god, that’s embarrassing.”

Before you could retreat, his larger hands closed gently around your wrists, pulling them down until your face was bare to him again. One hand lingered, cradling your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’,” he repeated, quieter now, like he wanted you to believe it.

You huffed, half-guilty, half-bewildered. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

His other hand slid from your wrist to your hip, holding you close enough that the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours. “Didn’t wanna,” he muttered, eyes darting away.

Your brows lifted.

“Not ‘cause it hurt—” he rushed to add, gaze skimming over your shoulder, “just… means you were feelin’ good.”

A slow smirk tugged at your mouth, and your hands smoothed up into his hair for just a second before you pulled away toward the shelf.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, following you with his eyes.

“Still getting the aloe,” you tossed over your shoulder.

He scoffed under his breath, but didn’t move — and you caught the faintest hint of a smile, like he wouldn’t mind if you came back and fussed over him some more.

⸻

The midday sun beat down hard against the metal fence as sweat slipped past your temples, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The walkers had been pressing harder against the perimeter lately, enough that the mesh was starting to bend inward, groaning under the weight of too many rotting bodies with just enough instinct left to keep pushing. Reinforcements were long overdue, so the plan now was brute force—wedging thick wooden beams against the metal at key points to keep the wall from collapsing entirely.

“Kenny,” Daryl grunted, his shoulder wedged up beneath the weight of the log, “if you drop this damn thing, I swear—”

“I’m not gonna drop it,” Kenny shot back, clearly straining. “This thing weighs more than a truck.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed with the tomato plants,” you muttered as you crouched low, ducking beneath the beam. “Hold it steady—I gotta mark where we need to dig.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it quick,” Kenny puffed, the whites of his knuckles visible as he shifted his grip.

You dropped to lie down on your back in the dirt, fingers dragging through the dry soil as you carved out a rough guide with the blade of your knife. Daryl’s boot was inches from your head, the edge of his shirt hiked up just enough to expose the shallow curve of his lower back—and the faint red streaks etched into the skin there. Your scratches. Last night’s scratches.

And then there was also the very noticeable bite mark which he had tied a bandana around, which had now shifted to reveal it.

Kenny’s eyes landed on them.

The bite. The scratches.

And then everything went to hell.

“Holy shit—is that a bite?” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a gunshot.

You didn’t even have time to react. The beam jerked violently in his grip, and before Daryl could rebalance it, the weight tipped sideways—crashing down hard onto your ribcage.

The sound that tore out of you wasn’t quite a scream—it was a crack, and then a wheezing grunt as the air got knocked clean out of your lungs. You folded instantly, body trapped awkwardly beneath the log, head lolling back into the dirt as pain shot like lightning in your torso.

“Shit!” Daryl bellowed, his voice already ragged with fury. “Get it off her!”

A blur of boots surrounded you—Rick, Maggie, Tyreese—all rushing to help. Hands grabbed the beam and heaved, straining against the weight until it finally lifted just enough. Daryl dropped to his knees and yanked you free, cradling your body to his chest like it weighed nothing, like you were made of feathers instead of broken bones.

Kenny staggered backwards, pale and jittery, eyes locked on Daryl. “I—I saw scratches, man! Guys, he's got scratches and a bite!”

“You dropped it on her—’cause of that?” Daryl’s voice was pure fire now, a sharp growl ripping from his throat as he lunged.

Kenny stumbled, tripping over his own feet. “I didn’t mean to—!”

“Daryl!” Rick barked, intercepting just in time, shoving a firm arm across Daryl’s chest before he could close the distance. “That’s enough! Where’d the scratches and the bite come from?”

Everyone froze. All eyes were on him.

Daryl’s jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that he wasn’t throttling someone.

You sucked in a shallow breath from the dirt, ribs screaming, and rasped out, “It was me, alright?”

Confusion rippled through the group.

You forced yourself upright with a grimace, brushing Daryl’s hand off as you tried to sit but failing miserably. You collapsed halfway again, coughing, and Daryl was immediately back beside you, kneeling so close his thigh pressed against your hip.

His voice dropped to that soft gravel only you ever seemed to get. “Hey. You good? Look at me.”

You turned your face toward the sound, your expression pinched but dry-eyed. “Might’ve cracked a rib,” you muttered, only half-joking. “Feels like something’s doing jazz hands in my lung.”

His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone, eyes scanning your face like he needed to memorise every twitch and wince.

“Lemme see,” he murmured, already tugging your shirt up slowly, carefully, as if touching too fast might break you further.

The collective silence behind you stretched long. You were aware of every set of eyes watching as Daryl pushed your shirt up to reveal the angry red welt blooming across your side, his palm skimming up the bare skin of your waist to brace you steady while he looked.

And that was the moment it all clicked—for everyone.

Daryl’s hand was on your bare skin, thumb moving slowly, reverently over the rising bruise like he could soothe it just by touch. The way he held you—tender, intimate, like someone he loved—left no room for confusion.

You caught Rick’s glance toward Maggie, the slight raise of her eyebrows, and Tyreese's shuffling.

Daryl didn’t care.

“You should’ve stayed back,” he muttered, still crouched beside you, still holding your shirt like he hadn’t noticed half your stomach was on display. “Told ya I’d do the damn marking.”

“Yeah, well.” You winced, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t wanna make Kenny feel useless.”

“Think he managed that all on his own.”

“Still gonna punch him?” you asked, breathless but smirking through it.

Daryl’s jaw flexed, his voice low and flat. “Later. Let’s get ya to Hershel.”

Before you could protest, his arm slid around your waist, hauling you up from the dirt like you were weightless. His palm stayed warm and steady at your side, guiding you away without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

The three still by the fence just stared at Kenny.

“What?” Kenny said, holding his hands up. “Hey, how was I supposed to know those were not walker scratches?!”

“Because he got them while he was in the watch tower, dumbass,” Rick muttered.

"But the bite-"

"He would have gotten a fever by now," said Maggie.

Kenny blinked, then his eyebrows shot up like the penny had just dropped. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin spreading. “Ohhh. So that’s what that was. Damn, Dixon—”

From up ahead, without turning around, Daryl growled, “Shut up, Kenny.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, leaning a little heavier into Daryl’s side. “Guess the secret’s out,” you murmured.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but his hand on your hip didn’t loosen one bit.

[cathnospam]

I think when you ride Bakugo for the first time he accidentally lets his quirk go off, because it felt THAT good and it’s embarrassing.

He has popped a few small explosions in the beginning of your sexual relationship during making out and even when you both first had sex, but after a few bruising and burn marks on your ass and thigh…and extremely close to your pussy he’s since learned to control it better for both of your sake.

However tonight he was tired, but also horny and when that happens he usually asks if you can suck his dick orrrrr ride his face, but he didn’t just want either he wanted to be inside you. He needed your warmth in both ways, he’s been craving you all day for some reason.

And you knew so you suggested to take charge this evening and he reluctantly obliged…..a little.

But if he would have known you’d be a PRO at fucking his dick he’d ask you to do it more.

“Fucking—-shit oh fuck keep goin’! Please—-“

The bed creaking and the room being blanketed with the slapping of your ass down against his thighs, the melodies of you and Katsuki groaning in pleasure, you had both your hands beside his head as you grip his pillow, having just a faint view of his slick, white, creamed shaft plunge in and out of you.

Your face lowered into his neck, taking a long stripe of a lick up his ear, your giggles mask the whimpers of his name, “You feel so good, ‘Suki….~”

His face was flushed red, he can usually contain his noises, but you felt too fucking good he became more vocal, “Fuck me! Fuck me please just like that don’t stop!”

Your tits were right in his face, his body was shaking right under you, hearing his muffled groans vibrate on your nipple felt delicious to the point you began to grind against him, “‘Sukiiiii fuck!”

Pants and slaps got more intense, echoing through your empty hallway Bakugo’s warm sweaty hands spreads your ass further apart to feel you completely and begins to fuck up into you, your hands flew to his shoulders for stability and your head was back while you bit your lip feeling the was his dick hit the sweet spot on the right side of your pussy just how you like, “‘Suki! Right there!”

When he felt you tighten around him he latched onto your neck when you’re close and thrusted faster inside you, It was like his body was on auto pilot and he needed to cum with you.

That was until your fatty flesh started to burn.

“Kat—!”

“Sssshit!” He slurred with your titty falling out of his mouth feeling his quirk activate a little his hands flew immediately to the sheets, small pops and crackles burning the fabric a little, he pats the smoke down in a panic. Don’t need to burn your shared apartment down due to yall being freaky frogs.

Your body was still, subconsciously frowning and breathing through your mouth since your so so close orgasm was fading, when you both made eye contact. His face was redder than it was a few seconds ago and you began to giggle, “You haven’t done that in so long….”

“Shut up.” Sitting up he pulls you up, you could feel his rapid heart rate so harshly it felt like it was ganna pop out his chest, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am i don’t mind a little pain…but are you okay?”

As embarrassing as it was Bakugo actually couldn’t control his quirk that time with the new sensation of you being on top. He’s usually able to when he’s in charge, but this time he was caught off guard in a moment of passion to the point he was overwhelmed and just let his power go off.

“I’ll work on fixing that.”

“Yeah yeah I know you will. I did good though huh….had you cumming in min—-

“Shut—-“ Bakugo grunts flipping you on your back, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. He will be DAMNED if you catch him off guard like that again, it was almost like he got a second wind and more energy because for you to make him feel THAT good almost felt …wrong. THATS HIS JOB to make YOU feel good.

And from your screams not even moments later when he slid back inside you, he did just that.

He’s never admit it though that you will be riding him more often, he just has to find a way for it to always be your idea and not his, because Bakugo “never” begs.

[olivebowl-deactivated20251125]

tonight i bring u dad bkg who just wants to fuck his wife . tomorrow? who knows. (probably more bkg it's all i do)

it’s hungry, the way he’s got you— katsuki’s mouth all over you, teeth on your shoulder, breath hot against your throat, hands everywhere, greedy and starved. the sun isn’t even up but you can feel it— his need, your own. the room is cool, but every inch of you he touches burns.

you’re spread out beneath him, legs bracketed around his hips, one hand fisted in his wild morning hair. katsuki’s biting off his own sounds, gritting his teeth to keep quiet, rutting slow and desperate. you keep arching into him, biting your lip so hard you might bruise.

“god, baby, fuck.” he whispers, so close you can feel his voice more than hear it, his hips rocking against you, his fingers tangled with yours, your other hand clamped over your mouth so you don’t cry out for the whole house to hear.

he’s shaking, sweating, muttering filth into your ear— and you’re both about to come, strung out and so, so close. you can feel him tense, that ragged, trembling edge where he’s about to lose it, and he can feel you right there with him.

and then—

that tiny voice, floating from down the hall:

“… mama?”

you both freeze— katsuki’s eyes blown wide, panic and pure devastation in his face.

“he’ll go back to sleep,” he gasps, rutting his hips once more, desperate, “just a sec, babe, please, i’m so fucking close—”

but then the door handle rattles.

a second soft, and more insistent, “mama?” follows.

the two of you jump— a full-body, heart-stopping jolt. heads bonk together in your mad scramble for decency, you yelping and clutching your forehead, katsuki cursing under his breath, caught mid-thrust and now halfway off the bed.

he’s quick, but not quick enough to avoid smacking his forehead into yours a second time as you both try to untangle. he curses again, but then he softens instantly, cradling your face and kissing your forehead (right where it hurts) with a breathless, sheepish, “sorry, babe, shit— my skull’s a weapon.”

you snort, muffling laughter into your pillow, and hiss at the ache, eyes watering as you hear your little boy outside the door.

rock-paper-scissors is out the window; katsuki’s already grabbing for pyjama pants, grumbling the whole way, but his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen. “don’t think this gets you off the hook. you owe me. i’m collecting during nap time.”

you stick your tongue out, shameless, watching his back as he pads to the door.

he opens it a crack, hair wild, eyes tired but warm. “what’s up, bud? s’early y’know? me ‘nd mama were sleepin’.”

kichiro blinks up at him, fox plush squished against his chest. “wanna make pancakes, papa. but i want mama.”

katsuki sighs, defeated cause he wanted mama too, and just shakes his head, reaching down to ruffle kichiro’s hair— his hair, copied and plastered onto his sons little head. “yeah, alright. mama's sleepin', gotta let her or she'll get cranky 'rember? gimme a sec, buddy.” the kid nods, shuffles off toward the kitchen, and katsuki throws one last look over his shoulder— full of promise, of bratty pettiness, but mostly affection. “nap time” he mouths, pointing at you with a mock glare.

you grin into the pillow, heart pounding, equal parts frustrated and full. because, really— this is everything you wanted. messy, chaotic, too much love to fit in one bed.

(and nap time is coming. god help you.)

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Anniversary

Kishibe x Reader smut. 18+ only MDNI. AO3

you can buy me a Ko.fi here, if you like!

7.5k words

You and Kishibe have been hooking up casually for a long time now. A year, exactly. You don't realize it, but he does. When he invites you over tonight, you start to get the feeling he has something else on his mind.

Content Includes: penetrative sex, oral sex, (he eats it from the back because I said so), uncomfortable conversations about the nature of relationships, choking, smoking, spanking, orgasm denial. it's nasty, hot, and wet idk what else to say. Kishibe may be OOC but i think hes more of a romantic than people think

It started so casually. You had been at the bar, too focused on the book sat open in front of you to see him moving to the seat one away from yours. Not that you would have minded, the reason you had come to the bar to read in the first place was to avoid being bored out of your mind at home. He opened the conversation, asking what you had to drink and if you wanted another. His intentions were clear from the jump, that’s what Kishibe was like: direct. He never seemed to have interest in ambiguous flirting. He spoke to you clearly and asked questions with easy answers. Even answered a few of your own. That night when he invited you to his place after last call. The sex had been excellent; he was focused and skilled, rough and passionate enough to keep you cumming over and over, but it wasn’t intimate, you could both feel the veil between the two of you. You hadn’t expected to see him again when you finally broke out of the post coital haze and back into your jeans and shoes. 

“You don’t have to leave. You can stay the night if you want.” He offered, sitting up against the headboard, a cigarette bouncing lightly between his lips as he spoke. A small burgundy bruise was beginning to form at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, your handiwork, you likely had a few of your own. 

You finished lacing up your final shoe and stood to grab your bag, “That’s okay, I’ve got an early morning. Thanks for this.” You knew it sounded like a cliche, but you really did have an early start to your day. Even as the words exited your kiss bitten lips, you felt the dread of tomorrow’s workload creeping up on you. 

Kishibe left the bed, sheets still rumpled from rolling around together. He stood before you, still naked, and crossed the room to you. You expected he was getting up simply to lock the door behind you after you left. To your surprise, he took your face in his large hands and kissed you. Not the teeth clashing, tongue tangling kiss of before, but a romantic goodnight kiss. 

“Be careful getting home.” He said, still holding your face, he released you and let his arms fall to his sides, “if I see you at the bar again, think I could bring you back here?” 

“I’d like that.” you were still a lot shocked by the kiss.

You left him that night, and found yourself frequenting that bar more and more. He did find you again, and again, and again. You’d drink together, talk for an hour or so before he would invite you to join him back to his place. Eventually you did start to spend the night, but only on nights when your sessions of pleasure had extended later than was safe to walk home. After the fourth or fifth time you had invited him to your apartment, saying your place was actually a lot closer than his (it was barely a four block difference, just in the other direction). He had slept in your bed, or tried to, smoked on your patio, even showered at your place once or twice if he was running late or met you afterwork and was still grimy. 

Kishibe was not your boyfriend. You were not his girlfriend. You didn’t go out together, the only time you could be seen out together was meeting at the bar and sitting side by side before leaving to one of your homes. More and more often you two would cut out the pageantry of meeting elsewhere and meet up directly at the home of whoever made the call. You knew he worked at Public Safety (the uniform and overall demeanor gave him away), and he knew the rough outline of your job. You didn’t have any complaints, you didn’t think he did either. He was a good fuck and a nice man, you got the sense he wasn’t really that nice of a man, but he was always nice to you. Ample orgasms, warm body to sleep next to, good conversationalist, if a bit reserved. You would often go weeks without seeing each other, before he would call you, voice already dripping whiskey through your phone’s receiver. Or you would call, too much on your mind, body begging for the clarity you’d get after the three or four orgasms he would give you. 

So tonight, when he called and asked you to meet him at a hotel, you were surprised. Of course you still agreed, changing quickly into underwear you felt sexier in than your laying around the house set, refreshing your hair, and packing a small overnight bag with a change of clothes and some toiletries.  It wasn’t until you were standing outside the room number he told you over the phone, in a much nicer hotel than you had expected, that the peculiarity of the situation really started to press on you. Suddenly your jeans and sweater felt sloppy, you wondered why he hadn’t just asked you to meet him at his place. One knock was all that was needed for him to swing the door wide, tie already removed, too few buttons undone on his work shirt, jacket missing. It was rare to see him smile, but here he was, scar crinkling and lips wide. You blinked in surprise at his quick welcome. 

