[yanstan]

♥︎𝙸𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜♥︎

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝?✍︎

|𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝| 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗➝ 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙿-𝚃/𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎❧ 𝙽𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝟸𝙳 𝚖𝚎𝚗 (𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏), 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 (𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚎𝚝𝚌..)

|︎𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚜| 𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰, 𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚢𝚞𝚞, 𝙹𝚞𝚓𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚞 𝙺𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗❣︎

|𝙼𝚢 𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎| 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚖’ 𝚝𝚠𝚘-𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 & 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎. (≧﹏ ≦)

|𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜| 𝟷. 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝚠/ 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 (𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎) 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜.

𝟸. 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐/𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚌 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜. 𝟹. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑. 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 (𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 & 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎) 𝟺. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚑 & 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚜/𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠/ 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎 & 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍♥︎♡︎

𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜? 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚗𝚘. 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎.*

[paradisekisse]

Caleb, who hates that you smoke— but can’t tear his eyes away when you’re stretched across his chest, your gaze fixed on the cracked screen of your phone, fingers curled around a cigarette, lips parting as smoke drifts lazily from your mouth. You’re killing yourself slowly, and he knows it. But God, you make destruction look divine.

Caleb, who leans in anyway. Who kisses you like he needs to taste the ruin on your tongue, stealing the smoke from your mouth before it leaves you. Who slips the cigarette from your fingers without a word, tossing it out the open window like it means nothing, because right now, all he wants to hold is you.

Caleb, who is so full of contradictions— scolding you about nicotine, about self-sabotage— when he’s knee-deep in the worst addiction of all: you.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, implied of noncon

He’s got your body trapped beneath his, his knees on either side of you – your back against the bed with your wrists pinned above your head in his fist. “You loved me once…” He says while holding his other hand over your mouth. The quaver in his voice is beyond desperate – it’s desolate. So is the look behind the wall of tears in his eyes. You’ve never seen him so pathetic. And you’ve never been more afraid of what he’s capable of. “You will love me again.”

all the boys

[drforger]

'a condition called love' to be released on 04/2024! ♡

[katslutski-deactivated20250323]

omg yes bakugou would love to tease his bimbo gf telling her how dumb she is, how she'd never survive without him, how she's lucky to have him because nobody else would put up with her. But the second somebody else starts talking shit about her he goes full murder mode -🍒

YESY ES YES bakugou with his lil airhead wife who he loves so much

-

Sticky and Sweet

Katsuki naturally leads and the masses instinctually follow. He doesn’t mind thinking for them, taking responsibility for them, giving them purpose and structure. That’s just who he is.

It’s no mystery as to why he fell for a pretty thing like you.

2k

cw: dumbification, praise, daddy kink, a lil bit of degradation, spitting, choking, squirting, somft bakugou

Katsuki Bakugou has finally accepted that he’s a magnet for simpler people — the loyal individuals who might not have a lot between the ears but their hearts are in the right place.

The more cynical side of Katsuki likes to posture and rant about how all these extras are masochists, how he attracts attention because every dumbass can see that I’m the boss. But in reality, it’s because he’s a natural protector. Everything about him radiates strength: strength of body, mind, and spirit. Terrified civilians and grizzled colleagues know they can rely on the explosive hero, that the day is saved when Dynamight arrives on the scene.

But Katsuki has an image to uphold. He could never admit that he wants to take care of others, not with the dichotomy of unshakeable pride and deep self-loathing plastering the walls of his soul. It’s much easier to scoff when someone praises his bravery rather than display an ounce of vulnerability.

His friends gave up on cracking his shell years ago. Katsuki shows his affection through actions, not words. He doesn’t need to cry every five seconds like Deku or tattoo his emotions on his face like Kaminari. He might be rough around the edges but anyone who knows Katsuki could never doubt his love, even if it manifests in harsh insults and childish name-calling. He’s a protector before a bully, even if every single action points to the opposite.

That’s just how it’s always been. Katsuki naturally leads and the masses instinctually follow. He doesn’t mind thinking for them, taking responsibility for them, giving them purpose and structure. That’s just who he is.

It’s no mystery as to why he fell for a pretty thing like you.

Kirishima describes you as a bit spacey. Kaminari opts for a little ditzy. Mina thinks you’re a whole lot of fun. But the truth is as blatant as your hot pink nail polish: There’s not a thought in your brain except for Katsuki Bakugou.

You’re a block print of your husband. Where Katsuki is gruff and jagged and acidic to the common palate, you’re soft and giggly, all bubblegum and rainbows. No one on the outside can quite figure you out. The words gold digger and trophy wife plaster the tabloids every few weeks next to shots of your face and the obscenely large diamond on your finger.

But despite the eye rolls and teasing and faux-annoyance, the reality of your relationship is as simple as you: Katsuki Bakugou just loves you. A lot.

Because, even with all of the snide remarks and barked-out laughs, Katsuki’s never yelled at you. Maybe it’s the way your tongue sticks out when you concentrate or how your entire body perks up when he enters the room. Maybe it’s the genuine interest in your eyes when he talks about his day or the innocent curiosity in your voice when you ask about yet another technical term. Maybe it’s how you shamelessly rely on him, how you never flinch when he moves, how you cuddle into his chest at night like he’s your personally-made teddy bear rather than a spiky, thorny man with too short of a temper.

He just feels so powerful with you by his side. You give him energy. Your feelings aren’t hurt when he arrogantly explains what should be a simple task. No, you’re grateful for his help. And when he calls you his dumb little girl out in public, you laugh and kiss his cheek. He’s right and there’s nothing wrong with that. Katsuki will take care of you, like you take care of him.

You don’t mind when he’s a little bit mean because it’s Katsuki. He’s the only one who gets to be mean to his pretty, sweet, empty-headed wife. He’s the only one who gets to make you blush and laugh and cock your head in confusion. And he’s the only one who gets to see you at your absolute dumbest, begging to be filled over and over and over again.

“Fuck.” Seeing you like this, folded in half with your ankles by his ears, does unspeakable things to Katsuki’s self control. “Don’t know how to do a thing except take this cock, huh?”

There’s not a chance that you’ll give the man an intelligible answer but it’s not like he needs one. Your slurred words are enough, each one amplifying his need tenfold.

It’s a cockdrunk monologue, filthy depravity spilling off your lips like the drool coating your chin. And you can’t even help it. You can’t help telling him that you love his cock, you love him, you love how he makes you feel. You don’t stop yourself from begging to be bred, to be manhandled, to be marked up so everyone knows you’re owned. You won’t remember pleading to be his fucked-up, fucked-out cockslave, his toy, his empty little doll to follow his every whim. It’s a mess of ‘Suki, please I need I need I need please and he can’t get enough.

“What would you do without me, babe? Can’t even last half the day without getting filled up.”

You just nod at his premise, interpret his mocking sympathy as genuine because he’s right, Katsuki’s always right. You’re a punching bag that always bounces back, an empty vessel that he can fill at his leisure. There’s nothing he can do that will hurt you, nothing he can say that won’t result in resounding agreement. You know he’ll take care of you and you greedily accept anything Katsuki is willing to offer.

Like how he wraps calloused hands around your throat. Aw, you like that, princess? Yeah, you do. Let Daddy decide when you get to breathe.

Like how he slaps your cheek once, twice, three times as your eyes glaze over. Brainless, I swear. Can’t even function without me. You love bein’ my little cumdump, ’s pathetic.

Like how he wraps a hand in your hair to force you to stare in the floor-length mirror mounted on the wall. Look at this dumb fuckin’ face. You’re not even embarrassed, are you? Nasty bitch.