“Hey kid,” he said, his smile easing down as he moved to the side allowing you to step into the lavish suite. 

“Hey.” You stepped inside, you didn’t hate the nickname, you were 20 years younger than him (give or take). In fact, something about it ignited a pulse inside of you that you didn’t care to examine that thoroughly. 

The suite was large, a sitting room with a patterned couch and coffee table comprised the main area, a door behind led to the bedroom, you assumed, and the bathroom was by the entrance. Even just on a side peek, you could see a large bathtub inside. The wall furthest from you was mostly glass, which appeared to let out onto a balcony, overlooking the city. Kishibe had drawn the curtains mostly out of the way, dark fabric fluttering in the window from the open sliding door. You’re sure your face betrayed your awe.  

“Don’t get used to this, alright?,” his breath was hot on the back of your ear, head moved right behind you, one of his hands slipped your bag off of your shoulder, “I got an extension on a job, and they put me up in here.” He set your bag down next to the coffee table, you turned to face him, still trepidacious. 

“So you called me?” 

“Yeah. Seemed like a waste to be here all by myself. You like it?” 

You took another look around the suite before nodding. This was by far the nicest hotel you had ever stayed in, used to mid range single rooms and crappy motels. 

“Why me?” You don’t even really know what you meant by the question, if it was only about the hotel, or if maybe this was a large inquiry about the nature of your relationship with him. 

He laughed, “Come on, kid, it’s not a proposal. I just like having you around. That so hard to believe?” 

He pulled a cigarette from his pack, holding it between his lips before gesturing to the patio behind you, “want a smoke?” 

You did. You needed something to ground your swimming head. You stay stiffly on the rattan patio set smoking your cigarette carefully, not wanting any ash to sully the pristine terrace. In juxtaposition Kishibe seemed completely relaxed, long legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the back of his chair, not caring where his ash may fall. A small ashtray sits on the table between you, the summer night air is thick and sticky, if it weren’t for the soft breeze from being so high up, you would be shedding your top layer already. 

“Relax.” Kishibe exhales the result of a long drag. 

You do. Your shoulders loosen, your spine releases, muscles softening. You take a drag and allow the tobacco and nicotine to soothe your racing thoughts. He looks so good languidly smoking and watching you. He catches you staring and pats his leg, a practiced move you have come to recognize easily. You stand and move to sit on his lap. Immediately he wraps one strong arm around you to support your back. Your own find a home around the back of his neck. His hand moved up and down your back soothingly.

“I didn’t know you were so inflexible.” He teases. 

“Excuse me?” you laugh lightly at him preparing to joke about him knowing how flexible you really could be. 

“Didn’t think a change of scenery would rattle you so much.” his hand on your back sneaks under your top to trace lazy circles on your skin, you feel your body immediately relax under his touch, “You’re never this quiet.” his lips were right against your neck as he spoke, starting to trail hot kisses along the column of your throat. 

You could already feel yourself fighting the urge to rock your hips in his lap, getting wetter from his touches, the buzz in your head of nicotine adding to the haze of pleasure. You moved a hand from his neck down to the front of his shirt, undoing buttons and sliding your hand inside to touch the hair along his chest. His hand on your back traveled down to cup your clothed ass, your head tilted back allowing him better access to your neck and you could no longer keep your hips from rocking against his lap. 

“Guess it was foolish of me to think you’d like something special for our anniversary.” 

Every cell in your body stopped suddenly. Hips stilled, hands immobilized, moans halted despite Kishibe continuing his migration across your throat. You started to push him away, but before you could stand he gripped you tighter. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” His tone was joking, no, teasing. Was he fucking with you? 

Mentally you flipped through your calendar, it hadn’t been summer when you met him. It had been spring, right? It was warm, but not so warm, he had had his coat on. But then you remembered, it was summer. Last summer, exactly 365 days since he had taken you home that first time. He was right. You immediately felt guilty for falling short, but did you really need to? Why would he have even remembered a thing like that? What did dates and anniversaries mean when you weren’t together, when the only thing you did was fuck.

Was that all you did? Yes, right? 

So what if he kept a copy of a book you lent him on his bedside table at his place, small scribbles on slips of paper tucked in between the pages? He wasn’t a very sound sleeper anyway, you just assumed he kept it there for a quick way to lull himself back to sleep on rougher nights. Sure you always made sure to grab an extra bottle of his preferred whiskey for your pantry in case he decided to stop by when you were unprepared. But that was just to save yourself or him a last minute trip to the liquor store. That wasn't a relationship, not even close. You hadn't discussed families or dreams or personal histories, at least not a length. The spare clothes you kept at his place were for convenience, you started smoking his brand of cigarettes when you had run out of your own and bummed one off of him, he started making coffee for you himself instead of walking to the convenience store to save money, not to extend his time with you in the mornings.--Oh my God. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, suddenly every behavior became so loaded, carrying so much intimacy where there previously had been none. But there wasn't none, you just hadn’t paid close enough attention. He had never asked you to be his girlfriend, or even on a date. You didn’t even really eat together, sharing a coffee in the morning and drinks at night. Once or twice you had shared dinner or a late night snack, but never beakfast. Your mind raced examining and reexamining how you had gotten to this point with him, and if you were about to ruin it in your obliviousness. 

Whether it was the sound of your pounding heartbeat or the fact that you had gone mute, Kishibe finally removed his lips from you, his dark eyes patiently scanning your face. He brought his cigarette to his lips and puffed, exhaling through the side of his mouth still waiting for a response from you.

“But…we’re not dating.” was all you could manage. 

His head cocked slightly, brows twitching inward, you could tell he was amused by this whole situation-- whereas you were reeling “no we’re not, but it’s nice to celebrate milestones, isn’t it?”

He fished his flask out of his pants pocket, having to lift his hips, you on top of him, to do so. You knew how strong Kishibe was, you were intimately familiar with how easy it was for him to move you, throw you, fold you, however he wanted. Him arching into you brought his groin up to yours, you could feel him starting to get hard underneath his pants, you sitting on his lap often had this effect on him. Once he had retrieved his flask he held it up to you, you unscrewed it for him, allowing him to keep his other arm around your hips, once again starting to move under your shirt tipping his head back to drink. 

“Kishi, we don’t have an anniversary to celebrate. We aren’t together.” You weren't even sure what point you were trying to get across, whether you were trying to offload the guilt you felt for potentially undervaluing something that could mean a lot to him or just trying to remind yourself and him that you two had never had a conversation about the nature of your relationship. 

He was starting to be less amused, “You don’t feel like a year of good sex is worth celebrating? Guess it wasn’t as good as I thought. Although I don’t hear you complain, much.”

He tipped his flask toward you, punctuating his joke. Was he really messing around about this? 

You nearly accepted, desperately wanting the whiskey inside to bring you back to your senses, but you shook your head, opting to press forward through the discomfort, “Of course it's good. But aren't anniversaries for people who ...I don’t know…belong to each other?” 

You were a smart woman, educated, quick, employed well, you were fucking verbose but in this moment you couldnt string an articulate thought together for the life of you. Words felt jumbled, either too heavy for your casual situation or too dismissive of the ounce of vulnerability he was offering you. Did he mean for this to be the next step? Did he want you to be his girlfriend? Did you want that? How much would it really change? Before tonight everything had felt so simple, relationships were complicated and required patience and expectations, something you weren't sure either of you had time for. What if this was how this ended? What if you began to resent each other and you---

Kishibe tapped his fingers on your temple, “Get out of there. Come back.”

That had jostled you out of your spiral and back into your body, he was still so solid underneath you. Your silence does not seem to have scared him away yet. But he looked thoughtful, observant to your fluctuations, he was paying close attention to you, as though reading your thoughts as they were transcribed onto your forehead. He looked so sincere, eyes soft and warm, his usually furrowed and frustrated brows, relaxed.

“Belong to each other, huh? Look kid, I don’t usually keep up with one person this much. And forgive my assumption but, you don’t either. I like the nights we have together, I like the mornings too. You haven't told me about seeing anyone else, I don't mind if you have, but it certainly doesn't feel like you have been.” Even when he was being sincere he was a cheeky shit, “You don’t have to be my girl, if you don’t want to. Probably shouldn't be stuck with an old man like me, anyway. But I haven't just been wasting time with you the past year.”

Your heart surged, you hadn’t even realized it but you felt it too. Each encounter cracked through your barriers more and more. Even as recently as last week he had stayed at your apartment for two hours after waking up sipping coffee on your patio while you did the morning crossword. It was so domestic, you hadn’t clocked it then, as it was part of your routine. But that was exactly it, it was your routine and he had assimilated so seamlessly. How could you have been so blind?

“Kishi…” you brought your hands to the sides of his face, mirroring his first send off to you, “who knew you were such a romantic.” 

His scruff was rough against your palms, and scratched lightly as his smile rose to his cheeks, “Whaddya say? I like belonging to you, you want to belong to me too?” 

You couldn't deny you were nervous about what this establishment could change about your situation, but you want that so desperately. You had been on your own for so long, you couldn't remember the last relationship you had had. You were out of practice, but so was he, maybe you could figure it out together. 

“I guess happy anniversary.” You smiled leaning down to him and pressing your lips together. 

The hand he had kept on your back pulled you close to his chest, his other hand had abandoned his flask and now gripped your thigh. His mouth tasted so familiar, smoke and alcohol with the undernote of his mouthwash. You were so used to his taste, you rarely even noticed anymore, but with the new perspective this conversation had given you, you reacquainted yourself with what you had been taking for granted. Kishibe has always been a good kisser, directing your mouth against his, lips soft and warm, tongue agile and skilled against yours. What you hadn't realized before was that Kishibe may be the best kisser you had ever known. His teeth seemed to disappear, allowing your tongue ample room to explore his mouth. He knew just when to suck lightly on your bottom lip, when to allow you a quick breath while keeping you breathless against him. His hands wandered freely, one now tangling in the hair at the back of your head as the other slid down the back of your pants to grip the flesh of your ass. The feeling of his calloused hands on your body ignited your nervous system, you felt effervescent. Like champagne just before being popped, fizzy and sparkly. You were panting against him now, pulling away to shift your legs to straddle him in his chair which could just barely fit the pair of you. Your hands cupped his face, rounded his neck, mussed though his hair. You wanted to touch every part of him, feel how new he felt in the wake of your shared confession. Your hips rocked together, he was getting hard again, you could feel him right up against your core. You must have been radiating heat, the way he shuttered. 

“If I knew this is how you’d respond, I’d have asked you to be my woman a long time ago.” Kishibe slid his tongue into your mouth again, now running his hands up and down from the small of your back, to the back of your neck. 

His woman, His. When was the last time you had even entertained the idea of belonging to someone. You were filled with excitement, feeling yourself start to drip into your panties at his possessive words. You started to finish your earlier job of unbuttoning his shirt. Kishibe had an incredible body, caveat of age sure, but also for anyone. Strong muscles built over years, decades, of careful cultivation. He wasn't a cut as maybe he once had been, but the muscles in his abdomen were still clearly visible. Scars littered his whole body, obviously the most apparent being the slash from lip to ear you had felt against your own lips many times, but his torso and back resembled a spider's web, pale lines crossing and crisscrossing, so much pain embedded just under his skin. You found your eyes began to sting with unexpected tears as you beheld him. Breaking the kiss and allowing your hands and eyes to scan over the topography of his body. This was from your first time seeing him shirtless, you had observed his scars while laying together in bed, or in the mornings when he hadn’t yet gotten dressed for work. You wondered about each one, what sort of devil (or man) had marred him, leaving him with another etching. 

“Don’t start getting sentimental over me,” Kishibe slid his hands down your waist, once again knowing exactly what you were thinking looking at him, “I’m not gone yet. You can mourn me later.” 

His dark humor usually lightened you, but this one held a specific truth that you had not yet acknowledged. He was a devil hunter, he fought for his own life near daily. You didn’t know a lot about devils or devil hunting, but you knew it was rare for devil hunters to have survived so long without retiring. There was a very real chance that he could die on you, leaving you heartbroken and alone. But you were too far gone now, you didn’t know how this would end either in tragedy and heartbreak or something more hopeful, but you couldn’t control that now. You could only celebrate being here with him now. 

“That’s your big plan, huh? Get me all obsessed with you just so you can leave someone behind to cry at your funeral?”, you wanted to tease him back, meeting him on his own morbid level. 

He sat up pulling your chest flush against his, “Awe, you’d cry for me?”

“You’re sick.” you giggled kissing him again. 

“Mmmmhm” he mumbled against your lips, finally gripping you tightly to him and standing, his inhuman strength making your full form nothing for him to carry easily. 

Kishibe carried you inside, lips still against yours and brought you into the bedroom you had speculated about earlier. “Switch on the wall, hit it for me” he instructed through desperate kisses. 

Your hand flew out quickly groping the wall by the door frame before finding the rocker switch and pushing the top half, illuminating the space. Kishibe always wanted the lights on, wanting to see you come undone underneath him, see your body writhe and flush under his tongue, his fingers, anything. He had to see you to know it was real. He laid you down on the bed, the duvet was plush and sank lightly under you. This really was a nice hotel. The bed was big with a mattress that perfectly combined support with a soft spongy bounce. You moved back toward the center of the bed, enjoying the luxury as Kishibe stood at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and pants. You shed your own top and wiggled out of your pants, leaving your bra and underwear. Kishibe liked taking them off himself. 

Standing at his full height in front of you, nearly six foot and five inches wearing only his boxers, your heart began to race. The way he looked down at you, with hungry eyes, pupils dilated in lust, lips parted already breathing heavily. He was already leaking against his boxers, a wet spot forming in the dark fabric.

He palmed himself, taking you in, resting on your elbows in barely anything. You had worn his favorite bra of yours, a sheer black underwire unpadded bra, so simple but so classic, he could see your nipples hardening through the material. Your panties matched, barely held together with the thin material, he could tell you had chosen this specifically for him. You had. You knew he liked you in black, and just barely covered. Desperate under his gaze, you moved forward to sit with your knees underneath you. Putting on a little show of crawling toward him, your position on the bed brings you much closer to eye level with him. Locking eyes you moved your hands down the expanse of his shoulders, he was so broad. His muscles twitched under your soft hands, a small groan leaving his lips, Kishibe tended to be quieter than you had expected. Dirty talk was one thing, but allowing himself to moan freely was difficult for him, it felt too vulnerable, too weak somehow. But this was different, things had changed, vulnerability was already present, he had already put himself out there to be rejected and hadn’t been. He felt lighter under your hands, in your gaze. An ever wandering hand of his found its way into your hair, pulling you into another deep kiss. 

“Love that pretty mouth,” he spoke hot against your lips, “show me how talented you are.” 

Your anxiety was shed at his instruction. This was how it had always been with him, he told you just what he wanted and expected you to do the same. Your kisses moved down the his throat, lips becoming raw against the rough texture of his stubble. You liked dragging this part out. Just before giving him what he craved, seeing how far you could push him towards begging. Of course he never did, and likely never would, he was more patient than you and more prideful. But you always tried. You run your tongue down the length of his torso, your own hand replacing his on his clothed erection feeling how swollen and hot he had become. His hand stayed in your hair, gripping the roots tightly as you teased him. Even breaths left him, but the hand betrayed his urgency, he wanted your mouth so badly, he was starting to consider begging when you pressed your face against the precum leaking through the fabric. Hot tongue flopping out to taste him. 

“You’re filthy.” He remarked with a pleased smile coming over him. 

You didn't respond, just nodded, feeling the combination of your saliva and his precum spread over your cheek. Finally you removed his boxers, his painfully hard cock springing free before you. Kishibe is a big man, tall, broad, big hands, big feet, he took up too much room in your bed, he ducked under doorways and struggled to find pants long enough, and his cock was no exception. Around eight inches in length, heavy balls underneath that were more sensitive than he let on, you needed two hands if you wanted to completely encircle his girth. No wonder he was so arrogant. Glistening pleasure leaked from the tip already, goading you to slip your tongue around his head, dipping it into his slit to collect his offering. His taste was as perfect as the rest of him, so unique to him, you could never get enough.  You let a moan loose as you brought him into your mouth, overproducing saliva to give your hand pumping the rest of him more lubrication. Kishibe groaned above you, head tipping back for a moment as he sank into your hot mouth. His hand as the back of your head was encouraging, pushing slightly but allowing you to go at your own pace. Not wanting to miss out on the sight of you sucking him off, he rolled his head to the side, half lidded eyes looking down to watch. You were skilled at pleasuring him with your mouth, moving your hand and mouth in tandem, leaving even an inch untouched. Your tongue swirled around the head, causing him to shudder. You pulled off from him, still working your hand up and down his shaft as you slid under him to tongue at his balls. HIs abdominal muscles jumped at the sensation of your sliding your tongue along the seam before sucking one ball into your mouth and then the other. 

“Fuck girl….” his voice was shakier than it had been before so his words became dirtier and more possessive, him trying to tip the scales back in his favor. You nodded under him, balls still in your mouth before moving back up to take him into your throat.

Having warmed yourself up, you could now take him much deeper into your throat, encasing the whole of his length. Both hands were now at the back of your head as he tugged your hair, pushing you down further. You kept your tongue flat along the underside of his shaft, tightening your throat around him and opening your eyes to meet him. A blush has spread from his neck across his shoulders and chest, he watched you closely, eyebrows pinching together as you gagged on him. Drool pooled and slipped from your lips, his cock leaving little room inside your mouth for anything else, it dripped onto the bed underneath you. Slowly you started to back off of his length, his hands no longer holding you in place. Instead they cupped either side of your face as you found your breath again. Kishibe ran a thumb across your bottom lip, collecting the spit there and spreading it further down your chin, your jaw hinged open following his silent directive. Leaning over you, collecting his own spit and releasing it into your open, waiting mouth, you moaned and swallowed gratefully. 

“Good girl.” He praised you, making your heart shimmer. He pushed your hair out of your face with one hand, stroking your cheek for a moment watching you bask in the golden light of his affection. But he could only be so generous for so long,  “Bend over.”

He joined you on the bed, mattress sinking under the addition of his weight, his hands staying on you however they could. You moved onto your  knees, turning around, shivering as his hand skimmed up the back of your leg. Calloused hands leaving gooseflesh on your soft, pleasure heightened skin. You posed yourself onto your hands and knees, back arching to lift your ass prettily. You always felt so pretty under his touch, no room for insecurity or self doubt when he was spoiling you like this. Kishibe moved behind you, hands moving up your back pushing you down into a deeper arch, face against the bed. Once he had you in his favorite position, he looped his thumbs under the delicate fabric of your panties, slowly sliding them down your legs. You had soaked them so thoroughly you could actually hear it as he pulled them away, pooling them around your knees. Now bare to him, the chill of fresh air hitting your core, you shivered again. One of his long fingers dipped between your folds, sliding up and down, playing with your wetness. 

“I don't even have to stretch you out, do I? She’s already crying for me.” you could hear the wicked smirk on his face without seeing it. 

“Kishi, please…Don’t tease.”You whimpered, pressing the side of your face into the duvet, peeking at him behind your lashes. 

He gave a small slap to your bottom, watching the fat jiggle, “Don’t get bossy, Kid. You know I’ll take good care of you.” His thumbs pulled your lips apart, showing him how wet you were, “You got this wet just from sucking my cock, huh? You really are such a slut.”

Your face burned, embarrassment daring to creep up but being cut short by the feeling of his fat tongue licking you from clit to hole. Your eyes rolled back, a throaty moan leaving your lips at finally being touched by him. He hummed at your taste, dipping his tongue into your hole to pull more from you. One of his hands moved up your back, keeping you pressed against the mattress as he ate messily. Wet slurping and lapping filled your ears, your whimpers and moans filling his. Eating pussy from the back was his favorite, yours too, he was so skilled with his tongue, unafraid to get drenched in your juices. His facial hair scratched your outer labia and the skin of your inner thighs, the light needling only adding to how fucking good it was. He slid his tongue up and down you all the way from the clitoris to your asshole. Convinced you wouldn't move from where he had posed you, his hand left your back and helped to spread you apart for him. He watched you twitch for a moment, both holes clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by him. If he were a kinder man, he would show mercy and shove two of his thick fingers into your pussy, but he wasn’t a kind man. He loved watching you clench and pant, sweating under the absence of him inside of you. He wanted you whimpering, begging, maybe even crying before he filled you. 

“Kiiiiishiiii baby please…” You mewled out, burying your face into a duvet, muffling the sound of your begging. 

He resumed circling his tongue from your cunt to your ass, one finger circling your clit in time, “You know better than to cover up those pretty sounds. If you want something, ask for it.” 

You huffed out, moving your head from the bedding and back to look at his face buried in you, “Please, baby please fuck me, I need it inside. I need you Kishibe, please.” 

You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your folds, little shit was enjoying this too much. He hummed, vibrations resounding inside of you, “Cum like this, and then you’ll get my cock.”

You whimpered, as good as it was you knew you needed something inside to cum, “But…Ki--”

“I’m not asking.” He slurped loudly against your pussy. 

Of course he was an expert in your body, he knew you needed the joint internal and external stimulation in order to orgasm. He knew he was setting you up to fail, he wanted you to fail. He wanted to hear you completely fucked out, on the precipice of a release that couldnt yet cum when he finally pushed himself inside of you. Further emphasizing that he wouldnt be using his fingers to fuck you, he wrapped his own hand around himself, squeezing tightly. He didn’t want to cum too soon, the way you had sucked him earlier he had nearly spoiled it right then. Any other night he wouldn't have cared and cum right in your mouth, watching you swallow him down like the good girl he had made you into. But tonight he needed to cum inside of you, he ached to feel you spasm around him and milk his dick for everything he had. He carried on eating you out, feeling his regular drunkenness give way to the intoxication pleasuring you. You whimpered under him, rocking your hips back against his ever moving tongue. 

“Kishi ...please I can't…please. Baby please.”You felt tears slipping from your eyes, you wanted to cum so bad, the bastard behind you knew exactly what he was doing.

Raising his head from your pussy, Kishsibe looked at you crying and whimpering for him. Your lips wet and puffy, mirroring the set right in front of him. 

“Oh baby…you givin’ up?” He teased, how he was able to look so smug while literally covered in your juice was beyond you

“Yes fuck I give up, please fuck me please. I need it so bad, I need to cum please.” You didn't care to hide how desperate you were, you worried you might die if he wasn't inside of you in the next few seconds. 

Kishibe gave you one last long lick end to end before straightening up, his lower back aching more than he wanted. Overcome with excitement at the prospect of finally being filled you raised your upper body onto your hands, only to be immediately pushed back down. 

“If you’re able to hold yourself up, maybe I should keep going until you can't.” Kishibe warned. 

A broken cry pushed from your throat. You couldn’t keep going, you couldn’t be held back from your release any longer. Tears flooded down your cheeks and you begged him not to, promising to be good and do whatever he wanted. He had done it, he had completely wrecked you. Leaning over you, cock brushing against your heat so deliciously, Kishibe kissed the side of your face, not stopping himself as his tongue lapped up the salty tears staining your cheeks. Big hands on your back unclasped your bra, sliding it out from under you and groping your chest. 

“There she is” His voice was so hot against your ear, rough and dripping with eroticism, “There’s my girl. And who am I?” 

“Master.”

He gave a smack to your ass, “That's right, baby. Now be good and take Master’s cock all the way. I don’t wanna hear any of that bullshit about it being too much or too big, Okay?” 

You nodded quickly, probably too many times but fuck you could barely think. Another slap to your ass brought you back to attention, “Yes, Master!” 

He hummed with pride. Aligning himself behind you once more, sliding his cock head up and down your slit. Anticipation nearly becoming too much, your whimpers increased before he mercifully slid inside of you. The combination of your natural lubrication and his spit allowed him to ease in with barely any effort, you were still so tight around him. He was so big, it felt like he was splitting you open. A gravelly moan rang out from him, coming directly from his chest as he became fully immersed in you. The force of his thrust rocked your whole body forward. One hand holding you down by the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip. You cried out his title as he pulled back nearly all the way before pushing in again. Finally you felt the white hot coil of orgasm building rapidly in your lower belly. 

“Fuck! Fuck Master, “You wailed, “Yes! I’m so close, Fuck, thank you, master!”

The hand on your neck moved to grip your hair, pulling it back harshly, forcing you to arch all the way back as he continued to bully his cock up inside of you, “You had your chance to cum, already. You’ll wait for me.” 

His voice was so husky against your ear, hair gripped tight in his grasp, you had to focus all your energy on not cumming despite how close his postponing cock was bringing you. Wrenching your head to the side Kishibe kissed you, rough and hot, swallowing down your moans before they could leave you. Your hands struggled to find somewhere to land alternating between gripping his thigh and traveling up to his neck and hair. The upright doggy position allowed him so deep inside of you, his free hand moving over your bouncing breasts and down to press on your lower stomach, feeling himself inside of you. He was so fucking cruel, you cried out, breaking the kiss, head falling back on his shoulder, eyes closed in blinding pleasure. You could still hear him grunting in your ear, his lips needed you and found their next best option, the side of your neck. Knowing exactly what he was doing he pushed harder, his other hand wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. 

“Stop Kishi, please. It’s too much.” 

His gripped your throat tightly, “I said no fucking whining. Did I already fuck every thought out of your head or can’t you remember?” 

You strained to look at him with pleading eyes choking your words past his grip, “I-I’m sorry, Master”

His hand around your throat had made you tighten around him, he was so close, he had wanted to drag this out more. Wanted to remind you who was in charge. But he felt himself faltering, hips shuddering, balls tightening. Kishibe released your throat allowing you to catch your breath, he stopped holding you upright and you fell forward, falling exactly into your previous position: face against the mattress, hips high, ass out. His grip on your hips was bruising, tomorrow morning he would be tracing those bruises as you stood making coffee in the suite's kitchenette. But right now you were made to take his cock, he could be gentle with you another time, not now.

“Touch yourself, cum.” He commanded having to focus all his energy on keeping his thrusts deep and even. Your hand flew between your legs, circling your achingly sensitive clit. His work earlier had you already twitching. 

He thrusted deep and jagged twice more before he felt your walls tremble around him, the sound Kishibe makes when he cums was almost always uniform, a low howl that erupted from his throat as he pressed right against your cervix. You joined him in his orgasm, the pair of you singing a private duet that only you would ever hear. You could feel his hot cum filling you, your orgasm covered you like being caught in a sudden rainstorm. Drenched in pleasure, your mind existed only for thoughts of him. His lips found your shoulder, still deep inside of you, Kishibe grew softer, both his cock and his treatment. 

“Good girl,” he spoke against your sweat-dampened skin, “did so good, baby.” 

You let out a strangled sound, still barely recovered from your mind melting orgasm. Another whimper left you as he removed himself from inside of you. You stayed on your stomach, but allowed your legs to relax, now laying totally prone. Kishibe moved next to you, catching his breath and allowing the feeling to come back to his lower half. You lay together panting, allowing aftershocks of pleasure to ebb and flow over the next few moments. Turning your face to look at him, you placed a hand on his chest. He took it and pressed the back of your hand to his lips. When you had finally regained your composure, you swatted his chest lightly, truly nothing compared to his brutal treatment. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You chuckled out, you slotted yourself against his side, draping a leg over his. 

“You love when I’m mean,” he rolled his eyes, “I can feel it, so don't try to lie. You get so tight when I push you around.”

He was right, you loved it. You loved-- no. not yet. You couldn't yet say that you loved him, that would be too much. But you knew it, and even if it was just for yourself, for now that was enough. 

“So now that we’re going steady, do I have to take you to breakfast?” he absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair, dull nails scratching your scalp making you purr. 

“ ‘Going Steady’? Jesus, you are an old man.” You teased him through blushing cheeks. 

You tried to be careful when you poked fun about his age, but you saw the small curve of his lips that let you know you were off the hook this time. He pulled you closer to him, rolling his eyes again. 

“Big talk for someone who begs to cum around this old man’s cock like it's the only words she knows.” he tapped your temple once. 

You leaned up to face him, finally ready to ask him the question that had been burning since you had first arrived in the lavish suite, “Are you really on assignment or did you rent this room yourself?” 

If you didn’t know better you’d think he was blushing. But you do know better. Kishibe rested his head against the pillow and turned his gaze from you to the ceiling, “Maybe I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

You could help smiling widely at him, you had found him out, “I knew it! You are a romantic…awe all this just to ask me to be your giiiiirlfriend?” you elongated the title to see if you really could draw the blush out of him. 

He smacked your ass hard once, “Shut up, I told you not to get used to it! You’re not getting this again if you keep talking like that.” 

You ass still stung a bit from his harsh treatment earlier, so you snuggled back into his neck, kissing underneath one of his ears. His big arms wrapped around your back. Soon you would fall asleep, he would separate from you and go to have another smoke on the patio, tomorrow morning you would wake up together and he would treat you to breakfast. He could already feel your breaths growing relaxed, sleep starting to win you over and although you couldn't see it, he was blushing. 

[kurokawaia]

彡 FILMINGノKENMA KOZUME

MDNI - 18+ノWARNINGS :: timeskip kenma x fem!reader, kenmas chat being freaks, sub reader, dom kenma, begging, praise, filming, mentions of onlyfans, doggy style, implied overstimulation, cervix fucking mention, camera recording sex + more. total wc :: 800+

DAY SEVENTEEN - FILMINGノm.list ノkinktober m.list

It isn't like Kenma didn't have the money. Quite the opposite, in fact, if you wanted, you could stop working right there and then, and he would be able to support both of you. Being a famous YouTuber had its perks and paid him more than enough. 

That's when it happened. 

He was in the middle of playing a shonky horror game, that's what Kenma called it, before he got jump scared, pausing the game, when you walked into the room. You tell him you were heading off to bed, giving him a slow and deep kiss, your fingers slightly running through his hair that he left out today, before leaving him. "Good night, baby," you murmur against his lips before leaving.

An insane flood of messages flooded into the chat, so fast that he couldn't even process what they were all talking about or saying. There was a mixture of responses ranging from:

youregettingclippedkenma

absolutely INSANE work

dynastymeow

hes defo hard rn

kenmasleftthumb

nah bc that kiss looked too real wtf 😭

sugawaraluvr

“goodnight, baby” I FELT THAT IN MY SOUL 😩

nekosupremacy

someone pls tell me why my screen is fogging up 😭😭

blushinglibero

KENMA YOU JUST GONNA SIT THERE AFTER THAT???

Then there was one bold comment that made him choke on air, and he sat up from his chair and looked to his other monitor, eyes so close to the chat. 

nottafreakiswear:

hear me out on this kenma, your gf  + you... onlyfans...?

"What did this loser just say?" he mumbles to himself, but he was fighting the soft pink tinge that was coating his cheeks. 

volleybabe69

the way she played with his hair… lord have mercy

xxmitsukittyxx

pause the game? nah pause my HEART

hinatasimpclub

this man’s living in my dream scenario rn 🧍‍♀️

streamerkk

bro’s tryna act normal but his EYES SAID EVERYTHING 😭

puffypaws420

“shonky horror game” ok but the REAL horror is how single i am after seeing that 😩

kneecaps4kenma

tell me he’s not adjusting in his chair rn 😭😭😭😭

And for some reason, everyone completely missed it! No one was even paying attention to that singular message that popped up and disappeared from the next mass amount of chats popping up. He slumps back into his chair, placing his headphones down momentarily next to his keyboard before running a hand through his deul coloured hair, letting out a sigh. 

Maybe... the idea isn't too bad...

So that's where you are now, completely open to the idea that Kenma proposed. He wasn't in any better state than you, a moaning and whimpering mess, both of you.  Kenma's cock was nuzzled perfectly up against your cervix, slow thrusts into your cunt as he holds his phone to capture how your ass is squishing against his pelvis, and the deep curve of your spine.

You're on your knees while your breasts are tight up agasint the mattress, and your head stuffed agasint the sheets, trying to muffle your moans as his cock fills your cunt up to the brim. Your hands grip the silky sheets while breathy whimpers leave your swollen lips, your knees shaking as well. 

Kenma's hands tighten on the fat of your hip, thumb rubbing agasint the side of your ass soothingly. "Good girl," he praises, and you moan in response, being incoherent to say any words in reply, completely exhausted. "Taking me so well, look at you."

He moves the camera momentarily close to your cunt, sucking every inch of his cock as he deeply rolls his hips into you. Kenma can feel how your walls are clenching him tightly, desperate for a release that he isn't giving you. You don't think you could take it anymore. 

"Please, baby," you beg, your cunt fluttering around his cock as you tighten around him indefinitely. Your back and knees were beginning to ache, but you loved how his dick thrust so perfectly up into your cunt. "I need to- Hah- Please."

"C'mon pretty," he says, His thrusts speed up and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow, causing you to whimper in overstimulation, but Kenma helped it, his hips continuing to rut into yours, helping you ride out your orgasm as he chased his own.