His words might make anyone else cringe but they’re declarations of love to your ears. His adoration takes the form of power and Katsuki never feels more powerful than when he’s above you in body, mind, and spirit. You’re not just a whore, you’re his whore.

Staring down at your face, your tongue lolled out and your eyes nearly crossed, Katsuki can’t help but be smug. Every day he gets to sculpt a vision that outshines the wonders of the world, a stunning panorama meant for his eyes alone.

“Open wider.”

You instantly obey, spreading both your lips and your legs rather than asking for clarification. Even through your hazy eyes, Katsuki’s smirk is unmistakeable — it makes your heart race faster. And when you hear the gruff good girl rumble from his chest, you just might explode.

The feeling is mutual as Katsuki gathers his saliva, lets it drip slowly into your open mouth. No matter how many times he does this, he’s never quite ready for how eagerly you swallow, how you always manage to thank him between panting breaths. But it’s the harsh arch of your back and your pornographic moan that breaks his restraint in two.

The hands on the backs of your thighs press down harder until you’re nearly flat, until there’s nothing in your sight or on your body that isn’t Katsuki. And no matter how desperate, how pitiful the woman below him is, he’s even worse. The number two hero toppled by his wife who can’t even comprehend basic algebra. You might be his little breeding bitch but he’s no better, rutting into you at a breakneck pace with gritted teeth and dangerously sweaty palms.

He’s panting at this point, clinging onto his last scrap of self-discipline. What do you want? Tell me. Tell me what you want, I need to hear it. C’mon princess, you need to cum? Gotta tell Daddy what you want, gotta use your words if you wanna be a good girl.

None of it sounds quite real, it’s like a mirror image of the voice Katsuki has planted in your head over the years, the voice you need to obey, the voice that knows best. So you do what the voice wants, you manage a whimpered mmf, please, need it, need to cum, Daddy — can’t do it like you, please.

And that’s all Katsuki needs to hear before he wrecks you. He needs to overwhelm you just as much as you need to be overwhelmed. When you gasp as he angles his hips, when you tear up as his catches your clit with every thrust — every sound and sight and touch feeds his addiction.

“Can’t even make yourself cum, need me to do everything.” His chest aches at your neediness, the actual tears on your cheeks. Just a desperate little toy who wants her Daddy. “That’s okay, princess. Shh, ’s okay. Don’t need to — fuck — think. Just gotta- gotta spread your legs and Daddy’ll take care of the rest. I — ngh — I promise.”

As much as Katsuki loves to tease and torment you, there’s nothing better than how you react to his praise. Every panicked, edged molecule of your being relaxes and there’s nothing but veneration in your glassy eyes.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs. It’s almost a coo but with too many jagged corners, a sound that would make most shudder in fear but causes you to tighten around his cock. “C’mon, give it to me. Gotta feel you cum, sweetheart, lemme feel it. I’ve got you, you can make a mess, please — fuck — make a mess. You’re a good girl, you can do it. You’re so close, just-“

You break apart.

The world erupts into a bleeding collage, the explicit splash against Katsuki’s body and growled chants of good fuckin’ girl! filling every vacancy in your mind. You don’t need to put on a show, not when it comes so naturally: Your back arched and your mouth open, a choked sob in the distance that must have come from you. There’s no one else who can break you apart like Katsuki.

It’s the prayers that fall so easily from your lips, the chorus of daddydaddydaddy that finally ruin him. His former pace devolves into stuttering thrusts, an animalistic shout when he finally releases inside of you. Sweat drips down his face and onto your tongue, neither of you in the right frame of mind to notice. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to come down, whether it’s minutes or years. The emptiness is what always hits you first — your inevitable whine makes him chuckle every time — and the muscled arms pulling you into a warm chest calm you down.

Katsuki notices how sticky the two of you are but decides that he’ll carry you to the shower when you’re firmly back on Earth. Right now, all he cares about is seeing you lean into his touch. All he wants is to be your safe place, even after he tears you apart bit by bit. His breath catches when you first open your eyes, always sure that he’ll see fear or maybe even hate. But when you lift your forehead from his heart, there’s nothing except a sleepy smile and slurred thank you.

Katsuki’s not big on words but, then again, neither are you. He presses a kiss into your hair, gently guides you back to his chest and shakily exhales when you eagerly nuzzle into his skin. He doesn’t need to talk, not to the one person who understands that his actions say everything he can’t. When you let out a cute little snore, it’s like he falls in love all over again.

And, despite all of his anger and grit and determination, Katsuki Bakugou can’t help but smile, pull you closer, and hope that you’ll let him take care of you for as long as he’s alive.

[vampireloverz]

baby, i won’t be your sweet tea 

pairing: yandere pro hero! katsuki bakugou x gn! reader

words: 2.9k

cw/tw: non/dubcon, physical violence (not against reader), masochistic yandere bakugou, asphyxiation, sadistic/dominant(?) reader, slight stalking, implied kidnapping, intercrural sex, a little blood, spoilers for bakugou’s hero name

a/n: this was inspired by this post from @misterhoneyyandere and its also dedicated to him! i hope you like this (*´▽｀*)

— “I’m pretty sure my exact words were ‘leave me alone, you fucking creep’ but correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Nah,” he chuckles as he pushes himself off the wall to follow you, just like you knew he would, “You sounded bitchier the other night, called me nastier things too.”

You groan and hope he doesn’t try to feel you up again, “You’re the worst. How is a scumbag like you a top five hero?”

Bakugou chuckles, low and dark, but doesn’t reply otherwise. 

For once on your walk home, he’s quiet; he keeps his hands to himself and he doesn’t even fall back to stare at your ass like he has before. He’s never followed you all the way up to your apartment before, but you don’t really care. You just want to go to bed. 

He’ll get the hint and leave, you’re sure of it. —

Keep reading

[dearestdynamight]

dead doves don’t fly

Takami Keigo x Fem!Reader

description: keigo already lost you once, and after finding you years later he refuses to lose you again

word count: 13.1k

genre: nsfw (18+, minors do not interact)

content warning: INCEST, canon divergence, heavily implied/references to underage prostitution (no explicit underage smut), implied/references to child abuse, implied/references to abuse, dubcon body modifications and sterilization, references to underage drinking, power imbalance, ptsd, creampie, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

author’s note: this is for the bnharem sex worker collab ! it’s my first collab piece, and i actually had like, three different ideas for a keigo with a sex worker!reader. i ended up going with this one, for some reason, but i might finish up the other two and post them for funsies (one would be a quirkless au, the other one would be with a male reader). please read the warnings, and if you feel like i missed any content/trigger warnings please let me know ! as always, thank you so much to @sightoru for beta reading this and making me cry with her commentary <3 and make sure you check out all the other amazing pieces in the collab !

Keep reading

[rukunas-deactivated20250520]

can we get sugar daddy gojo hc pls

yes yes yes. again, i’m writing this without proofreading so i’m sorry if something doesn’t make sense >.<

warnings: smut, daddy kink, hair-pulling

Sugar Daddy Gojou who knows he’s loaded and likes to flaunt it, but he’s getting a bit bored now. Having so much money is useless when he doesn’t have anyone to spend it all on.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who falls victim to a cute little sorcerer with her swishing skirts and low necklines. You’re a new teacher at the institute, fresh out of Kyoto and having trouble adjusting to a bigger and more intimidating city. Why not let Gojou show you around in his Mercedes-Maybach, isn’t he so kind? He’ll give you a tour of the city, ushering you into expensive restaurants and stores— It’s on me! He exclaims, pushing your hand away whenever you try to reach for your wallet.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who tells you that you can stay with him in his penthouse that owns away from the institution (he always wanted a bachelor pad)— S’no problem, sweetheart, he drawls with a lazy grin as you try to deny the offer. He thinks you look so precious when you’re all flustered, he needs to make you look like this more often.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who leaves brushing touches on your body whenever he sees you at his place, hands lingering on your shoulder, your arm, your lower back. You don’t mind at all, who can resist Gojou Satoru? Eventually, you start returning the touches back, a hand on his chest when you laugh at a joke he says, fingers coming up to “fix” his hair.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who makes the first move. The two of you are drunk after tasting every single expensive liquor that Gojou owns— sure, Gojou hates alcohol, but if he has enough money to buy The Dalmore 62, why not indulge? Besides, how can he hate whiskey when it makes you lean into him and giggle into his shoulder? And when he tilts up your chin to slant his lips against yours, he cannot help but smile at the way your eyes widen before closing, taking in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who doesn’t waste time, delving between your legs the second you get your pants off. His hands keep your thighs spread for him as he flicks your clit with his tongue, calling you his good girl when you squeeze around him, cumming the second he slips his fingers in. You peel away his blindfold so that you can stare into those sky blue eyes, the sight of his irises being the only thing keeping you grounded as Gojou thrusts into you, cock kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who barely hears your whisper when you call him Daddy. But when he registers it, he loses himself in his surprise, his seed pumped deep inside you. Daddy, huh? You flush as you look away in shame— It’s not like that! Too late though, Gojou has already taken a liking to the name.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who likes the new role of being your daddy, buying you whatever you want and more. While fighting a curse, you ripped your favorite shirt. Don’t worry, Gojou can just buy you custom made clothes— who knew Gojou had connections to Giorgio Armani himself? New phone? Daddy’s got you covered, he winks as he hands you a brand new iPhone. God, you absolutely hate it when he refers to himself by the nickname— you regret ever saying it to him. But Gojou adores how you blush and frown, wanting to tease you even more. Tell Daddy why you’re so upset. Daddy can make you feel better, y’know. You’re completely fed up with him, rolling your eyes and shoving him when he makes any of those comments. Lay off, Satoru.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who will most certainly not lay off. He takes it to the bedroom, not letting you cum without calling him the nickname. C’mon, sweetheart, I got those nice shoes for you, what do you say? He whispers oh so sweetly while his fist holds your hair, forcing your back in an arch to face him. No, T-Toru, s’embarrassing! But he’ll simply slow his thrusts, move his skilled fingers away from your clit when you are just a few strokes away from falling apart.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who grins when he finally breaks you, your whines escaping your lips in a jumbled mess. Daddy! Thank you, please, Da— daddy! Wanna cum for you, ple-please! Gojou picks up the pace, kisses planted on your spine as his cock makes you see stars. Anything for my pretty girl.

Sugar Daddy Gojou who notes the expensive lingerie ripped on the floor— he just can’t hold back whenever he sees you. Oh well, he’ll just have to buy you some more. <3

taglist (would you like to join? click here):

@katemocha @gonpanchirokamaboko @picklejuiceboba @tsukkis-good-girl @touyasfatcock @keiqoswhore @bakubae @kennabranwenn @bokutos-babyowl @imkumichan @gojocumslut @totiussolus

[katslutski-deactivated20250323]

Congratulations on 600 bby! I am so proud of you and psyched for what’s to come♥︎You deserve every single damn follow, and more will come your way! One of the most talented thirst writers right here\(╯-╰)/ How about 39. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” with some yandere big brother hawks?

60 Prompts Event | hawks x reader | #39 “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

cw: dark content, sibling incest, soft yandere, period sex (oral)

“Kei-nii, it hurts!” Your complaints have that trademark tinny tone, a whine that would be annoying to nearly anyone on the planet but music to Keigo’s ears.

“If you had just taken the painkillers when I told you to, this wouldn’t’ve happened.” As always, your brother is right: You wanted to be a big girl and take care of yourself without his help. And now you were enduring the worst of your monthly cramps without any relief.

You huff in response, too stubborn to own up to your mistake. Your petulance makes Keigo smile — he loves his sweet, dependent (and occasionally bratty) little sister. He’ll always be there for you, even when your predicament is entirely self-made. It’s why he caved when you asked him to cuddle, why his warm hand replaced the heating pad on your stomach, and why you’re so used to nuzzling into his body as the perpetual little spoon.

You let out another agonized moan as your body cramps up once again. Keigo hates that he loves when you’re like this. Despite the ache in his chest every time you cry out, it’s all too good. You’re so clingy when you’re hurting, even needier for your brother than usual. He presses a comforting kiss to the nape of your neck while you ride out the next wave of pain.

“‘M sorry.” Keigo pulls you closer to his body. He’s not sure when exactly he became addicted to his little sister but the obsession worsens with each passing breath. He’s long abandoned doing the right thing, the decent thing. This is better. Without Keigo, some other man would corrupt you. It’s his responsibility to be your guardian, your teacher, your husband in all but name because there’s no one else who could ever fulfill like your brother. “I promise I’m here. Promise I’ll take care of you. Not goin’ anywhere.”

You whimper at his touch — it’s your only solace through this ordeal. “’S fine. Not your fault,” you mumble. “Just want it to stop.”

Keigo gives you a sympathetic hum. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear. His hand has been resting on the bare skin of your stomach for the past hour, his fingertips brushing against the elastic waist of your shorts — dipping just slightly underneath when the desire strikes.

It’s unreasonable to expect Keigo to restrain himself at a time like this. Not when he can smell the evidence of his little sister’s womanhood, not when the air is permeated with her viability as a mate. He inches his fingers lower until his palm rests on your pelvis, his nails ghosting over the sensitive skin above your clit.

You squirm against his tight hold. It’s not a struggle against your brother’s taboo touch — you always welcome his familiar caress. But you’re bleeding. You don’t want to make him messy.

“Kei-nii, ’s dirty. You’re gonna-”

Keigo shushes your objection. “Just relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nod and try to squelch your embarrassment. A single digit slides up and down your wet slit, completely familiar and totally soothing. It’s easy to melt back into his body, to forget that he’s coating his hand in red for your benefit. The mortification nearly fades away.

Until Keigo rolls you onto your back, withdraws his hand from your shorts.

Your jaw drops in shock as he sucks away the fluids coating his skin. It’s a filthy, nasty, depraved action, like he’s savoring what you’ve given him. And before you can squeal or squirm any more, your bottom half is naked with Keigo’s face settled comfortably between your legs.

“Kei-nii! That’s gross! You don’t have to-“

You’re silenced by sharp, decisive suction to your clit and a light slap to your thigh. Keigo pulls back once you grant him an involuntary moan to flash a grin above his red-coated chin.

“I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

[yanstan]

Another work of art Kat(๑ŏ ω ŏ๑)

[katslutski-deactivated20250323]

Come Alive

You’re more of a doll than a person at this point, less of a sentient being and more of a cherished valuable that requires constant care. And Keigo is happy to dress, feed, and bathe you, to speak for your sealed lips and think for your broken brain.

He’s convinced himself that one day his kiss will bring you to life, he’ll steal you from the world of toys and plop you into his own reality. But until then, Keigo is happy to play with his marionette.