With a deep moan, his hips slam tight agasint yours, his cum spilling deep within you. Slowly, he takes his length out of your cunt, a whimper befalling your lips, and he lowers the camera. He spreads your folds, cum dribbling out your trembling hole, the camera capturing everything, even how he slides two of his fingers back inside, pushing his seed inside you. 

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Baby, please, let us watch over this together."

Do not copy, steal, modify, use for ai, translate, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

tags :: @staygoldsquatchling02 @anything4yoongi @nootnoot1098 @smokers-corner @ist4rr @iceddragonfruit @praying-for-the-sun @sadsaltsss @isxnr @saltypuffin1040 @yappersunited101 @bachiraslvr @sak1to @theevilarcher @dryemphasis22 @andrutaboo @ninicitrus @senpaisbadass @ghostlymea @g3latin @c-moon20-12 @shyneskyyy @milkjellys1 @kuronaaiku @lala131lsjsl @bimbosvt @littlesnoopy @rosesforshouto @bananaasfordewin @ainenia @jguidette

[stottlemorgan-deactivated202512]

"Heat's gettin' t'me."

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader. Summary: Seems the heat's gettin' to Arthur. Tags: 18+ MDNI, p in v, kissing, just pure sex, sort of getting caught?, Abigail sees a glimpse of it. Word count: 1,019. Author's Note: This was a request for my mini prompt sprint, and surprise, I got carried away because I was excited!!!! Ao3 Link.

Weeks upon weeks of running from the lawmen, of enduring the sweltering heat, of comforting folk, of rationing both food and patience- it had sapped every last drop of Arthur’s lifeblood. Since the gang had nestled themselves within the sun-soaked, rickety bones of Shady Belle, he had spent a lot of his time helping everyone else get settled and sneaking in the occasional nap behind a wagon. He would usually be accompanied by you, spread over him beneath the cool shadows of a swaying tree, both of your hats shielding your faces.

The warmth had brought you both to the shade of his room, your sticky bodies to his cot, and his hard girth to the lush pool of your cunt. Reduced to a mangle of grabbing hands and eager mouths, the salt of sweat and the fresh cut of rum dances amidst your lapping tongues as Arthur pinches his nails into your rear and whines.

"Yeah-"

"Yeah?" You breathe, grabbing at his shoulders, the sheeny skin making your palms slide with each bounce of you in his lap.

"Yes- that's it-"

With an excited hum into his ear, you squeeze around his length and his eyes roll back, his jaw dropping open.

"Fuck, please- do that again-"

Repeating the movement, you also arc your hips back, drawing it out and moaning at the pull of your cunt around his cock. Arthur's gaze floats over your flushed face and behind you to the ceiling, blissful.

"Oh, like that, yes- good girl," he groans, strangling through a swallow. Your response is a shaky whimper, each nudge of his cockhead quivering through your gut. His heels thump into the cot behind you, and his thighs twitch as a stream of arousal runs through to his seat, thick and hot. "Get here," he gasps, and paws his way up your back before pulling you flush to him, your skin tacking together.

Feeling his muscles flex around your waist and over your back, you mouth at his shoulder, your moans tickling his skin. When you increase the rock of your hips, Arthur cries out, his head landing back against the pillow, strands of his damp chestnut hair falling away from his forehead. One of his hands moves to hold your rear, guiding the call and response of your hips, urging his cock up into the fluttering walls of your cunt.

With each thrust, Arthur's breaths louden, and you look up to see his eyes drift shut, his mouth parted. His hand on your back rubs up and down, gripping and squeezing at your softness. Pressing his palms into your skin, he pushes and pulls, coaxing you into going faster. A long and needy moan slips from you, vibrating through him.

"Arthur!"

"Tha's it, my girl- fuck me nice, c'mon," his voice leaves him hoarse, desperate, the order resonating over the sloppy meetings of your wet cunt and his groin, syrupy with your joint arousal. Huffing, you keep pace, gripping his shoulders. The tangy scent of his shining skin coupled with the strong undulation of his abdomen against your aching clit spurs on your cupidity and your gasps tighten. He glances down at you to see the familiar pinch in your brow and feels your gentle tremors around his cock. His eyes heavy, his brow furrowing as an almost pained groan rips through him.

"Gonna come, ain'chu?" He asks, the words almost stolen by the broken moan that bursts from his throat when you grind down onto him, hard, with an affirming hum. Your hands scramble to the bedframe above his head, gripping, the metal knocking against the wall each time you rock. At the sensation of his cockhead kissing the softness of your sweet spot, pleasure flickers through Arthur's body. His lashes flutter as he shivers and strains, "Christ! I'm-"

With a string of mewling breaths, you fall over the edge, your cunt convulsing around his girth as your orgasm swims through you. Your skin boils, the stuffy summer air sucking into your lungs, your cum coating his cock as his hands clumsily move to hold your shaking body.

"Arthur, you okay in there?" Karen's tentative voice calls through the door as she raps her knuckles against it. Thoroughly in the throes of indulgence, Arthur's only focus is the coiling pressure growing amidst his rolling hips.

"Arthur, fuck- fuck-" you whimper quietly as you ride yourself through waves of pleasure.

The draw of your cunt makes Arthur grit his teeth in tandem with the tautening of his balls, growling noisily as he plunges into the delicious depths of his release, spilling warmly and thickly up into you, "Oh, shit-!"

Another voice sounds through from outside, unnoticed from within the glowing haze stripping your thoughts of all coherence. "Maybe the heat's gotten to 'im, sounds unwell." Between the slowing knocks of the bedframe into the wall and mingling laboured breaths, the door creaks open. A gentle, concerned call of Arthur's name from Abigail snaps off into a guffaw at the sight of him. Flushed, groaning, all bare and brawn as he fucks his spend up into you whilst you whine against his neck, weakly grasping at the bed frame. The door quickly shuts again. Abigail's voice sounds through the wood, giggles breaking through as she talks over Karen who is still asking whether something is wrong, "Oh, the heat's definitely gotten to 'im. Get back downstairs."

Gleaning fragments of the women's hushed gossiping as they amble back downstairs, Arthur lets out a groaning laugh as you release the bedframe and slowly slip his softening cock from your dripping cunt. Kissing your way up his neck, you give a quiet and satisfied hum.

"What're you laughin' at, Mister?" You murmur as he lazily turns you both sideways, planting a few messy kisses to your head. He trails his fingertips over your waist, admiring the shine to your skin and the glimmer of his spend saturating the dark curls between your thighs as his hand reaches your hip. His tongue runs over his lower lip, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Seems the heat's gettin' t'me."

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @dauhtrofsevnthshe @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries @mrsarthurmorgan7 @sensitivegamergirl @kieranduffysgirl - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[arthurmorgasms]

the hat stays on

[kiwanopie]

timeskip!kenma x reader. fluff. possibly suggestive. 500wc “camera shy”

———-

“😳😳😳😳”

“did you see that??”

“he got one of them automatic doors”

“😳👻😮‍😪”

“im getting paranormal activity vibes”

“kodz look behind u!!”

Kenma furrows as he glances at his camera feed.

His door is slightly open behind him, still gliding backwards as the carpet beneath him vibrates with minimal movement from where his feet are planted on the ground. Shadows don’t move within eyesight but when he turns skeptically in his chair he’s met with a sight that makes him very audibly…

- giggle.

“What’er you doing?” He asks unabashedly.

You look up at him from where you’re standing on your hands and knees, eyes cutely blinking up at him as his lazy smile widens. “I missed you.” You frown. “And also I think I left my phone in here.”

“Why didn’t you just…?”

“I don’t want them to meet me in my pajamas.” You whisper.

Kenma glances at his feed, chair positioned just at the angle to hide you behind his lap.

“who’s he talking to?”

“ayeee kodz bout to get that gawk gawk”

“is that a girls voice? 😳”

“kodzuken FUCKS”

He reaches for the shelf under his monitor, grabbing the item and pointing it to the direction of the floor. “Here’s your phone.”

You pout. “Can I stay in here with you?”

Kenma thinks for a moment. As much as he’d like that..

“No.” He tries to say as sweetly as possible.

Your pout deepens, enough to make his heart squeeze.

“I love you.”

Ah,

Kenma pushes the “m” key with a firm click, camera feed catching his back as he turns fully away from the camera, until the back of his chair is nearly blocking the entirety of the view. Text rushes the chat as he bends over in his seat, a sliver of his arm visible as it reaches for something below his lap and pulls it upward - until whatever he’s holding is parallel with his face.

His bangs fall over his face and grazes your nose as his lips mesh with yours. Soft and tender - fitting in a kiss that's as slow as it is savory. His fingers buckle themselves firmly into your jaw as he holds you to his lips, your neck stretching to concede to his grip as he keeps you steady against him, and barely stops himself from deepening the kiss.

There’s a soft smack when he pulls away, another one when he leans in to press a second quick kiss to your lips and then another for good measure.

Kenma rubs his thumb into your cheek. “I love you too.” He pecks you again. “So much.”

“- But you gotta go.” He almost snorts when you frown. “You’re too distracting.”

“Okay.” You sigh.

“We can hang out later, kay?” He lifts his head up. “Can show you how much I love you then.”

He lets you take a moment to snuggle into his palm a bit before you finally turn on your hands to leave, and Kenma smiles like he’s finally made it.

He’s glancing back at his stream when he eyes the chat again, moving the chair accordingly to hide any glimpse of you as you crawl out the door and peeking back just a bit to watch your pajama shorts rise.

He knows he’s fucked when the donation tone dings, 22,00¥ gifted in bits and a message that reads out aloud:

“*SourPls* gf reveal or we riot”

Kenma sighs as he unmutes the stream, though maybe not denying it makes it a trillion times worse. “Sorry.” He says plainly.

“…She’s super camera shy.”

The crowd goes wild.

reblog to lvl up 👾🎮

[crushmeeren]

I know Kenma is the cutest dad. :c

Finding him on the couch at 4 am is sure to happen. He’s sitting up straight, head tipped back on the couch, passed out. Your sweet little baby girl is curled against his chest. She’s only ten weeks old, and his hand, out of instinct, rests protectively on her back so she doesn’t slide off.

It’s so sweet, and you snap multiple pictures before covering Kenma’s legs with a blanket and taking the chance to spread out in bed alone.

x x x

Kenma’s fans kept asking about his daughter. No matter how often they pestered him, his answers remained vague. He allowed them the small bit of knowledge you were recovering well and his baby girl is growing fast and healthy. They’d never seen a picture, as he’d kept his personal life private for the most part.

It took months for him to show her, and even then it wasn’t on purpose. You were running late, off to meet with your friends, and you called out to him.

“Kenz?”

“Yeah?” Kenma replies, cursing under his breath as his character dies. He skimmed some of the comments from his followers asking if that was his wife. He ignored it.

“I’m running so late, can I bring Kiyoko in there?” You don’t wait for his response, rushing into the gaming room with the baby on your hip.

Kenma forgets his stream for a moment, swiveling in his chair with a soft smile. “Always,” he replies, eyes gentle as he reaches out for her. She giggles when he coos at her, making grabby hands at her daddy, feet kicking.

Kiyoko settles in his lap and Kenma dips down to place a kiss on her forehead, brushing hair from her face. She nuzzles into the side of his neck and he could cry.

When he glances at the forgotten chat it’s blowing up. Hundreds of questions and comments flooding his discord chat, mentioning how they’d never seen him look so soft before. How she’s his mini me because she really is.

His eyes go wide. In a flash, Kenma tilts the camera towards the ceiling and cuts the streaming off without a word.

His fans never quit asking about her.

x x x

When they nap together, they wake up identical.

Kenma’s hair sticks up all over and so does Kiyoko’s. They both rub sleep from their catlike eyes, yawning. She clings to his neck when they join you in the kitchen for lunch, crying when he tries to sit her down in the high chair.

Kenma doesn’t mind, he just eats one handed.

x x x

Whenever you go out in public, Kenma insists on carrying her. Turning his nose up at putting her in a high chair from a restaurant or in a shopping cart or whatever. He loves walking her around in one of those baby carriers strapped to his chest, or he’ll hold her until his arms fall off.

So many women comment on how adorable it is. They don’t bother you. The cute pink blush on Kenma’s cheeks and his flustered expression is worth it.

And when you double down on how cute it is, the wrinkle between his brows appears as they scrunch. He scowls, angrily snatching your hand, and you never stop teasing him.

master list

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

[ackermanrage]

ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴇʀ

F1!levi who doesn’t give a damn about the flashy sponsorship events and post-race parties; he shows up to the bare minimum, says almost nothing, and then disappears. Yet somehow, everyone wants to interview him because his cold attitude makes him more interesting as a racer.

F1!levi who is ridiculously precise about everything. From steering, and braking points, to even how his gloves fit. He’ll throw an entire tantrum (quietly) if his gear isn’t exactly the way he wants it.

F1!levi who doesn’t smile on the podium, even after winning. But the cameras still zoom in on him because the world can’t get enough of the sharp jawline + champagne bottle combo. Ironically, his aloofness makes him stand out even more, with photos of him “looking bored while winning” going viral every time.

F1!levi who treats his car like its a princess. He refuses to let anyone touch the steering wheel unless absolutely necessary (like when the team has to do repairs), and after each race he’ll walk around the car, eyeing the engineers’ work with suspicion. He also scrubs his car after every time he races in it.

F1!levi who secretly enjoys the adrenaline of overtaking at 300 km/h. he thrives on the adrenaline of racing. The high-speed overtakes, the razor-thin gaps between cars, the force of turning a corner. His heart pounds with excitement in those moments.

F1!levi who savors the moments before stepping out to the roaring crowd. Sitting strapped into his cockpit, visor lowered, engine rumbling faintly beneath him, the world outside goes quiet. It’s just him, the machine, and the track. And for those brief minutes, he feels untouchable, at peace in a way he never does anywhere else.

F1!levi who swears under his breath in multiple languages when the team radio tells him something obvious like “push harder” or “watch your tires.” He’ll growl, “No shit. What do you think I’m doing out here, sightseeing?” The fans love it so much they turn his curses into memes and merch.

F1!levi who is infamous for his post-race reactions when things don’t go his way. If a strategy call costs him a podium, he’ll rip his helmet off, fling it onto the garage floor, and stalk off without a word. But five minutes later, he’s sitting stiffly in the corner, arms crossed. His glare focused not on what happened, but on how he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again next weekend.

taglist: @lvstyangel @alebrasil0101 @creati-bunny @porcelain-soupspoon4 @r4td0lll @wedypopcytragedy @nxcxllxsevens @levkuna @glads-stuff @bnbaochauuu @maskedbunni @missesstargirl @pepsicolacoochie @maryhopemei

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[sixpennydame]

Levi knows he’s the strongest soldier in the Survey Corps. He can flyer faster, hit harder, and ride further than anyone else.

“An otherworldly fighting stamina,” Erwin called it.

But when he makes love to you, it’s a different story altogether.

Because you feel so good. Your body is so warm and your pussy is so tight. Each thrust he takes elicits the most wonderful moans from your lips. He wants to close his eyes and get lost in the feeling, but he’d miss the erotic sight of watching you underneath him - blissed out, body covered in marks that he gave you, smiling as you ask for more, more…

Shit

He wills everything within him to not come yet. It’s too soon, he wants to keep feeling you like this, to ravage you until you’re breathless, begging for reprieve.

But goddammit, he loves you so much and you’re just so fucking beautiful…so….so…

“Levi…”

You whimper his name and his hips falter their steady pace.

Not yet…not yet….

But he can’t help it. His climax comes strong and hard before he collapses on top of you.

Sure, the bedroom isn’t a battlefield, and his stamina might be lacking now. But Levi isn’t a quitter.

And he’ll fuck you all night until he gives you everything that you want.

[malfoys-demigod]

Big Eyes, Little Lies

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ JOHNNY STORM X READER

summary: Johnny picks up his nephew Franklin from school just once. That’s all it takes. Now he’s suddenly volunteering to pick him up every day. Sue knows something’s up — but Johnny’s not talking. Not until he's got a plan. Warnings: None, just sweet chaos and mutual pining.

a/n: requested by @totaldystopiannerd !! thank you for your request!

this is the prequel to Big Eyes, Little Rings

It started with one favor.

Sue had a meeting downtown. Reed was in his lab, locked in some dimensional whatever. Ben was on asteroid duty. That left Johnny.

“Pick up Franklin at 3. Don’t be late.”“Yeah, yeah, sis, I got it.”

He hadn’t expected anything life-changing. He parked the car (slightly crooked), adjusted his sunglasses, and strode across the parking lot like someone being filmed in slow motion — until he tripped on a sprinkler head.

Kids were spilling out of the classroom, tiny backpacks bouncing, and that’s when he saw her.

You.