1.7k | yandere!hawks x reader

cw: dark content, noncon (fingering), yandere, delusional yandere, mindbreak, catatonic state

Keep reading

[yanstan]

Once again, you never cease to amaze me. “For a second every night, the vice of your cunt restores your soul.” That’s such a big brained sentenced, holy shit I’m foaming at the mouth（*+﹏+*）

[forcefully-awoken]

Katsuki Bakugo x plus sized f! reader

WC: 5k

Explicit

The read more link will take you through to ao3.

A/N: This was my first commission! I had a lot of fun writing it! They will be closed for the foreseeable future along with my requests however, since they take so long to write. If you like this however you can support me on my ko-fi

CW: Mommy kink, dubcon, yandere! Bakugo, gore, blood, cunnilingus, lack of prep, multiple orgasms, somewhat breeding kink, pain play, vague threats

It’s a cliché but Bakugo Katsuki is explosive.

It’s apparent when you look at him, clad in his pro-hero outfit. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, muscles bulging with how tense he is. It’s written across his shoulders, in the tenseness of his jaw. He’s all coiled muscle, jerky in his movement and coarse in his words. He stands heads and shoulders above any other hero, though, not just physically but in his saves, in all the good he does.

But still, he’s explosive.

read more.

[katslutski-deactivated20250323]

(iM SORRY IN ADVANCE THIS IS FILTHY) If youre open to it 🧎 would you consider a part two one of these days where they fuck ?? Like. Keigo drawing parallels to holy communion when she gets down on her knees and opens wide to suck him off. Or manipulating her into thinking it's penance. Or railing her over the alter after mass. Or shoving her up against the walls of the sanctuary behind the altar to kiss her. Ooooh or gagging her with a rosary?

Okay bye im going to horny jail gn - 🐰

HI YES I LOVE YOU -- pls hold for part 3 which is gonna be real nasty and blasphemous.

Indulgence

1.6k | Part 1

cw: priest!hawks, sacrilege, corruption, manipulation, spanking, choking 

Keigo is a good man. He’s not just a priest — he’s a shepherd. He leads an entire congregation, nourishes their souls by day and staves off evil wolves by night. He’s a man of virtue, a man who has spent years cultivating his conscience and existing in service of others. He’s a man with walls of self control built by hand and bolstered by the will of the Lord.

Keigo is a good man.

But in a single confession, you managed to rip out every brick of his heart until there was nothing except a mortar skeleton and mortal desire. You were Joshua, capable of vanquishing the 50-foot tall towers of Jericho with a whimper.

You made Keigo fall from grace. It’s only fair that he takes you down with him.

As you kneel below him for the fifth time in as many days, Keigo can’t help but feel smug. Not at your depravity but rather at how easy it is to get you here. It’s practically textbook, a page out of history: Keigo’s a 21st century priest with 16th century tactics.

He knows he’s abusing your faith, especially because you entrusted your very soul to him for safekeeping. But you’re getting something out of this too. You know you’ll go to heaven. Was a medieval bishop truly evil for giving his congregation peace of mind with each and every indulgence? There’s no price too high for a clear conscience.

Your pitiful gag jerks Keigo from his self-satisfied musings, the choking sound echoing through the sanctuary. It’s far too early for acolytes and altar boys. Dusk is meant for Father Keigo and his favorite pupil, the aspiring youth leader who spends nearly all of her free time in the rectory, always at his side.

Keigo’s dry eyes meet your watering ones as he hits the back of your throat once again. He knows you want to pull back but you’re a good girl. It’s like he always tells you: Good girls follow orders, bad girls act on their own. You’d rather wince when you swallow than be a bad girl. But Keigo, like the holy man he is, finally takes mercy, dragging his cock across your tongue one last time before holding it in his hand.

Your precious, confused expression nearly makes Keigo lose control.

“It’d be sinful to… finish like that,” he explains.

That makes sense. Just like everything Keigo tells you. Like how he prayed and reflected and spoke to God because he was worried about your soul. Like how you needed to listen to Keigo, to serve Keigo in order to find divine perfection. Like how your only road to salvation depended on the man standing above you, his angelic figure outlined by a life-size crucifix on the wall.

You nod eagerly, grateful for yet another lesson. It’s been weeks since the last time you hesitated, since you asked him if what we’re doing is sinful. The justification is still a little blurry to your mind but Keigo has never led you astray — all you can do is take a leap of faith.

He holds out a hand, helps you to your feet, letting you lean into his chest so he can run his fingers over your hair. It’s a protective gesture, a moment of comfort before your desecration. It makes Keigo smile, assuages his guilt just a bit.

His little sheep, so dedicated to her guide. If only you knew that a wolf was hiding in shepherd’s clothing.

Keigo leads you to the altar, like he always does in these early morning hours. There’s something so human about the dichotomy in front of him. Your short skirt and pure face, your wet cunt and sweet prayers. He takes a moment to admire your beauty — the beauty that God created just for His loyal servant — before he grabs your hair rougher than you’re used to, bends you over the empty altar.

“You’re doing so well, learning so fast,” he murmurs, teasing himself against your entrance. You’ve long abandoned your former apprehension, now enthusiastically pushing back against him. Keigo gave you a guilt-free pass after all. You’re following the will of the Lord. “I know you’re a good girl at heart.”

The praise makes you smile. More often than not, shame is your natural state nowadays. Of course, Keigo can’t allow you to think so highly of yourself, not when you’re so far from where he needs you to be.

“But,” he adds. “You’re still a sinner.”

He punctuates his sentence by driving into your heat, watches your wetness start to stain his black pants. His fingers dig into your roots, angling your face straight ahead into the empty nave. The pain makes you wince but clench down, a confusing mix of sensations for such a naive girl. He always knew you’d be a pain slut — it’d just take some time.

That’s why he’s converting you day by day and night by night. He can’t scare you off. No, it’s little things that will topple you from your pedestal into the debauched Hell his mind has constructed. It’s why he goes a bit farther than last time when he fucks your face, acting innocent when gasp and sputter when he pulls out. It’s why wraps his hand around your neck, pretends he didn’t notice you clawing at his arm as you came apart on his cock. It’s why he praises you every time he bruises your pretty skin, rewiring your brain to crave hurt.

Father Keigo wants to ruin you.

He bends his body over yours, presses his lips to your ear as you stare at the empty pews. “This is what I see every day.” The innocuous words come out as a snarl. It doesn’t matter if Keigo says it aloud, the subtext is clear. He belongs here and you’re lucky enough to be allowed such a view.

Your slurred thanks and breathy moans ricochet off brick walls and stained glass. A sharp spank to your ass echoes like a canon. The lewd squelching between your legs only adds to the symphony, to Keigo’s favorite hymn. His voice is a familiar refrain, cementing your devotion to God (to Keigo).

I’m doing this for your own good. (You’ll never find someone who can fuck you like this.)

This is what you deserve. (You’ve tempted him for far too long.)

You’re filthy, tainted, corrupted with sin. (And Father Keigo will cleanse you.)

You know in the deep recesses of your mind that this is wrong but you’ve never been able to equate Father Keigo and imperfection. So you nod along with his sermon, trying to find the release only he can give you. Something this good surely can’t be a sin.

It’s always your mouth that makes Keigo lose his last sliver control. The side of your face is pressed against the altar, drool dribbling onto the white cloth, a second open hole just begging to be filled. He can’t restrain himself from shoving three fingers past your parted lips and ordering you to suck. His mind flashes to shameless scenes, scenes of gagging you with a rosary or maybe the linen purificator. But for now, this will do. Your teary gags and muffled moans are enough to satisfy the deity deep inside you.