Standing by the door in a sunflower-yellow cardigan, kneeling to tie some little girl’s shoe, speaking softly. There was something familiar about the softness of you — like the end of summer, or the first hot cocoa of the year.

Your eyes — God, your eyes — went wide and warm when you looked up and said, “You must be Franklin’s uncle.”

Johnny blinked. Twice. Maybe three times.

“I — Yeah. Yep. That’s me. Flame... Johnny. Just Johnny. I’m Johnny.”

Smooth.

You giggled. Actually giggled. Like a Disney character or someone who made their own granola.

Franklin ran into his legs, breaking the moment. “Uncle Johnny! Can we get donuts?”

“Kid, you can have whatever you want.”

You smiled and handed Johnny a paper folder. “He’s been very curious this week — lots of questions about space. I think someone’s been bragging about his uncle.”

Johnny glanced at you, then the folder, then back at you.

You had those ridiculous, round eyes and this calm, sparkly way of speaking. Like nothing bad ever happened in your world. He didn’t even try to be charming. He just stared at you like a man who had seen the sun for the first time.

When Sue called him that night, she sounded suspicious.

“You picked him up today?”“Sure did.”“...You offered to do it again tomorrow?”“I’m a giver, Sue. A saint.”

By the third pickup, you were expecting him. You greeted Franklin first, always, with the kind of gentle authority that made Johnny consider asking you to organize his schedule.

Then you looked at him, smiled like he was already part of your day, and said something like, “Hi, Johnny,” like it meant something.

Which was insane. Because you didn’t even know him.

Except… maybe you did. You didn’t fawn over him like fans did. You weren’t impressed by his hero status. You just talked to him. About Franklin. About your class. One time you said he had “mischief in his smile,” and he barely survived the moment.

Johnny Storm — chaos incarnate — was melting over a kindergarten teacher.

By week two, he started dressing nicer.

By week three, he learned what time the class went to recess, just so he could “accidentally” show up early.

He brought snacks.

He helped stack tiny chairs.

He took a “volunteer” flyer from the bulletin board and asked you how many hours counted as “a few.”

He told Sue nothing. She was watching him like a hawk.

It wasn’t just the big, soft eyes. (Though God, those eyes…) It was the way you leaned in when kids whispered, like their thoughts were treasures. It was how you made every day sound magical. Like watching the world through glitter and hope.

It made Johnny — a man who flew into battle and called it Tuesday — want to slow down.

Want to stay.

One Thursday, Franklin forgot his lunch, and Johnny offered to drop it off.

“Class is in story time,” you whispered, when you met him outside the door.

Inside, a sea of little heads sat crisscross on the rug while you held an open book.

“Would you like to read the next page?” you asked, voice mischievous.

Johnny froze. “Me? Oh — uh. I don’t really—”

But then you smiled and held out the book. The kids squealed. One asked if Johnny could make fire from his hands.

He read the page. You sat beside him, calm and radiant, like this was exactly what should happen. He smelled your vanilla perfume and forgot the plot halfway through.

After, as you walked him to the door, you said softly, “You’re good with them.”

Johnny snorted. “I barely survived that page.”

You shrugged. “Still. You’re gentler than you let on.”

He stared at you again, all stupid, until a kid asked if he was your boyfriend. Johnny nearly combusted.

You just smiled. “Not yet.”

That night, Sue cornered him. “You’re in love with her.” “I am not.” “You picked up Franklin in a collared shirt, Johnny.” “I can wear collars!” “You ironed it.” “I did not— okay, I might have steamed it—” “You brought cupcakes to the staff lounge!” “Okay, now you’re just making things up.” “Franklin said she has ‘princess eyes.’” Johnny blinked. “That’s… actually very accurate.”

Sue smirked. “Ask her out.”

Johnny hesitated. “What if she says no?” “Then she’s got terrible taste and you move on. But… I don’t think she will.”

He showed up on Friday with a coffee just the way you liked it (you once mentioned it, in passing — he remembered).

You took it with a surprised smile, eyes going even wider than usual. “This is… exactly right.”

“Yeah, I pay attention.”

You looked up at him, gentle and glowing. “I know you do.”

That did it.

“I was wondering,” he began, tugging at the hem of his jacket, “if maybe, sometime when you’re not, you know, herding thirty tiny humans, you might want to… get dinner?”

You tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. A real one. No crayons involved.”

Your smile lit up your whole face. “I’d love to.”

Later that night, Franklin announced to the room:

“Uncle Johnny kissed Miss Y/N’s hand and then walked into the door.”

Sue just laughed and shook her head. “I told you,” she muttered. “Big eyes. Big trouble.”

[wonderlanderings]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 (𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝)

: ̗̀➛ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: johnny storm x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: mdni, smut with comic relief 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Johnny's work life is starting to interfere with his sex life, and that just won't do.

𝐚/𝐧: Here's another thing I made (also I was stoned when I edited this, so there's that)

“Fucking finally,” he mutters against your lips, kicking the door shut behind you both with enough force to rattle the frame. His body crowds you against the wall, heat rolling off him in waves, his thigh sliding between yours with deliberate, maddening pressure. The friction draws a whine from your throat, and his grin sharpens, wild and wicked.

“Yeah? You like that?” he teases, voice already rough, breath uneven. His hands skate down your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise—not that you’d complain. Not when you’ve spent the last two weeks aching for exactly this.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you drop to your knees, and the way his breath stutters is its own reward. His fingers tighten in your hair, not pulling—yet—but holding on like he’s already fighting the urge to fuck into your mouth. His free hand braces against the wall, muscles taut under sweat-slick skin as you take him deep, his hips jerking forward on instinct.

“Shit— just like that—” His voice is ragged, head thudding back against the wall. “Keep goin’ and I swear I’ll—”

Then, the blare of his mission alert slices through the room like a particularly sadistic punchline.

“Priority one. Latverian drones spotted in Manhattan. Suit up.”

Johnny doesn’t just groan—he growls, a sound so genuinely feral you’d laugh if not for the way his grip on your hair gentles, his forehead dropping to yours in sheer, agonized frustration.

“No. No. Absolutely not,” he hisses, yanking you up to kiss you again, sloppy and desperate, his hips grinding against you in a way that makes your thighs tremble. “Ignore it. Five minutes. Four. I’ll be fast—”

You can feel the way his body wars with itself—the tension in his muscles, the way his fingers flex against your scalp. But then the alert blares again, more insistent this time, and he lets out a noise that’s half-snarl, half-whine.

“I hate Doom,” he grits out, pressing one last searing kiss to your mouth before wrenching himself away. His hands linger on you, though—trailing down your arms, squeezing your hips like he can’t bear to let go, and you’re left slumped against the wall, flushed and frustrated, watching as he yanks his suit on with aggravated precision.. “This isn’t over,” he promises, voice dark with intent. “The second I get back, you’re mine.”

You arch a brow, still breathless, still aching. “Better make it quick, hotshot.”

Then he’s gone in a blaze of fire—leaving you aching, unsatisfied, and absolutely counting down the minutes until he returns.

The second he’s got you beneath him again, Johnny’s hands map every inch of you like he’s trying to prove a point—like he’s spent every second since the last time relearning you, rehearsing the exact ways you fall apart for him. His mouth is relentless, tongue dragging slow, filthy circles that leave you gasping, your thighs trembling around his head as if they might never remember how to close again.

And the bastard savors it.

His grip on your hips is ironclad, fingers pressing into your skin, holding you down as you writhe. His own arousal strains against the confines of his pants, every stifled groan against your skin betraying just how much he’s aching too. But he won’t rush—not when he’s spent weeks starving, not when the taste of you is finally on his tongue again.

“Johnny—” Your voice cracks, fingers twisting in his hair as he hums against you, the vibrations shooting straight to your core, sparking white-hot behind your eyelids.

He grins, sharp and smug, flicking his tongue just to hear you moan louder. “Yeah?” he rasps, breath hot and uneven against your soaked skin. “Missed this, didn’t you? Missed me.” His teeth graze your thigh—not quite a bite, but a promise—before his mouth is on you again, licking into you like he’s chasing the last embers of a fire.

You tug at his hair, hips jerking, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he doubles down, fingers digging in harder, his free hand sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple just to feel you arch off the bed.

“Fuck— Johnny, please—”

"Yeah, that’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your clit in a way that makes you scream out his name again, your nails scraping down his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. His grin is pure sin against your skin. "Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name—"

Bzzzt.

The comm unit on his nightstand crackles to life, Sue’s voice slicing through the haze of pleasure.

"Johnny, the charity gala started twenty minutes ago!"

He groans—deep, guttural—and the sound vibrates against your core, sending a jolt of white-hot need straight to your already throbbing cunt. You whine, hips jerking helplessly, torn between grinding down on his tongue and launching the damn comm unit into the nearest wall.

"Tell them I’m dead," Johnny shoots back, voice wrecked, before diving back in with renewed determination. His tongue flattens against you in one long, lewd stroke, and you choke on a sob, thighs shaking as he sucks your clit between his lips, just right—

But Sue is unrelenting. "Ben’s already covering for you, and he’s running out of excuses. Get. Down. Here."

Johnny pulls away with a filthy curse, resting his forehead against your thigh as his breath comes in ragged bursts. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s physically restraining himself from saying screw it and finishing what he started.

"Fuck," he mutters, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh—one last promise—before dragging himself up. His pupils are blown wide, lips slick with you, and the sight alone makes your stomach clench, your core pulsing with need.

"This isn’t over," he growls, voice low and dangerous as he grabs his jacket, throwing a glare at the comm unit like it’s personally betrayed him.

You collapse back onto the bed, still trembling, still aching, and watch as he stalks toward the door—every inch of him radiating frustration and unspent want.

"Better not be," you call after him, breathless.

Johnny pauses, glances back at you over his shoulder, and the smirk he shoots you is pure, wicked temptation.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, voice dripping with intent. "I was just getting started."

By the time he finally stumbles back into the room, the gala’s champagne-bright chatter still ringing in his ears, the space is bathed in the amber glow of the bedside lamp you’d left on for him. The light spills like honey across the sheets, gilding the curve of your shoulder, the loose strands of your hair fanned out over his pillow.

His side of the bed.

Not that he minds. Not when the sight of you—curled into the space he usually occupies, cheek smushed against the fabric like you’d tried (and failed) to wait up for him—steals the breath from his lungs. The faintest impression of your face lingers on the pillowcase, and something in his chest twists, too big and too fragile to name.

For a heartbeat, he hesitates. The part of him that’s spent all night itching to get back here, to pick up exactly where you left off, wars with the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He could wake you. Should wake you, maybe—press his mouth to the sleep-soft slope of your shoulder, murmur half-drunk apologies into your skin, let his hands relearn every inch of you until you’re both gasping.

But then you sigh in your sleep, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, and the fight drains out of him all at once.

So he moves quietly, toeing off his shoes, shrugging out of his suit jacket with none of his usual dramatic flair. The mattress dips under his weight as he eases onto the bed, careful not to jostle you—

—he shouldn’t have bothered.

The second the sheets shift, you turn toward him instinctively, drawn to his warmth like a magnet. Your arm drapes over his waist, fingers curling into the rumpled fabric of his dress shirt with a quiet, possessive urgency, even in sleep. A sigh escapes you, warm against his collarbone, your body molding against his like it was made to fit there.

Johnny huffs a laugh, soft and wondering, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Missed you too,” he murmurs, though you’re too far under to hear it.

It doesn’t take long for the rhythm of your breathing to lull him under, his own limbs going heavy.

After three more agonizing days of obligations—press conferences, team briefings, and a fundraiser where Johnny spent half the night staring at you from across the room like he wanted to devour you whole—you finally manage to slip away.

The Baxter Building’s rarely used guest bathroom is a sanctuary of marble and muted gold, all cool surfaces and pristine lighting—thank you, Sue, for insisting on “luxury accommodations”—but Johnny doesn’t give you any time to appreciate it.

The door locks behind you with a click, and then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent, swallowing your gasp as he spins you toward the counter. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, the kind that leaves your lips throbbing and your head spinning.

His fingers dig into your hips, pressing hard enough to leave bruises, and the thought alone has you shuddering—yes, let me remember this tomorrow.

Then he’s gripping your ass, hiking your skirt up in one impatient tug, and the noise he makes when he sees you’re already desperate for him is downright feral.

“Christ, you’re killin’ me,” he growls against your neck, lips dragging over your pulse as his fingers tease the soaked lace clinging to you. A rough jerk—rip—fabric tearing (he’s never been patient), and then his palm slaps against your bare skin, the sharp crack of it echoing off the tiles before the sting blooms, making you cry out.

His free hand fists in your hair, tipping your head back as he nips at your jaw, his other hand working you open with filthy, slick strokes. “Love you so fucking much,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, before sinking into you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns, perfect, and you choke on a moan, fingers scrambling against the marble counter for purchase. Johnny groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stills, trembling with the effort not to lose it right then and there.

“Fuck, fuck—shoulda known you’d feel this good,” he grits out, hips rolling just to hear you whine. His hands tighten on you, possessive, like he’s trying to fuse you together. 

And then he moves—no patience, no finesse, just raw, relentless need—each snap of his hips driving you harder against the counter, the mirror rattling. Every ragged breath, every bitten-off curse, every time his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid you’ll vanish—it all coils tighter and tighter until you’re both hurtling toward the edge, too far gone to care who hears.

“What do you want, baby?” he teases, lips brushing your ear as he drags his cock out agonizingly slow, just to watch you squirm. His breath is ragged, his voice all rough-edged amusement—like he’s savoring every second of your desperation. “Use your words.”

You’re right there—teetering on the edge, ready to beg, demand, scream if that’s what it takes to push you both over—when—

BWEEEEEEEEEEP.

The alarm doesn’t just sound—it attacks, a deafening, soul-crushing shriek that rattles the walls and the very foundation of your patience. The Baxter Building’s safety system cuts in with infuriating serenity:

“Alert: Unauthorized thermal activity detected in residential wing. Please evacuate immediately.”

Johnny goes statue-still behind you for one glorious, suspended second—silence.

Then—

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His voice is a frayed wire, sparking with barely restrained fury. When he lifts his head, his eyes are molten, his entire body radiating enough heat that the air shimmers around him. He looks like he’s about to burn a hole straight through the floor.

With a snarl, he wrenches himself away, hands raking through his hair like he might actually light himself on fire out of sheer frustration. “It was one time!” he roars at the ceiling, as if the universe itself is conspiring against him. “One time I got a little carried away and maybe set the couch on fire—”

The alarm blares louder, as if in protest.

Down the hall, Ben’s thunderous laughter shakes the walls, followed by Reed’s long-suffering sigh. “Johnny, we talked about this.”

Johnny whirls toward the door, finger jabbing at it like he’s about to shoot a flare straight through the wood. “I hate this family.”

You can’t help it—you’re laughing, breathless and giddy, even as your body still thrums with unfinished need. Johnny turns back to you, and the look on his face—all wild-eyed desperation and hunger—sends a fresh pulse of heat between your legs.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” His voice drops, rough and dangerous, his hands caging you in before you can so much as squeak. “You’re laughing while I’m out here suffering?”

He leans in, his mouth hovering just above yours, his body burning against you. “You know what this means, right?” His grin is pure, unrepentant mischief. “Now I owe you. And I always pay my debts.”

The alarm wails again.

Johnny exhales, long-suffering, and presses his forehead to yours. “...After we evacuate.”

Right now is apparently his last straw.

You’re stretched out beneath him on the living room couch, his mouth searing a path down your neck, his hips grinding against yours in a rhythm that’s just shy of mean. Your nails scrape red lines down his back, and he hisses in gratitude, like he’s been starving for the sting.

You’ve both been too patient for too long, and now? Now, there’s no room left for restraint—just skin and heat and the desperate, aching need that’s been building for too long. His teeth catch your pulse point, and you arch into him with a whimper that goes straight to his dick, your thighs tightening around his hips in a silent plea for more, faster, now—

Then the door whooshes open.

"Johnny, have you seen the—oh."

Reed’s voice slides into the room like an unwelcome algorithm, smooth and utterly oblivious.

Johnny doesn’t even look up. His entire body locks tight—not with embarrassment, not with shame, but with sheer, unbridled rage.

"No," he snaps, voice lethally calm. "Nope. Absolutely not. Get the fuck out."

His hand flings toward the door in a wild, dismissive gesture, like he’s banishing Reed from the planet.

A beat of silence.

Then, Reed—because he’s Reed—clears his throat. "Right. Well, if you do find the quantum stabilizer—"

"REED." Johnny’s voice cracks like a whip. "I swear to God, if you finish that sentence, I’m setting all your lab notes on fire."

Another pause. The door starts to slide shut—then stops. Reed’s head pokes back in. "Actually, you do realize this is a common area, right? If you two wanted privacy—"

Johnny moves.

One second, he’s pinning you to the couch. The next, he’s halfway across the room, fingers sparking, eyes literally glowing with fury. "OUT. NOW."

Reed finally—finally—gets the hint. The door shuts.

Johnny exhales, long and slow, like he’s counting to ten in his head. Then he turns back to you, his expression shifting from murderous to hungry in half a second flat.

"Now," he growls, stalking toward you like a man on a mission, "where were we?"

[w0rm3y]

Blurry | R. Sukuna | A Sucker With Low Self-Esteem

| pairing | divorced dad! sukuna x ex-wife! reader

| summary | Your ex-husband doesn't mind leaving the porch light on for you at night. After all, he was with you for years; he has you memorized, so he knows how lonely you can get with a husband as inattentive as yours

| overall content & warnings | MDNI, angst, cheating, toxic/taboo relationships, explicit sexual content, unplanned pregnancy, terrible communication, terrible decisions, but it's fun imo, so much domestic fluff, everyone needs therapy, probable inaccuracies regarding incarceration/law, Sukuna is a mechanic with a criminal record (mama, i'm in love with a criminal), Reader and Sukuna have a kid together, but the story is more focused on them fixing their relationship, so there's lots of drama ;)

| this chapter | wc. 9k, terrible decisions, skewed morals, cheating, booty call, bad communication, explicit sexual content, pregnancy sex, sleepy sex, oral (m!receiving & f!receiving), handjob, vaginal fingering, spit, cum as lube, panty-fucking, piv, creampie, spanking, subtle choking and degradation, co-parenting, angst, pregnancy hormones, flashback (Reader talking to Sukuna in visitation booth when he's in jail), DILF Sukuna, but also just Dadkuna

master list || last chapter || next chapter

At the sight of you standing on Sukuna’s porch, donning an oversized hoodie to hide your pregnancy bump in the middle of the night, Sukuna whistled lowly, bringing you to press your lips together and wait for the incoming hounding. 

“Mm, this isn’t a good look for you, sweetheart,” he tutted, “Makes you look a little desperate, if you ask me.”

You took the insult with grace since you’d already ditched your pride back at your house before you decided to drive all the way to Sukuna’s for a booty call. “Whatever. Can you let me in, or not?”

“Dunno. Where’s your husband? And our daughter?”

“Hiro’s away on a trip and Ryo’s with my parents,” you answered quickly, toying with the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes flicked between the ground, Sukuna’s chest, and his eyes while you waited for him to come to a decision, which was taking a long fucking time. “Christ, Sukuna, how long are you gonna make me wait out here?”

He pursed his lips and leaned against the door frame, blocking you from entering so he could toy with you some more. Little did he know, you had urgent business that needed to be taken care of as soon as possible, and didn’t have time to dodge all of his witty remarks.

“You know, we should bring this up in those therapy sessions you make me go to with you and your husband. I’m sure the doctor would find this little secret of yours to be insightful-”

“Please let me in! I drove all the way here after drinking an entire root beer float, and this baby is pressing right on my bladder–I’m about to piss myself!” He eyed your body, honing in on the way you had your thighs clenched together. “Sukuna-”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? This could all be a ruse to get into my house-”

“The truth is about to start dripping down my legs. Let me in, you stupid bitch!”

He stared at you for a few more seconds before rolling his eyes and stepping back out of the doorway to let you in. You were already halfway to the bathroom when you heard him shut the front door to follow the path you’d taken down the hall. He came to stand in front of the bathroom door that you didn’t shut, too eager to get your pants off and piss. 

So eager, in fact, that you did piss yourself a little bit. 

He watched you shuck off your bottoms in an irritated, huffy motion and caught them as you threw the pair at his face. “Since you made me wait, I’ll need something to wear while you wash them.”

He didn’t even pretend to entertain your snarky order and asked a question of his own. “Since when are you knocking on my door instead of just breaking in?”

Your jaw clenched, a warmth taking to your cheeks. “Forgot my key.”

“The anticipation of asking me to fuck you cloud your mind?”

“Fuck off.”

A low chuckle left him as he stepped out of the doorway with your clothes in hand. From the laundry room, you heard him call out to you. “What do you want from that Korean place downtown?”

“You’re getting takeout? It’s almost midnight.”

“They’re open until two.” 

“Uh…” You flushed and stood to wash your hands. “Kimbap is fine. Oh, and that fish-shaped dessert–it’s like taiyaki-”

“Bungeo-ppang,” he corrected you.

“Yeah. That.” You caught your reflection in the mirror, noting the small smile that slowly fell as you realized what you were doing again–staying at Sukuna’s house while your husband was away. Swallowing thickly, you looked away from the mirror as if that would save you from your guilty conscience. “I’m going to shower.”

He didn’t respond, but with how quiet his house was, you knew that he heard you. 

You stripped out of the rest of your clothes and stepped into the bathtub, hissing under the cold water that shot out from the shower head. When it warmed, you eased into it and went to grab one of the soaps from the tiled alcove, but faltered when it came time to make a selection.

Among the soaps that you knew to be Sukuna’s, you noticed a new, colorful bottle that was also familiar. It was the new brand of shampoo that Ryo insisted on because it had her favorite cartoon character on the front. It was a minuscule detail, but it felt… significant. 

And it also hurt you–burned you. 

Because of you, Ryo had to have two of everything instead of just one. Two bottles of soap, two different bedrooms, two different homes, and two separated parents.

At least she got two Christmases, but how long would that be something for her to brag about before she realized the rawness of what it actually meant–that her parents couldn’t stand to be around one another, not even for her sake. 

How long would she think her father was bad ass for rocking Hiro’s shit at her birthday party before she realized that her parents would never be normal? How long until she figured out how embarrassing it was to have parents like you and Sukuna?

And you weren’t just blaming Sukuna for this–you were definitely at fault, too. The divorce was your decision, after all, and if you really tried, you could behave through all of his taunting and teasing. Probably. 

Stomaching Sukuna’s insults would make the separation better for Ryo, and forcing yourself not to argue with him over all the little things would help. But you couldn’t help but fall victim to his nature; you’d always been susceptible to it. 

You thought that maybe the therapy sessions you were forcing Sukuna and Hiro to go to would help–that it would make this divorced-co-parenting situation a little simpler, which could make it a little more normal, but it wasn’t fucking helping. 

Because not even in divorce were you and Sukuna normal. 

To everyone else, you two were separated. But in secret, you were anything but separated–you both liked to pretend the divorce never happened.

Sure, you asked for it last time, but Sukuna played into it. Maybe that was only for your sake, but he was still living the life he had before you two divorced. He hadn’t changed anything, he hadn’t moved on, so was he any better than you?

You suppose that most would say, ‘Yes, he is better than you. He isn’t cheating on his spouse.’ 

True.

But in terms of keeping this separation normal, he wasn’t innocent.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you’d cried enough that your eyes were red and puffy, and you definitely added quite a bit to Sukuna’s water bill.

You remember in the beginning, when you two were first married and struggling to pay your bills, you had a rule to keep your showers under ten minutes. Of course, at the time, you were pregnant, and when you’d inched closer to your due date, being able to shower in under ten minutes was a feat, so Sukuna never fussed at you for taking so long then.

But that was a different time. You two were married. Sukuna was obligated to treat you as his pregnant wife instead of his pregnant ex-wife turned fuck buddy. 

So you couldn’t be too surprised when you stepped into the dining room, where he was playing on his phone while picking at the takeout, and having to hear him complain. He didn’t look up from the screen as he said, “Water isn’t free, you know.”

You snorted and sat down in the chair adjacent to his, in front of your food that he’d set out for you. “It should be free. Comes from the sky.”

“Shower at your own place next time.”

“I did, asshole.” You grabbed the chopsticks beside your plate. “But then you made me wait on the porch until I was about to piss myself. After having Ryo, I can’t hold it anymore. You know that.”

“Should have thought of that before drinking a root beer float, then.” His eyes slid up from the phone to meet yours, watching as you shoveled the first piece of kimbap into your mouth, before returning to what he was looking at on his phone. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled around the food before looking around the table for the usual side dish you’d have with this takeout, and finding it right beside Sukuna’s plate. Readying your chopsticks, you reached across the table to get some of the spicy cabbage, only for him to block your attempt with his own chopsticks. “What the hell?”

He sighed and clicked off his phone before bringing the bowl of kimchi closer to him. “I don’t want to hear you bitch and moan later about having heartburn.”

“I have antacids in my purse.” 

Lies, you’d take the last of them yesterday after lunch, but Sukuna didn’t need to know that.

He eyed you for a moment before conceding, sliding the small bowl toward you to watch you happily pick at the kimchi. You were definitely going to regret it later when the spice burned the back of your throat for a second time, but that was a problem for future you. 

For now, you’d worry about the present.

Which included dodging Sukuna’s pestering. 

“What were you crying about in the shower?”

You knew it was coming, yet you didn’t prepare an answer for him before coming out of the bathroom. Truthfully, you were too eager to eat the takeout. However, as it’s been said before, you left your dignity at your own house before deciding to drive all the way to Sukuna’s. With that in mind, you offered up the truth.

“I saw the shampoo you have for Ryo.” You shrugged, shoveling another piece of kimbap into your mouth while you listened to Sukuna chuckle.

“Always so sensitive. Why’re you crying over soap?”

“Because it’s the same shampoo she has at my house.”

Sukuna nodded, not really understanding what you were getting at. “Right. Because it’s got her favorite cartoon character on the front. She wouldn’t let me leave the store without getting it for her the last time we were out. Said she had to have it, or she’d refuse to shower.”

You held back a giggle as you swallowed your food. “She said the same thing to me.”

“Besides the fact that our daughter knows how to manipulate both of us, why are you crying over that?”

Your smile slowly faded as you huffed. “I just… feel bad, I guess. Split custody sucks for everyone involved, and I just wonder if she hates it as much as I do–we do.”

“She’s not too bothered by it,” Sukuna began, “she doesn’t like having to switch between houses all the time, but only because she hates not being able to take my PlayStation back to your house. I’m getting her a new one for Christmas, by the way. So, don’t take my idea.”

You perked up then, a little confused. “She’s talked to you about it?”

He paused mid-bite. “Yeah. She wants this new game, but my console’s too old to run it-”

“Not that. I meant the split custody.”

“Only when I ask her about it,” he answered, taking the bite then, watching you mull over his words. “She hasn’t said anything about it to you?”

“No, but I guess I never ask. I always just kind of try to… give reassurance that we love her, and that none of this is her fault-” Sukuna exhaled a laugh and reached for his drink. “What's so funny?”

“She’s not an idiot, you know.”

“I do know that, thank you,” you scoffed, taking offense, “You don’t think she needs reassurance?”

“I didn’t say that, but she’s pretty self-assured already. She knows it’s not her fault.”

You cocked a brow. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I asked her.” An arrogantly knowing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he picked at his food. “If you weren’t so afraid to hear her opinions, you would have asked her, too-”

“Screw you. I do want to know her opinions-”

“Then why haven’t you asked?” He raised both brows, waiting for your rebuttal, and when you had none, he continued, “You don’t want to hear your daughter tell you that she’s unhappy with what you’ve done-”

“What we’ve done,” you corrected.

“Sure. What we’ve done.” He rolled his eyes. “But besides agreeing to the divorce, I’m not ashamed of anything; therefore, I don’t have to be afraid of hearing my daughter tell me I’ve messed up somehow.” 

You dropped your chopsticks and snapped, “I’m not ashamed of anything–not even the divorce.”

“That so?” You hated the way he tilted his head to the side in a cynical, questioning sort of way. “You moved her into a new house with a stranger and said she had to treat him like family, and I’d bet anything you haven’t asked for her thoughts on that. If you had, you know that she doesn’t like Hiro-”

“That’s what's expected with you constantly running your mouth about him. Kids are impressionable, you know?”

A dry, unamused laugh met your ears. “I’ve not said one word about Hiro in front of her-”

“Yeah, right,” you huffed, pushing your food away from you, stomach tightening in knots with your rising anger. 

“It’s true. Why would I? So she has more of a reason not to like you?” You paused, as did Sukuna, and in real time, you watched his face slacken as he realized what he’d said. “That’s not what I meant-”

“She doesn’t like me?”

“I didn’t mean-”

Tears spilled over as you pushed away from the table. “That’s what you just said.”

“She doesn’t like the situation you’ve put her in-”

“That we’ve put her in!”

“No! That you’ve put her in!” he snapped, meeting your anger, “I didn’t marry someone else! I didn’t move her in with a stranger! In my house, there’s not some third person I’m forcing her to call mom! It’s just me, you, and Ryo–just like it was before, and just like it should be now! The situation she doesn’t like, the situation that you put her in, it’s fucking unstable and inconsistent! And it’s your fault!”

“You know what’s fucking unstable and inconsistent?! Having a father who’s in and out of prison because his brother means more to him than his family!” You stood up then, leaning over the table toward him. “You know what else is unstable and inconsistent?! Jumping between friends' houses to homeless shelters with a fucking toddler! And standing in line at the fucking food bank, hoping to god there’s enough by the time it’s your turn! And praying the pack of diapers is enough to last until you’re able to scrounge up enough money to get some more! I couldn’t do all of that on my own, and you left me for two years!”

The crestfallen look on his face was almost worth the pain you were reliving, but it looked so fucking blurry through the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. 

You pushed at him when he stood up, stepping closer to you, but you were met with zero resistance. He only let you hit his chest a few times before he grabbed both of your hands to hold them still while you continued to rant.

“Don’t fucking talk to me about being inconsistent and unstable when that’s how you left us! Marrying Hiro was just fucking damage control, to make sure the next time you needed approval from a fucking ghost, at least Ryo could have some stability and consistency! Her stepfather might not be there all the time, and she might hate him, but we have a house and food on the table. She gets to demand her favorite shampoo, and choose a theme for her birthday, and know what it's like to be a normal fucking kid! 

“And she gets to know her grandparents– I even get to have a relationship with them again now that we’re divorced– we have support from more than just you and whatever you deem is enough for us! And ensuring all of that makes me a bad person?! Wanting more for our kid than what you could give her while you were in prison makes me a bad mom?! I should be ashamed of that, while you get to feel guiltless?! Don’t fucking play self-righteous with me, Sukuna, because I’ve done more for our child than you ever have!”

For a moment, your cries were muffled by his shirt when he pulled you into his chest, hugging you, before you started pushing at him to let you go. His hold never wavered, and just when you were about to exhaust yourself, you heard him say the words you’d been waiting to hear for years.

“I’m sorry.” 

Despite every nerve in your body telling you to pull away, you didn’t. You melted into it, rigid limbs liquifying against him as you cried, “You left me first.”

“I know.”

“You left me alone, and I-I fucking hate you for it. And you weren’t the same when you came back, and I…” You fisted his shirt in your hands. “I couldn’t fucking do it again. I didn’t know when you’d be back–I didn’t know if you’d just leave us again-”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know, but I don’t think I’ve said it to you before, and it’s nice to hear, isn’t it?” You swallowed thickly and nodded against him. His hand met the back of your head when he pressed a kiss to your hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. If there was something I could do to make it up to you-”

“There isn’t. The time for that was before the divorce. Now, what’s the point? I already have Hiro. I don’t need you like that anymore.”

“Then what do you need me for?”

You sniffled, finally calming down a bit after your outburst. “Who says I need you for anything at all?”

“Mm, somehow you keep ending up in my house, so obviously you need me for something.”

And he had you there.

“To make me forget, I guess. To keep me from feeling so lonely.” You tearfully snickered, “To feed my delusions, which you should stop doing, by the way.”

“At this point, why stop now?” His hand moved to your stomach, palming the side of it over the loose shirt you’d borrowed from his closet. “What are the chances this kid is mine?”

“A lot higher than it should be,” you answered, voice wobbly.

“And what are you going to do if they are mine?”

You sucked your quivering bottom lip into your mouth as you shrugged, burying your face into his shirt again. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever fucked up this badly before, Sukuna. You were right, Ryo probably does hate me, and it’s my fault-”

The sharp flick against your ear had you reeling back, cupping it while letting out a hiss. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t make me hold you and then start feeling sorry for yourself. That’s pathetic, even for you.”

Your eyes widened. “Feel sorry for myself?!”

He rolled his eyes and stepped back to the table to begin gathering up the food. “You know damn well Ryo doesn’t hate you. You’re a shitty spouse to Hiro, but you’re not a shitty mom.”

You blinked, feeling a little dumbfounded. “I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or an insult.”