“Are you ready?” The question is rhetorical — you’re always ready. But you choke an affirmation through his hand, spread your legs even farther and balance on the toes of your high heels. He utters a good girl and reaches around your body, focuses on your clit. This is your reward. Touching yourself is a sin but getting off against Keigo’s nimble fingers is a blessing.

You fall apart nearly instantly. Your wails reverberate through the deserted sanctuary, prayers to your God, to the one who makes you feel like this. Your thanks is stifled but acknowledged nonetheless as Keigo follows behind you, driving deep and spilling white across the vice of your walls. This is a selfless act, one that honors the holy purpose of man and woman.

It’s a sacrament bestowed upon an unworthy sinner.

Keigo’s body works on instinct, keeping you plugged until he can reach a hand to the panties around your knees. He pulls out as he secures the cloth over your core, murmuring to his braindead toy that you can’t waste a drop. He allows you a moment of reprieve before he helps you stand. You lean against him, wobbly legs dangerously close to collapsing.

Your voice is strained, tired, satisfied. “Thank… Thank you, Father.”

Keigo kindly smiles down at you. “Of course.”

The midnight sky gives way to a light blue-grey as the sun begins to rise, casting colored shadows through the stained glass. Keigo presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent benediction, and guides you back to the rectory. Service starts in an hour. You can rest until then. You grant him a sleepy nod before nestling into his sheets.

Keigo trades his stained black pants for a new pair, adjusts his collar in the mirror. The guilt fades a bit more each time he violates you. His reflection today is proud and tall and confident — the duplicate who would pull at his hair with judgmental eyes is nearly gone. It’s only a matter of time before it disappears completely.

He nods once to himself, molding the truth until it’s comfortable to swallow, echoing his familiar refrain until it sounds right to his ears.

Every man has his temptations. Even the good ones. Even the shepherds.

Keigo is a good man.

[suguwu]

rules of engagement

all’s fair in arranged marriages and war.

you have no intention of marrying zen’in naoya.

he finds this out the hard way.

pairing: naoya zen’in x f!reader 

wc: 3.5k

notes: i used terminology from omiai for this but it is in fact run very differently from omiai, which i am hand-waving by virtue of sorcery clans doing things differently, which i have Thoughts about.

also i have another 2k that i wrote for this that this frustrating dick made impossible to work i hate him so much.

warnings: 18+ for allusions/mentions of smut. one brief pov change, naoya is his own warning, misogyny, arranged marriages & (failed) arranged marriage negotiations, parental death from a vague illness & a brief non-explicit deathbed scene, borderline dubcon kissing(?) and a brief moment of dubcon touching, pregnancy mentions/descriptions throughout.

“She’s old,” Naoya drawls, tossing the rirekisho aside. “Thought ya were supposed to be good at this.”

“Zen’in-sama,” the nakōdo says, wincing, “she’s not that much older than you a—”

“Ya deaf? She’s old. Next one.”

The nakōdo hands over the next rirekisho silently.

Naoya slides the picture out first; pretty is the most basic of his requirements.

And you are pretty. There’s a hazy familiarity to you, too, especially with the way the silk of your hōmongi drapes over your form. The understated wisteria motif sweeps over your shoulder like a path, and he follows the soft cascade of flowers to the swell of your breasts. Perfectly accented, perfectly framed.

But it’s the sweet timidity to the tilt of your lips that snares his attention.

Keep reading

[yanderenightmare]

ik you get this one a lot, but bully!bakugo is my fav, plez feed me, im nothing but a lil humble bitch who wants to wear his skull hoodie while he fucks me deep

YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, bullying, manipulation, suggestiveness

STUDY-SESSIONS

A curt chirp of her phone and the following reminding message from one explosive boy had her locked down on plans for the evening. 

Her friends were going to the movies and though the movie they had decided on wasn't really something of interest to her, it was far from the reason as to why she blew them off. 

More the reason wasn't because she at all liked the person she’d chosen before them, because she didn't really like him at all, then again it was less her choice and more his demand, and though she’d spend more time on him than anyone else the past couple of weeks she wouldn't at all call them close friends. 

So, the reason why she let him command her about like she was his personal slave was also the reason why she let herself fall into this trap in the first place... it was Bakugo Katsuki... and if the boy wasn't either mean or patronizing, he was well beyond fucking terrifying.

.

Study-sessions were never study-sessions anymore. 

Though, they never really used to be either.

Ever since the time she was unfortunate enough to be partnered up with him in biology.

It seemed at first that Bakugo Katsuki was a lot more academically inclined than what she’d judged and given him credit for, where it had gone from sharing one class that with her luck had her in a joined school-project she was sure she’d have to do on her own with little to no help from the ego-inflated hero-course angry ash-blonde brute, to then, with much overwhelming surprise and anxiety, being invited to come work on the assignment in his dorm.

Or... granted, it was less an invitation and more a command, and a degrading one at that.

Baka, Go Die  wrote:

Bakugo Katsuki, class 3-A, Hero-course. We are collaborating on an assignment in the Biology class we share on Mondays. I don't appreciate falling behind. My dorm-room is in 3-A Heights Alliance on campus, 4th floor, left wing, room 3. If you can't manage, send me a text and I’ll come to you.

sent at 14.24 today

Even his texts were bitingly passive aggressive, casually hinting that she was some idiot who couldn't find the dorms, the same dorms practically everyone on campus fussed and talked up storms about. And what was with stating his entire name and status? As though she wouldn't know it was him by simply writing Bakugo. She shook her head softly as she read it again, eyebrow raised in slight disbelief at his audacity, imaging his berating tone in her head, so loud and patronizing like she couldn't understand the most basic of instructions, like he was talking down to a mere child before she’d even gone and gotten herself lost. 

However, she’d known better than to ignore him even back then, and though she didn't want to trap herself in his room, she most certainly didn't want him in hers.

Texting back she’d be there soon, to which he replied when, where she took a gamble and guessed roughly ten minutes, praying that she hadn't spoken too soon, anxious when thinking about how embarrassing it would be if things proved she actually wasn't capable of following his precise directions.

And so it took fifteen. 

She remembers the first time knocking on his door, how it felt so very odd, and she guessed it still felt odd, how her stomach seems to fold in on itself in ever which direction, knowing that he is on the other side. All-time champion of the Sports Festivals, two years and running. It would be impressive, or... it was obviously impressive, but she would savor it more if he hadn't such an unsavory disposition. 

She hadn't really any problem with him before she was forced to be in company with him, but now with the guy pestering her to continue their daily meet-ups she just couldn't help but pout and frown at the thought of him. 

“You’re late.” He’d grumbled when she for the very first time knocked a timid tune on his door.

“What? But I-I just texted you.” She’d defended softly, simply standing there under his harsh gaze, awkwardly, in his doorway, in the hallway, where other rooms to other Hero’s in progress were listed up and down the row, making her feel so immensely unimportant in the world. “That was a quarter of an hour ago.” He’d commented, arms crossed over his puffed out chest, and she remembers thinking how it was odd for someone who seemed like a such a badass to be so strict, almost like a squeaky clean goody-toe-shoes, not allowing her five minutes of wiggle-room.

“And?” She’d asked, instantly regretting her tone of voice, seeing how despite apparently being somewhat of a rule-respecter, he was still very much... well... deadly. 