“You can take it as the truth. Ryo isn’t stupid. She can see you’re trying your best, that’s what matters. And no matter who the runt belongs to, you’ll be a good mother to them, too. So stop it with the tears. I’d rather listen to you yell at me all night for being a terrible husband for leaving than have to listen to wonder if Ryo secretly hates you–she doesn’t, by the way. You’re definitely the top contender as her favorite parent.”

You sniveled and waved him off. “Now I know you’re lying.”

He chuckled, “I’m not. You should hear her. Mommy this, mommy that. Every time we go to the store, it’s Mommy would like this, wouldn’t she look so pretty in this, we should get this for her.” 

A warmth covered your cheeks. “Oh.”

“Mhm.”

You held a tiny giggle behind your hand and followed him into the kitchen while he worked on putting away the leftovers. “She says the same things about you when we go out.”

He paused then, briefly glancing at you over his shoulder to ask, “Does she?”

“She does. Pisses Hiro off like you wouldn’t imagine.”

Sukuna turned back around, snickering, “Knowing her, she’s probably only doing it because she knows it pisses him off.”

“Yeah. Probably,” you laughed, growing silent as your smile slowly faded while you watched him put the food away in the fridge. The entire moment felt so domestic, and had you longing for what you once had before. Not just the marriage, but the relationship you had with Sukuna overall–it was always so perfectly put together. 

You two just… meshed. 

You fit together.

* * *

Eight Years Prior

You eyed all of the passing inmates through the plastic divider, patiently and anxiously waiting to see the one you came for. Just when you thought he might have turned down time in the visitation booth, Sukuna sat down in front of you, biting back a pleased grin as he took the phone off the wall, leaving you to mirror his action.

“You know, khaki is not a good look for you,” you teased, eyeing his beige uniform that appeared to be a bit too small around the arms and chest. Or maybe he was just that muscular. “I was expecting the bright orange jumpsuit, if I’m being honest. Gives more of the prisoner look.”

“Mm, well, we’re in the county jail, not a prison. The uniforms are different. But, truthfully, I didn’t look good in the bright orange, either. Now, the red jumpsuit did me a lot of favors. The lunch ladies loved it.”

You cocked a brow, leaning closer to the glass. “Did they?”

“Mhm. Gave me extra food whenever I asked.” His breathy laughter sounded staticky over the receiver. “Until the guards found out and told them to stop. Practically starved me after that.”

With his explanation, your eyes lit up. “Oh, speaking of being starved, that reminds me. I added money to your commissary.”

Sukuna’s face fell. “No, you didn’t.”

You nodded. “I did. It wasn’t much since my dad cut my allowance. He’s still mad about me hiding you from the police, but it should be enough for you to get food, right? If not, I saw a flyer in the lobby about sending care packages. I’ll have to go through the approved vendors, and I don’t know how long it will take to get here, but I can put something together-”

“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart. I’m only here for a couple of months.”

Your smile flickered. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be hungry-”

“Trust me, if I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

“If you say so,” you huffed, leaning your chin into your hand. “So, when do they allow conjugal visits?”

He hummed out a soft laugh. “You miss me that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“I probably have just the right idea, actually.” 

As if to prove his point, his eyes raked down your neck to your chest, appreciating the top you decided to wear that was quite low-cut–a conscientious fashion decision on your part; you wanted to tease him a little bit, even if it was considered cruel. 

You leaned over the table just a bit and hooked a finger into your shirt to pull it down just enough that he could see your tits. His smirk fell as his eyes followed the motion, staring intently at your chest before you released your shirt, letting it slide back into place.

“Fucking tease.”

“Maybe I can send you some photos through the mail or something.”

He released a groan, “As lovely as that would be, don’t fucking do that. They check the envelopes, and they’d definitely keep the pictures for themselves.”

A small pout formed on your mouth. “That’s not fair.”

“Tell me about it.”

The guards gave out a five-minute warning, which only made your pout deepen. You sighed, “I really miss you. And it’s not just the sex, I just miss having you around. You’re like my best friend, you know.”

His smile was small as he looked at you through the plastic divider. “I know, but you can always spend time with Emi until I get out.”

“I do. I’m always over at their place when I’m not working, but Emi just got a job, so she’s like… never there. And when she is there, I feel bad intruding on their family time. She says she doesn’t mind, but I think she’s just being nice. Toji, on the other hand, lets me know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Sukuna brushed you off. “You know he’s only saying that because Emi’s spending time with you instead of him. He’s an attention whore.”

“I know,” you giggled, falling into a bit of silence for a moment. “You think they’ll let you out early for good behavior.”

He snorted, “Doubt it. They wish they could keep me in here all the time. I think all the COs have their dicks hard for me.”

“Keep it appropriate, Sukuna,” one of the guards from behind him scolded, bringing you both to snicker. 

“See? Always up my ass.”

* * * 

Sukuna could be brash, he could be rude, but he was always just right for you. You found him charming for the attributes most would dislike.

And you could be loud and overdramatic, but you complemented him. He found your pitfalls charming, too.

When the refrigerator door closed and he turned to face you, he cocked a brow at the new tears that dripped down your cheeks and rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Nothing. Can we just go to bed? I’m tired,” you sniffled, wiping the wetness from under your eyes. 

“You drove all the way here to sleep?”

“No, I came for sex, but now I’m tired and weepy and I have heartburn.”

“Already?” When you nodded, he let out an irritated groan. “Where are your antacids?”

“I don’t have anymore.”

Another groan left him as he turned back to the fridge, pulling out the milk before retrieving a glass. 

“You’re a dumbass,” he jeered, pouring you a small glass before pushing it into your hands. You took it with a tiny, grateful smile and sipped on it while he moved to grab his keys. 

“Where are you going?”

“To get you fucking antacids before you wake me up in a few hours to cry about heartburn.”

“Pepto or Tums–not Rolaids-”

“I know. Drink that and then get ready for bed. There’s a spare toothbrush under the bathroom sink.” He slammed the door on his way out, much like he always did, even if he was in a good mood or not. 

A tired yawn slipped passed your lips before you drank the little bit of milk he’d given you, making sure to wash out the cup and put it on the drying rack. You followed his orders and brushed your teeth next, then retrieved your clothing from the dryer to slip into, and then slid under the covers in his bed. 

You weren’t awake to see him return, but some time through the night, you briefly woke up with a familiar tattooed arm draped over your waist, palm pressed flat against your stomach, with his soft, gentle breathing hitting the back of your shoulder. 

The moment was domestically sweet, a feeling you couldn’t replicate with Hiro, no matter how hard you tried. It was as if a moment like this was reserved for Sukuna, and Sukuna only.

It should bother you, but it didn’t.

It also shouldn’t make you horny, but it did.

You turned to face him, causing him to stir in his sleep just enough that he rolled onto his back. Propping yourself up on your elbow beside him, you tapped his shoulder until he tiredly grumbled, “What?”

“I’m horny.”

He cracked a heavy-lidded eye open. “Christ. Right now?” When you nodded, he groaned, “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning.”

He huffed and lowered his arm over his eyes, raising the other to rest above his head. “If you can get it up, you can use it.”

“What? You’re just going to sleep?”

“That’s the plan. So be quiet.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to just roll you over and take you from behind, but his soft breathing resumed, letting you know he’d actually fallen asleep again. 

“Jackass,” you mumbled, gathering yourself onto your knees beside him before sliding down to kneel between his legs while pulling his boxers down his legs with zero help from him at all. You wrapped your fingers around his soft dick, pumping him in your hand with an annoyed sigh that only served to bring a raspy chuckle from him. 

“You could use your mouth, you know. Would work faster.”

“I don’t like sucking dick.”

“I don’t like being woken up for sex, only to get a dry handjob. At least spit on it, or we’ll be here all day.”

You spit onto your palm before slicking it over his shaft. “Better?”

“Could be worse,” he tutted, bringing you to grunt in frustration before leaning down to take him into your mouth. With your tongue lapping at the underside of his tip, he let out a sated breath as his hand moved to your hair. “Good, that’s the way.”

The harder he got in your hands, the prettier the sounds that came from him were, which was your motivation to keep going. The first bead of liquid that hit your taste buds made you moan around him and bring your tongue to his tip, hoping for more. 

Your hand slicked down to his balls, cupping them in your palm until a quiet hiss met your ears. A gentle popping sound filled the room when you released his cock from your lips to mouth kisses down to meet your hand, bringing it up to stroke him while running your tongue over his seam. 

From your place between his legs, you looked up his torso, seeing that he still had his eyes covered by his arm, appearing to be unbothered by you, but with a closer look at his breathing, which had grown ragged, you knew he was only pretending not to be affected. 

You mouthed at his inner thigh, enjoying the subtle gasp that you caught, and when you nipped at his hipbone, the way his hip jerked into your fist was too entertaining. Usually, he was never this… docile. It made you wonder what else you could get away with.

You kissed up the trail of pinkish hair that led to his torso, tongue gliding over the tense muscles of his lower stomach, dipping into his belly button, which you really thought was the point when he was going to push you off, yet he didn’t. 

His cock twitched in your hand when you did it again. “Interesting,” you mumbled, mouthing up his stomach. 

“Fuck off,” he groused, not interested in hearing your teasing remarks about it.

“It’s cute that your belly button is so sensitive-” A sharp sting on your nipple had you reeling back with a shriek. “What the fuck?! You can’t just flick my nipple!”

“It’s cute that your tits are so sensitive,” he cooed mockingly, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Mine are sensitive? What about yours?” 

Before he could stop you, you pinched both of his, and only then did he push you off to take his spot above you. 

“Careful,” he began, “I’ll fuck your tits and leave you to take care of the rest on your own.”

“I’m sure you would, you sadistic freak.”

“You like the idea. I know you do.” With his knee, he forced your thighs to part wider to accommodate him. “But probably not as much as the idea of me fucking you, right?”

“I actually wanted to ride you.”

“Lost your privileges the second you pinched my nipples. How do you want it?”

You let out a huff. “From the back, I guess.”

He leaned over you and grabbed a few pillows from the head of the bed, plopping the stack in the middle of the mattress before motioning for you to lean over it. As you got situated, you felt his fingers pull your underwear to the side and slide through your folds, stopping at your entrance to inch them inside.

“For someone who doesn’t like sucking dick, you’re really fucking wet.”

“I was wet before I even woke you up.”

“Uh huh.” Two fingers slid inside, pressing into that spot until your back was arching into the feeling of it. With his other hand, he hooked a finger under the cloth of your underwear, letting it go to snap against your skin. “At least you wore cute underwear this time. These are pretty on you–I like the red.”  

He curled and flicked his fingers until your thighs were almost shaking, praising you with degradations the entire time until you were right there, nearly about to tip over, when he pulled his hand away.

“Sukuna,” you groaned, leaning into the pillows. “Just fuck me. I’m tired, too.” However, instead of fucking you, he moved your underwear back in place. Against your slit, over the cloth, you felt him prod at your entrance. “What are you doing?”

“I told you I like the underwear. They’re hot.” 

A slap against your ass made you jolt forward, and when you moved back, desperate for his dick to just be in you already, you met his mouth instead. His breath warmed the cloth, which dampened with his tongue pressing against you, licking over the fabric. 

“S-Sukuna, I–can’t we-” 

You moved your hands behind you to push him away, but he took both of yours into one of his and pinned them to your back. With his free hand, he grabbed the back of your upper thigh, right below your asscheek, and spread you open more than you were, lapping over the bare skin that your underwear didn’t cover. You felt a heat settle over your face as you fought against his hold on your hands.  

You heard him spit and felt the warmth of it seep into your underwear, too–a lewd and dirty feeling, but a part of you had to admit that you liked it. His thumb spread it over you, making sure the cloth was drenched before he pulled back with a satisfied hum. He pressed his thumb into your clit while he traced his tip over the wet part of your underwear, pushing into you just enough to tease before pulling back.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Not yet,” he answered, releasing your hands to lift the soaked cloth from your slit and slide his dick underneath. Both of his hands fell to your hips as he pulled you back against him, sliding his cock against your pussy, but never pressing inside. 

You let out an irritated sound. “Sukuna, please.”

“Sweetheart, if you could see what I’m seeing, you’d understand.” 

“See what? You’re just fucking my underwear.”

“Exactly.” 

His fingertips pressed into your skin when he dragged you back for a third and fourth time. You continued to complain until he put his hand to the back of your neck and pressed your face into the mattress to shut you up. The push and pull of your hips quickened, and you thought for sure that he would accidentally slip inside, yet he didn’t.

Just when you were about to voice even more complaints, you felt the warm spurts of cum leaking down your slit, followed by him snickering to himself. 

“Did you just cum in my underwear?”

“I did,” he admitted unabashedly, tone a little wobbly, but that was to be expected as he overstimulated himself by sliding you against him still. “It’s hotter than I thought it would be.” 

“You’ve thought about this before?”

He blew out a breath, slowly dragging you back and pushing you forward. “More times than you can imagine.”

You giggled, “Kind of pathetic-” 

Your breathing hitched when he very slowly inched inside of you until he met your cervix. You arched into it, but went limp at the same time, and exhaled shakily, “F-Fuck.”

He leaned down over you, hands never leaving your hips as he whispered, “That was pathetic. Maybe even pitiful.”

“Shut up,” you moaned, fingers twisting into the sheets when he started to actually fuck you. 

Thankfully, he listened–though he couldn’t really manage anything more than poorly suppressed moans and overstimulated hisses. You were grateful for his effort and for the extra slickness of his cum since your underwear soaked up a lot of your arousal and Sukuna’s spit. 

You felt his forehead lean against your shoulder, his hand moving to the bed to keep himself from falling on top of you. He mouthed at your skin, nipping and sucking at it to keep himself quiet.

However, in the game of wanting to get the last laugh that you and Sukuna always played, you couldn’t resist fucking with him. Just for fun, and payback, you clenched around him as tightly as you could, enjoying the way his consistently paced thrusts faltered into a sloppy mess. 

“Fucking bitch,” he growled, slapping your ass hard when he pulled back. “Don’t do that again.”

“Or what?” you dared to ask. 

“You can ride the vibrator and hope it has enough of a charge left to get you there.”

You scoffed out a small laugh. “You’re such a dick.”

He leaned over you, and with his arm around your hips, toyed with your clit as a means to make you shut up–it worked quicker than you thought it would. 

Though your eyes were heavy-lidded, nearly closing from need for sleep, and need to cum, you noticed your left hand had bumped into his. In a move that felt instinctive, he grabbed it, interlocking your fingers and pinning it to the bed.

 Five years ago, a very similar position had taken place many, many times, too. Five years ago, your wedding rings would have touched if he had held your hand like this. Now, only one of you wore a ring on that hand. 

But this ring wasn’t as pretty as the cheap one they gave you when you got married to Sukuna.

His free hand carded through the underneath of your hair by your neck, taking it in a fist to pull your head back. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-No-”

“Then hurry the fuck up.”

Through gritted teeth, you spat, “I’m trying, asshole-”

His hand closed in around your neck, tilting your head back. “Stop talking, too.”

What you wanted to do was call him a dick, but the word died on your lips when the angle he positioned your hips in was very deep and very filling. When he noticed the way your brows drew together, you could almost see the relief in his eyes.

He pressed kisses to your shoulder until your orgasm rolled over your body, which was the precursor for his own. His thrusts were brutal as he worked you both through it in a rough, handsy exchange. You were pushing back against him, and he was trying to bury himself as deep in you as he could. And although your ears were ringing with the intensity of your orgasm, you still heard the faintest whimper from behind you.

Just as he was finished, he pulled out of your pussy with a groan, collapsing on the bed beside you. Despite how spent he looked while he tried to catch his breath, you couldn’t help yourself. “Your record is six times in one night, by the way-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, pushing at your face.

You tiredly giggled and dodged his attempt to add, “And I definitely heard you whimper.”

“Your hearing is shit anyway, so no one would believe you.” He made a quick grab for your arm and hauled you over toward him. When he felt your intake of air, a sign you were about to sling some half-assed rebuttal at him, he pressed his hand over your mouth. “I mean it this time. Shut up. Go to sleep.”

You listened to him, drifting off seconds after his order.

Only to wake up again, hours later, to a soft tapping on your arm. You brushed it away at first, but when it was paired with a familiar voice, it drew you out of sleep.

“Mommy.”

“Hm?” The tapping continued until you forced your tired eyes open to see your daughter standing beside you, fish-shaped dessert in hand, with a few bites taken out of the head of it. “Where’d you get that?” you slurred, trying your best to realize your surroundings.

“Daddy’s fridge.”

“Mm, daddy’s fridge? What are you-” The realization hit you all at once, bringing you to push yourself up right as quickly as you could, which wasn’t very fast with the belly and Sukuna’s arm still wrapped around your waist. With one of your hands to cover yourself, you realized you were clothed again, courtesy of Sukuna, you suppose. “Ryo.”

She took a step away from the bed, smiling as she took another bite out of the bungeo-ppang, while you started tapping Sukuna in the chest to wake him up. 

After the taps got proceedingly more harsh, he swatted your hand away, groaning, “I’m up, woman. Quit hitting me.” Sukuna pushed himself up with a sigh, raking his hand through his hair with a yawn that fell short when he saw the third person standing in the room. “Ryo.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, slipping out of the bed to create space between you and Sukuna–not that it fucking mattered anymore, she just caught you in the same bed, cuddling too close for two people who were supposed to be separated.

“Grandma dropped me off before taking Grandpa to his doctor’s appointment. She told me to tell you to call her. She didn’t seem happy.” She took one more bite of the dessert, biting right into the red bean paste filling before crinkling her nose slightly and handing it off to you. Still groggy and overwhelmed at the same time, you took it as she added, “I only like the custard ones.”

* * * 

After you and Sukuna gathered your composure, which took a bit longer for you than it did him, you both stepped out of the bedroom, preparing yourselves to explain to Ryo what she just saw, and hope to god the lie you’d fabricated was enough to appease her, which you knew was a long, long, very fucking long shot in the dark because the girl was too smart for her own good. 

Your hands were shaking.

You were nervous, rightfully so. 

But maybe this is what you deserved–being caught by your daughter, to have her hold this mistake over your head to get whatever she wanted for the next fifty years until you died-

“Stop it,” Sukuna scolded, swatting at your hands when he noticed you ripping them to shreds. “She’s nine. We can tell her it was a slumber party and she’ll probably believe it.”

The look you gave him was entirely deadpan.

“Sukuna, she stopped believing in the tooth fairy at five years old after she stayed up all night to catch it because she knew everyone was lying to her about fairies existing. Remember, she pulled out a tooth that wasn’t even ready just to prove her point.”

Sukuna snickered, “Well… that was very logical of her.”

You huffed, “She’s perceptive, and if she thinks we’re lying to her, she’s going to get more suspicious and more nosy.”

The sound of grunting, groans, and shouts of agony came from the TV in the living room, leading you both to stand behind your daughter while she played what looked to be Mortal Kombat–and kicked ass at it, too, which couldn’t be healthy for a nine-year-old. You shot a glare at your husband, who only rolled his eyes. 

“Relax, she doesn’t play it that often.”

“Cetrion wins, flawless victory,” the deep-voiced narrator droned, announcing Ryo’s perfect win, while the screen focused on a very gory depiction of what Cetrion had done to Baraka.

“Did you see that, daddy?” the little girl asked, peering over her shoulder with a grin before turning back around. “I’m going for a Brutality next-”

“Actually, can you pause the game for a second? Your mom wants to talk to you-” You slapped his arm hard. “I mean, we want to talk to you.”

She paused the game and spun around on her bottom to face you both with a smile–one that held so much hope and light, and let you know exactly what she was thinking before she even voiced her assumption.

“Are you two getting back together?”

At the same time, you and Sukuna both let out a breath. It seemed he’d drawn the same conclusion that you had about Ryo’s wide-eyed stare. 

“No,” you answered, averting your eyes to your hands. To have to see her disappointment firsthand was heartbreaking, and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to take it. 

“Then why were you sleeping in the same bed?”

You felt like you were drowning, sputtering for air while you tried to speak, but the waves of dismay that rolled off Ryo kept filling your mouth with something so bitter–you hated it, and you hated yourself.

You were about to start crying, and Ryo definitely noticed, if her confused grimace was any indication.

You really didn’t know what to say. Like you’d told Sukuna last night, you weren’t sure if you’d ever fucked up this badly before.

Your eyes met Sukuna’s, wordlessly telling him that you didn’t know what to do in that moment.

“You didn’t want me to make your mom sleep on the floor, did you?” Sukuna asked, sliding down onto the floor next to her, while all you could do was stand there and watch the interaction, grateful that he intervened.

Ryo scrunched up her nose, shaking her head. “No. That would be mean.”

“Exactly.” He grabbed the game controller and put it into Ryo’s hand, taking another controller for himself before pulling her into his lap to face the TV. 

As he loaded up a new round for them to play together, she asked, “But why were you in the bed, too?”

“You know how you like to sleep in my bed when you have nightmares?” Ryo nodded and started clicking through the character selection menu. “Your mom has nightmares, too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. She gets so scared that she cries. Like a baby.” 

The Mortal Kombat narrator announced their round had started, and immediately the characters were dueling it out, and from the looks of it, Sukuna was actually trying against her, yet she held her own.

“But why was she here?”

“We always meet up this time of year to talk about what we’re getting you for Christmas. We don’t want to get you the same things.” 

The way both of them were able to talk normally, but keep up with the game, was beyond you.

“And you know how she has to pee all of the time because of the baby?”

“Yeah.”

 Sukuna leaned in closer to quietly add, “She actually peed her pants, and she had to stay so I could wash her clothes for her.”

“Ew.”

“I know. It was disgusting. Then she was so embarrassed that she cried, and to make her feel better, I got her the taiyaki. But she only likes the custard kind like you, so she wouldn’t eat it. Said I could have it instead.”

The gameplay continued until Sukuna’s character got the better of Ryo’s, putting her in a ruthless juggle of combos until Cetrion died a very, very gruesome death.

“Brutality. Sheeva wins,” the narrator announced.

With a groan, Ryo accepted the defeat begrudgingly. “I hate when you play with Sheeva. She’s ugly and she sucks.”

He tutted at her, “It’s not always about the looks, you know. She’s a good fighter.”

“Because she has four arms, which is why she’s ugly. She’s like a bug.”

“Having four arms would be bad ass, and I think you’re just being a sore loser,” Sukuna chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You should practice Cetrion’s long-range attacks.”

“You could just let me win.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teasingly questioned, resting his chin on top of her head.

“So, you two aren’t getting back together?”

“Do you want us to?”

A quiet gasp left your mouth, and just when you were about to interrupt and stop her from answering a question that could only get her hopes up, Sukuna raised his hand to stop you.

Ryo shrugged. “Sometimes I do, but you guys fight a lot. I like it better when you both are happy, even if you’re apart.”

Sukuna hummed over her answer and pressed another kiss to her head. “Smart girl.”

“I know,” she chirped, loading up another game. “Let’s play again.”

“One more, then I have to talk to your mom.”

After their last round, Sukuna found you waiting in his kitchen, your back pressed against the counter while you sipped on some orange juice you stole from his fridge. When he saw you, a smirk played on his lips. “See? All is well.”

“All is not well, Sukuna,” you whispered harshly, “Do you not feel bad for lying?”

“When did I lie?” He cocked a brow. “You came over, pissed yourself, ate takeout, we talked about Christmas presents, then you cried, and went to bed-”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t. I gave her the truth.” He reached over the top of you and opened the cupboard above your head to pull out the container of coffee grounds.

“Sukuna-”

“What did you want me to tell her, sweetheart? The real reason you came over here in the first place? She’s only nine, I hardly think now is the time for that talk-” You pushed at his chest, which was unmoving, per usual. He lowered his hands to the counter behind you, leaning in slowly, and when he noticed you didn’t back away, he kissed you quickly before moving away with the coffee container in hand. “She’s content with what she knows for now. That’s good enough.”

“Maybe for you.”

“Again, what else do you want her to know? If you need someone to talk to about what we’re doing, you should consider the therapist you're pouring so much money into. I hardly think our daughter needs to know the full extent of our relationship.”

“I-I–you’re right, but it just feels… wrong.”

Sukuna snorted at your confession. “That’s probably the infidelity talking.”

“You’re an asshole.”

He started the coffee machine to brew a cup and turned around to face you. “And you still keep ending up in my bed.”

“And you still keep letting me in.”

“Sorry. I’ll turn you away next time and let you piss yourself as you waddle back to your car.”

“Just quit letting me inside.”

“As if that would stop you–you have a key.”

“Then change your locks.”

“And when you get horny enough that you’d climb through my window?”

Your brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Didn’t think you’d cheat on your husband either, and here you are. Standing in my kitchen, pregnant with a baby that may or may not belong to me-”

“Stop it. You… you pulled out that night. I remember-”

“Bullshit. I had less to drink than you, and even I don’t remember what exactly happened that night. I do, however, remember you naked, hunched over the toilet with something that looked a lot like cum dripping down your leg.” When you pushed at him again, he only snickered and let you move him before he turned to get the cup of coffee from the machine. “As much as I love arguing with you about this, we need to figure out what we’re doing with Ryo because it’s not my day to have her, and I promised the garage I’d come in today. You should also call your parents.”

Your heart dropped with his reminder. 

“Shit.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement over his coffee. “At least now that they’ve met Ryo, it’ll be a lot harder for them to cut you both out of their lives again for associating yourself with scum like me.”

His scornful sarcasm wasn’t lost on you. “This isn’t funny, Sukuna.”

“Who’s laughing?” he questioned as he brushed passed you to the living room. “Call your parents. I have to leave for work in half an hour.”

master list || next chapter song reference: Self-Esteem- The Offspring

Author's Note: omg you all are so fucking sweet!! I'll admit that I didn't check my phone often this weekend because I was helping a friend with her new house, so when I came back, I was a little overwhelmed by all the comments, but god, they're all so nice--you all are so nice! I love you all! And the support for this story was a lot more than I anticipated, so thank you!! <3!!!

Now for the tag list issue. I think I got everyone, but I'm not sure how many blogs I can tag in one post, and if I exceed that, idk know what to do. I'm nervous about it and idk what I'm doing lmao.

So with that in mind, until I know for sure that I can tag everyone, I'm gonna close the tag list for new people. But just know that I feel really bad about it--I'm sorry

@curlsnchxos @suchagoodgirlxoxo @seellove @cyberket @cl3xr @call-memissbrightside @ane5e @sukubusss @anothergojostan @douxdolly @webvics @swoozleee @kalligarii @poopooindamouf @therealjustpeachesback @itsssyagurll @cherrycokeline @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @choerryp1e @cxquious @dumbasskelp @iamstillyoursalwaysb @ryomeowie @pixiefaye @puttyly @betzy-chan @jungkookswifeeeeeee @reicyberia @tojisonlyfns @soiac3 @s-e-s-a-l-e-n-e @dilfkentolover @pillowprincess4him @emma-37 @b0nez9 @haazelnuutloover @man1cslut @jkslvsnella @babucakes @sapphire-is-kinda-fire @siedne111 @braziliangirlthings @reicyberia @onlykuna @emoedgylord @therealtopg @shrewdreader @melonnscrwam @blueemochii @iridescentshine @inzayneforaj @slammynics @juha18indeepspace @evii1e

[kenpachissluut]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ having an affair with Uncle!Sukuna ᥫ᭡

Uncle!Sukuna who picks you and yuji up whenever you are going to a student party. He also drives you home since you are Yuji‘s best friend and because he likes you more than he admits.

Uncle!Sukuna who tries to stay away from you and to treat you just like Yuji‘s friend but fails miserably. He really has the hots for you and sneaks always glances at you, especially when you are wearing a skimpy skirt showing off your juicy thighs.

Uncle!Sukuna who pulls you into the hallway, putting his big hand over your shocked mouth to tell you to stay silent or else yuji hears. He surprises you then with a deep, intense sloppy kiss, his hands roaming all over your youthful soft body as he couldn’t resist it anymore.

Uncle!Sukuna who sits in the morning on his couch, drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper. Best part? His reading glasses. They look so sexy and nerdy on him, even though he wears them to read better he still has to narrow his eyes lol. It takes all your willpower to not pounce on him right there and then.

Uncle!Sukuna who pretends going grocery shopping just to meet up with you at your dorm. Finally releasing the primal beast you unleashed within. He pounds your innocent pussy without any mercy, strong veiny hands holding your small body in place while he takes what he wanted for so damn long.

Uncle!Sukuna who gives only you a special treatment from Yuji’s friends. Poor Yuji is too dumb to understand or even care. He always buys your favorite snacks or drinks when he knows you are staying over and even if you are not, he keeps sum of it there just in case you show up.

Uncle!Sukuna who pretends that there can’t be anything serious between you, but deep down he really catched feelings for you. Seeing your pretty face all day everyday at his home, seeing you all flustered while he flirts with you bluntly. God you just make his heart beat even faster without noticing.

Uncle!Sukuna who pulls you into the bathroom where he waits for you with a throbbing, hard length ready to be sucked. He loves seeing you all submissively on your knees, diligently working on his fat cock while looking pretty as fuck. He would love to push you deep down on his cock, but he knows you are still inexperienced so he‘s being a gentle giant with you.

Uncle!Sukuna who loves watching you ride his fat cock. So that’s why he let’s you just bounce up and down on his hard length, glistening wet with all your sweet juices until he can’t help but shoot his load into you. Good you are on birth control.

Uncle!Sukuna who has an massive Size Kink. He loves seeing your small, youthful body on top of him riding him like there’s no tomorrow. Or being all vulnerable underneath him like a small little flower who is ready to be crushed.

Uncle!Sukuna who‘s favorite position is Full nelson. Holding you all together in one piece by his strong beefy arms without any real effort, seeing you fall apart on his fat cock. Tears streaming your pretty face down and whimpers escaping your lips while he pistons into you roughly until he coates your walls completely white.

Uncle!Sukuna who gets secretly jealous when you sleep over in yuji‘s room. But of course he acts like he isn’t jealous, just for the sake of his nephew not finding out. Deep down he just hopes Yuji doesn’t make an wrong move on you.

Uncle!Sukuna who took your innocence away. Finding yourself one night in his room while Yuji was at a Party by himself. Sukuna was very gentle with you and took his sweet time. Gentle kisses, soft strokes and especially slow but intense thrusts to not hurt you or make you uncomfortable at your first time.

Uncle!Sukuna who eats your pussy out like it’s his last meal on earth. Gods he sucks slowly onto your clit, then he teases it with his tongue and in the next moment his tongue is fucking your core relentlessly. Slurping all your juices off, making his face all messy until you squirt all over his face.

Uncle!Sukuna who spanks your little ass when he notices you flirting with other guys. He finds it incredibly amusing that you think he would be jealous about so immature boys like them. He knows he‘s a grown mature man and they could never stand a chance with him. But he has to spank you anyway so you learn your lesson for being a brat.

Kenpachissluut writes ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

[whimsyvixen]

Just a scenario I was thinking about last night (I've been so horny for this mofo I'm letting my pussy write this for me):

MONSTROSITY DRABBLE

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Grendel King x Human Female, Warlord Predator x Human Female

WARNINGS/TAGS: dubious consent, master/slave, size difference, dacryphilia, vaginal fingering, monster cock, interspecies sex

It wouldn't go in.

Despite how well lubricated and stimulated the Warlord Predator prepared you, your pussy still denied him entry into your tightness and heat. The thickness of his cock head merely mashed against your entrance, slipping out of range when he pressed his pelvis forward, his growl of frustration and your scared gasp following.

Glancing down at your body, you shivered at the heavy feel and appearance of his throbbing cock on your stomach. It was a monstrosity, leaking precum on your naked torso and the inhuman ridges and nubs tickling your sensitive skin. Its length slid inches above your belly button and the sheer girth was so massive no amount of prep would ever prepare you to take it.

"M-master...!" You squeaked out, your fear spiking when he grabbed your wrists and pushed your legs forward, essentially folding you in half. He placed your hands behind your knees, prompting you to grab on and hold yourself open for his inspection.

Your face heated in embarrassment at the level of exposure your body was forced to endure. His predatory eyes fixated on your quivering pussy, his thumbs spreading your lips apart to locate the stubborn entrance to your channel and pressing a finger against it with an inquisitive trill. Curling his finger to avoid hurting you with his nails, he pressed the digit against your twitching opening. A low mewl escaped you at the bold touch, his finger plunging past the entrance and into your hungry pussy, moving it in circular motions to coax your muscles to give him further passage.

Breathing hard, you tried your best to stop the pleased moans from leaving your shaking lips but it was nearly impossible with the way he kept playing your body like an instrument. It took a flick on your sensitive nub for you to cry out, tears in your eyes as you squirted out more slick into his exploring hand.

The yautja brought his hand up to inspect the mess you left on him, rubbing his fingers and playing with the strings of your wetness with a pleased rumble.

His eyes shifted back to you, the intensity of those red orbs making you hold your breath as you waited to see what he would do.

Not taking his eyes off you, he brought his hand down to his grab onto his thick cock, smearing your juices all over his shaft and making it glisten as he stroked himself. The sight aroused you despite your fear of him, to think that a being so powerful and deadly would coat himself in your essence.

A/N: you guys have no clue how much I love master/slave fics when it comes to yautjas. I love the idea of being used for their pleasure so expect more degrading stuff from me in the future.