“You said ten minutes.” He’d made to lean in the doorway, as though waiting for an apology before letting her inside, strangely wasting even more of the precious time he was so adamant on making sure she understood the importance of. Coming to the scary conclusion that he just liked stepping on ants.

“Yeah...” She’d played with a scrunchy in her hands, pulling on it instead of looking up into his searing red eyes. “Give or take five.”

“Give, evidently.” Was the last thing he’d said before yanking her, quite literally by the collar with a hand grabbing her tie, inside the enclosure of his room, which was again surprisingly neat and not at all like how she knew other teenage-boy-rooms to look like.

Even on the very first study-session he’d insisted they sit close, get inside each other’s head, on the bed, because he didn't have two chairs they could use if they were to sit by his desk. And although she wanted to suggest he take the desk and she the bed, or vice versa, it seemed stupid to even mentioned it, knowing he probably already knew of the possibility.

He’d touched her thigh the first time she was there, brushed a loose strand a hair from falling in front of her eyes as she buried her face in the biology book when trying to the best of her efforts at ignoring his pestering questions and how he would resort to calling her mean names when she couldn't answer textbook biology questions, even when those questions were entirely unrelated to their assignment. He’d mentioned something about quirks being related to how your personality manifests and not the other way around like so many believe, while looking at her shy curled up state, brazen fingers reaching for her ankle before she’d tucked herself even closer away into a ball, cowering though defensively keeping the pose as he proceeded to mention how small and weak and frail she looked, like little cornered prey, curious as to what quirk she had, where by the end they hadn't really made any progress due their assignment at all, despite him having kept her there for a full six hours.

A few times later he’d tested the waters even further, teasing her and coaxing and taunting, seeing how it was so mouthwateringly apparent how she was obviously terrified of him, never telling him to stop even once as he decided to demonstrate just how defenseless she was to stop anyone from doing what they wanted with her, pulling her tiny frame beneath his mass of muscles, whispering in her ear about all the vile things he could do and all the reasons why she couldn't stop him, his thirst only quenched when he’d drawn a full waterfall of tears from her pretty eyes, throwing his head back with a scoffed out laugh, grinning when saying she’d better count her blessings that there were stronger more capable people out there protecting weaklings like her.

Around the thirteenth time she was there she was so tired she managed to fall asleep in the heap of notes and books strewn about the bed, just a little ball of soft snores on the ash-blondes pillow. She was at least blaming it on being tired when she’d started bobbing her head as her eyes began gliding close every second, struggling to stay awake, but one look to her side would have her seeing white powder beginning to pool in the bottom of the glass of water Bakugo had so chivalrously handed to her with a grunt. 

Waking up to her alarm ringing in the morning, eyes busy refocusing while heavy with sleep, trying to blink off the blurriness as she fought to find her phone to switch off her incessant alarm, body freezing over in split-second hair-rising distress as someone else beat her to the punch. 

“Shouldn't y’ get ready for class or are yah gonna drool on my pillow forever?” A voice quipped and she whipped around at the feel of her heart jumping into her throat. “Mornin’.” 

“What the- why-” She gaped, clutching the comforter to her chest, sheets none other than Bakugo could have pulled over her, eyes blown wide like dinner-plates as she gawked at him sitting at his desk typing away ever so casually at his computer, bare-chested, dressed only in dark grey sweats.

He spun on his chair, looking at her, head slightly tipped to the side. “What?” He quirked a brow, slight smirk playing at the edge of his lips, though barely present.

He got up from his chair and she squirmed on the bed, scrambling to her feet. “What the...” Although relieved at the sight of her clothes still framing her body, she still had trouble wrapping her head around the situation, adorable frustrated confusion warping her face into a disoriented drowsy mess. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep.” He stated calmly with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“Ok... why... didn't you wake me?” She dared look at him and those great all-knowing ruby-eyes that always seemed to follow her around, clenching her little fist at her side and sucking in a breath when he narrowed them at her, chewing on the inside of her cheek and digging her nails into her palm, leaving pretty  crescent-mooned-dentures to fade in their wake.

“Not my fault you don't take care of yourself.” He stated, getting out of his char with a push to his desk. “Overworking and passing out on my bed.” He neared her trembling little hopeless frame, one heavy step at a time. “Are you drinking enough? Are you even eating?” She avoided him, slipping passed and towards his door.

“Ah- I- I need to get home- school. I need to get to class.” She blurted out, tripping over her tongue, stuttering and stammering as she dived for her sneakers. 

“Forget somethin’?” She looked up from her position of quickly and clumsily tying her shoes, seeing he was holding her phone in his hand, smiling down at her, eyes gleaming with something she knew she didn't want to get familiar with. Getting up, she made to retrieve it, only for her arm to get caught in his much too large and rough hand. “I’mma text you later. Answer me.” He pulled her forward, or rather... pulled inn, towards him, into his broad bare chest, his bulging pecs, into his warmth, oozing heat like from an oven, and then his lips were on hers. Soft as they were bold, pushing for more, pushing for her to kiss back even as she stood still and stiff like a statue in his arms, face flat, muscles tense, hairs on strict end with the creepy crawling feeling that this was by far not the last thing he’d demand of her. “You’re cute when you sleep.” He whispered and she thought she just might begin crying out of fear, quivering in his hold. “Come back after school.”

“I... I d- don't think-” She tried, but he would have none of it.

“Don't piss me off now.” He warned, slightly twisting her arm in his grip, not in any painful way but definitely so she knew he wasn't just asking. “Have a good day.” He picked up her bag and handed it to her with a smile, seemingly completely ignorent to the brimming tears in her eyes and the shell-shocked look on her face, looking almost as though he was admiring it as he leaned over her and opened the door. “Don't forget our date.” 

When did study-sessions turn into something as dangerous as dates? 

.

The day went by awfully quickly as she was once again stood placed loyally outside his dorm-room-door yet again, wondering if whether turning back and leaving would do her any good or if it would just land her in a world of other trouble, where the more she thought about it, clutching the strap to the schoolbag on her shoulder, wringing it in her sweaty palms, knees creaking under her weight, she began forgetting how to breathe.

Minutes passed and she stood there, shaking like a leaf caught in the wind, unable to move, whether it be knocking on the door or running to safety, but she wasn't left much of an option when what had her in such a state ripped the door open with a great growl evident in his throat and a look dead-set on hunting slapped on his face. Until he noticed her standing there, just like she was supposed to, cute tiny frame just begging to be used.

“There you are. I was sure I’d killed off the nasty habit you have of coming late.” The statement brought nostalgia, even a sense of deja vu. “Doesn’t matter, come’ere.” He pulled her by the arm this time, yanking her inside and shutting the door behind her before pushing her up against it, large hand placed on her throat, pinning her between him and the hard wood behind her, not allowing her to look away or duck or avoid his lips closing in on hers.

Her muffled whine was easily overcome by Bakugo’s heavy grunt as he forced his face onto hers, his other hand having gripped ahold of her tiny breakable wrist once she made the slightest effort in pushing him off. She relented immediately, put in place by the hand being kept firmly around her neck, his thumb pressing her chin up to meet him and his hungry mouth, his other fingers pinching her earlobe, his face scrunched in aching desire, ferocious brows intertwining with trembling ones, foreheads pressed neatly together, noses hugging, sharing hot air and spit.

He pushed her head into the wall and continued his ravishing by the hand constricting her air, mouth leaving a wet trail down her neck, biting harshly into her collar, hand pulling her shirt, buttons popping off, fabric singing into black ash biting her skin with harmless burns.

“Katsuki!” She squeaked as though he’d pay her meek little outcry any mind.

But he only laughed, snickering lightheartedly, unbothered. “Shit, my bad.” He huffed, discarding of her shirt like a rag, letting it fall hot to the touch to the floor, leaving her in her cute lacy bra, flirty short black school-issued skirt and those precious white knee-high socks. 

He repositioned his hands, dropping them to her hips, pulling at her weak footing, making her fit against him like a mold, hands traveling further, up under her skirt, grabbing at the cake of her ass to lift her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his torso as he pushed her yet again against the door, loud enough to have anyone walking by on the other side concerned, mouth never leaving her neck, deep in pursuit of marking his territory.

“Hang on.” He demanded, pinching the fat of her ass in warning, staring at her flush blushed face, wide-eyes terrified of disobeying him, slowly but surely latching onto him, fingers carefully running over his shoulders, braiding them together at the nape of his neck like her life was in the balance, like letting go meant letting go of life, like he was her savior. 

He lived for it.

The rest went over in a blur. Hurried and crazed, a fever dream of a sorts, frenzied and rushed as he carried her to the desk, not the bed, dropped her back onto her feet, spun her around, pushed her hips-first into the desk, made some brutish movements with his hands, where he didn't bother taking her skirt off, favoring ripping her panties down to her knees, playing roughly with the sensitivity found between her thighs, placing somewhat appreciated kisses on the back of her neck and down her spine, yet quitting the nice gesture with a slap to her ass-cheek, before brushing his leaking cock-head into the soft tender lips of her pussy, then ramming into her without as much as a second thought.

He fucked her hard against the table, her hands placed flat against the wood to brace herself from his savage rutting, her hipbones bruising against the edge, bones creaking beneath the thin scathing skin. And if Bakugo noticed her discomfort, he sure didn't act like it, biting into her shoulder and neck as he squished and pawed at her breasts, burying his fingers into the ample flesh of her midriff to keep her steady and well-positioned to meet his sharply aimed thrusts as he snapped his hips into her from behind, skin slapping loudly against skin.

It was over in a flash. One moment she felt the pain of being stretched to accommodate for Bakugo and his third leg taking up space inside her, and in the next second the itch of his hair alongside his dripping forehead resting on her shoulder, panting hot and heavy down her spine.

She barely even remembers what happened afterwards. If he’d said anything. If he’d kissed her. If he at all guided her to his bed where she sure as anything, bright as the sunshine coming through his dorm-room window, clear as the crisp chirp and twitter of birds singing outside, heavy as the thick arm slung around her waist, and warm as the chest she was hugged tight against, woke up the next day.

Yet, although it could have easily been excused for a dream, the tight swelling pain felt below was not something she could simply ignore. Nor was the markings blossoming on her neck and the sore pressuring pains on her hips.

Not to mention the smell.

Though it wasn't a bad smell so to say, it was a smell nonetheless. A distinct aroma of sweat and sweetness, something so very personal, yet mingled, intimate, laid thickly and overwhelmingly around her, on her, smeared and coated on her like a second layer of skin, sticky in texture.

She made sure not to move too much while lifting Bakugo’s bear-paw off her and sliding out of the bed, standing in his room, feeling the chill rush over, kissing her skin with goosebumps, realizing she couldn't go anywhere without washing the stench of raw arousal off. She needed to shower, there was no way around it, though it would have to be quiet and it had to be quick, or else she might risk waking Bakugo and she dearly wished to slip out discreetly, make her way to someplace where people couldn't understand that she was taking the walk of shame.

His bathroom was always so neat it bothered her. Fresh towels, clean tiles, everything smelling of lush expense, that sharp cologne Bakugo tried masking the sweet scent of honeycombs and caramel with, the scent she was reeking with now. She hopped into the shower without further thought, low-pressure so not to wake the sleeping boy, quickly scrubbing herself clean of him, yet as she walked out of the bathroom again, towel wrapped around her, she arrived at another problem.

Her underwear and bra was nowhere in sight, stains of something creamy white flecked her skirt, where her shirt laid unwearable by the door, singed to tethers and ripped to rags. She sighed anxiously, gnawing on her lip, standing alone in the silence of the room, Bakugo’s gruff snores heard from where he laid heavily asleep hugging the pillow he was mistaking for her.

She had no other choice. Seeing that wearing her clothes was off the table, and so was rushing back to her dorm in nothing but a silly towel, especially one that had Bakugo’s initials customary sewn into them.

She walked to his closet, knowing where he would pull out his hoodies from all the countless hours she’d already spent in his presence in the intimate space of the dorm-room. Finding a pear of black sweatpants as well, seeing how the hoodie was just short of being deemed long enough in her standards.

And though it would have seemed she was seconds away from making it, the voice breaching the silence relieved her of all hope. 

“Going somewhere?”

She looked like a South Park character, cute in his crude graffiti hoodie, large white cracked skull placed like death on the strictly black fabric, bulky and swelled in size, fitting her like it would a toddler. His large pants pooling around her feet, dragged beneath her heels, making her trip just a bit in them as she turned to find him spying.

He had an impressive build. Muscles still ever so clearly and intimidatingly present even beneath the coverage of his black T-shirt. In any other circumstance she would have even called him pretty, and hot. She could imagine her eyes going to him all the time if he was just another face at the beach or in some sweaty hot-shop club, sand-colored skin and magnificent toned abs and big bulging muscles flecked with droplets of water and sweat, sexy scars painting a story of a reckless boy as he flips and shakes his ash-blonde hair free of saltwater like a lions mane, pretty red-eyes looking like rubies and not at all any dark like sickening blood.

“Get out of my pants, thief.”

She wanted to bargain, tell him she couldn't very well leave his dorm with fuck-stains on her skirt, but the look on his face told her that he wasn't making her to strip for the sake of getting his clothes back, but rather for the sake of... well... making her strip.

She gripped the bottom hem of the hoodie, fingering the thick material for a second with a sigh before she started lifting.

“I said pants, you moron. Leave the hood.” He barked, placing a heavy step forward towards her, thinking he’d do the honors of taking her pants off himself. Large arms snatching her up before she could see what was happening, getting carried off to the bed. “I can’t believe you, always such a fucking tease.” He shook his head, snickering before plopping her down on her back, grabbing the band to his sweatpants and pulling them down her thighs, ripping them off at her ankles and tossing them to one corner of the room.

“You ripped my top, I-” She defended, but Bakugo only scoffed, placing his weight onto her and taunting brazen touches between her thighs, up the soft pillow flesh to comfort her unprotected tender little spot.

“Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t your intention to rile me up.” He drawled, licking at her neck as he spread her thighs further apart by shimming between them. “But that’s what you did, and there are consequences for being a little cock-tease.” He chuckled again, abusing her neck, his hot breath tickling the bruised sensitive skin. “This is your mess, you take responsibility for it.” His thumb touched down on the sore little budding button of her clit, rubbing roughly into it, making her whine into his mouth as he kissed her. “Or at the very least, don’t get in the way of me helping myself.” He dived into her lips, moving passionately while his coarse hands explored brazenly beneath the hoodie, grabbing at her soft skin, raw after her hot shower of trying to wash him off her. 

All in vain as it were.

It seemed he had more ambitions this time, not just one strict goal in mind, as he maneuvered downwards, his face soon positioned in front of what she was so eager to protect, mouth closing in with lips locking and a tongue ready to burrow itself.

Her eyes shot wide-open, face flushed and burning bright red as she scurried up higher on the bed, away from his wet attack. “What are you doing?!” Her features looked mortifyingly embarrassed, erratic and bewildered as she stared at him like a bunny eyeing the dripping teeth of a fox.

“Having a taste.” He answered, mischievous quirk playing at his lips with a haughty naughty gleam in his eyes as he yet again stalked forward with a specific target in mind. “Lie down, on your back.” She didn't get much of a choice in the matter, what with his arms hooking beneath her knees and pulling her forth again, making her slide down onto her back. She still looked dazed, small whimpers leaving her lips as he bowed down, hot puffs of air hitting her bare flesh. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite…” He soothed, eyeing her before arching a telltale brow “Much.” Even with the warning she couldn't suppress the catlike whine that escaped her lips as he passed his tongue between her folds, licking at the tenderness he’d fucked raw only hours ago. “Aw, cute...” He moaned, peeking up at her, still with the crazed look swirling in his eyes, a look that had her cowering back into place. “Sore?” He snickered with a playful tone of voice. “Let me kiss it all better.” There was a growl as he pulled her closer, sliding her once again down on her back, making her thump her head against the mattress with a squeal, tensing as he put his lips back on her, her hand instinctively finding its way to his hair, fingers burying themselves in the thick locks, not daring to yank but opting to grasp for just one measly strand of control, or at the very least the illusion of it.

He hugged her thighs close, nose rubbing into her clit, up and down as his tongue stretched deep inside her, swirling around while his lips sucked on the mound. She gasped each time her clit buzzed, tensing up in split-seconds before unwinding, subconsciously trying to pull back just a little, back away from his antagonizing mouth, but Bakugo strength didn't seem to mind where he held her firmly, locked in place in front of him, and her squirming only egged him on, fed his need to make her melt in his arms.

But once he felt her hips move in sync with the way he maneuvered his mouth, once she began rolling and lolling back into him, he pulled away, rubbing his chin into the hoodie she was wearing like a napkin. He climbed back on top of her, looking down into her cotton-flavored features, pretty heavy-lidded eyes looking dopey and adorable with a dust of blush adorning her cheeks, lips wet and parted as she panted. 

He regretted not looking at her face the first time, but he’d been too preoccupied to have enjoyed it then. Now though, that he was calm and rational, collected and restrained and not just focused on dumping his load inside the poor girl like he was acting on some long grudge, he actually had the mind to bask in it for a moment. “You’re so fucking cute.” He whispered, looking at her like how she’d imagine a pirate would eye treasure, completely drunk, obsessed, even possessed to some degree, where she couldn't shake the feeling of how absolutely terrifying it was to have someone like him, someone dangerous, call her something so adoring, especially with his dangerous hands rubbing small tentative circles into her aroused vulnerable clit. 

It all made her chest burn and heart throb, being under his watchful vibrant eyes, knowing she couldn't hide a single thing from him, knowing he had her completely pinned beneath his thumb, where she found herself foolish for admitting it, though having to say it nonetheless... how threateningly thrilling, consuming and addictive and annihilating, how bloody addictive it was to feel like a dainty little flower beneath the rubber of a giant military boot. It was scary to find herself actually... loving it.

She’d willingly wrapped her legs around his torso, pulling him further in, against her, awaiting something to fill the longing drooling cavity within. 

He moaned as he slipped inside, closing his eyes, ears twitching in bliss at the sound of the little thing beneath him, making small endearing noises of her own, sounds completely contrasting his, sweet like a daydream, tender, like nothing he’d ever heard before, strung out with the soft rise and fall of her chest, like bliss and peace and gratitude all mingled together to preform one sound devoted entirely for him, because of him.

He rocked once, going deeper and her hands shot forward, quite like they usually do when he doesn't take the liberty of pinning them to her sides, but this time, this time they caressed his abs instead of pushing, fingers curling into the cotton of his T-shirt, balling it up and hanging onto him. He repeated, knowing how he’d found some spot, some sweet weak spot he hadn’t reached when taking her from behind. 

She was mewing beneath him, eyes wide and diving into his own, hands pulling him closer, her legs tangling around his torso like she never wanted to let go.

“That’s right.” He breathed onto her lips, staring with half-lidded drunken eyes into her own drowsed out gaze. “Girls like you need guys like me.” 

She couldn't really find it in her to disagree with how she clung to him, hanging off of each and every one of his moves, moaning out in small girlish breaths of air as he rocked into her slowly and deeply. 

“Any other guy wouldn't know the first thing of what to do with you once they had you.” She wasn't sure what he meant, all she knew was how good everything felt under his control. “You need someone who can make decisions for you.” 

She didn't find it at all any bad to simply follow his lead, knowing full well that she would never have the guts to initiate anything remotely similar to what sticky fuckery they found themselves lost in at the moment. 

“And I need someone who can take directions without any silly little protests.”

She would never have the guts to disobey him. Even thinking about it gave her chills. 

“We’re fucking perfect for each other.”

[katslutski-deactivated20250323]

If you're ever in the mood to write priest kink:

Thinking about...Priest!Keigo (scummy, of course 😌). In a confession booth. You get down on your knees and mutter a prayer, and he can recognize that voice in an instant. It goes straight to his cock, thinking about you defenseless in such a submissive position.

He wishes you were looking up at him with those innocent eyes instead of looking down while you wring your nervous hands. When you list off your sins, mundane small things, his mind drifts to an image of your lips around his cock. But when you stutter "a-and.. i've touched myself, inappropriately, Father." He has to bite back a groan. Slowly, he lets out a breathy "Yeah? What do you mean, exactly? I– the Lord needs to know. To absolve you of your sins, of course..." as an excuse to jack it to your more detailed explanation. Bonus points if he's a bit guilty after he comes, but knows he's gonna do it again. - 🐰

ok whoops yes this ask broke me bunny (as always), I hope you like it! from one catholic school alum to another

-

Mortal Sin

Keigo tries not to feel guilty about his sadistic streak for the shy virgin in front of him. After all, mortal sins — the ones that separate you from godliness, the ones that need cleansing — are only mortal sins if they’re made in sound mind. He can’t help himself. You test and try his years of carefully-constructed restraint and have absolutely no idea. You don’t know that he’s hot under the clerical collar, that his cock stands rigid below the heirloom desk.

Keigo is anything but sane when you’re around.

1.6k

cw: priest!keigo, voyeurism, masturbation, sacrilege

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

It’s like a porno. That’s what Keigo thinks every time the words leave your mouth. Every Sunday, you meet him in his office, confess your sins, and walk out the door in your sinfully short skirt. Like a fucking porno.

Usually Keigo insists on the confession booth — he wants his congregation to feel comfortable, safe — yet he can’t help himself on those early Sunday evenings when you trot through the massive cathedral doors. Keigo can’t get enough of your blushy stammers when you tell him about your menial sins. You’re such a good girl, never having anything juicy to report. But the way you squirm in shame as you admit to gossiping or putting work before Wednesday service, it’s enough to get any man’s cock hard.

Keigo tries not to feel guilty about his sadistic streak for the shy virgin in front of him. After all, mortal sins — the ones that separate you from godliness, the ones that need cleansing — are only mortal sins if they’re made in sound mind. He can’t help himself. You test and try his years of carefully-constructed restraint and have absolutely no idea. You don’t know that he’s hot under the clerical collar, that his cock stands rigid below the heirloom desk. It’s compulsive at this point.

Keigo is anything but sane when you’re around.

“My last confession was seven days ago.”

Your sweet voice jerks him back to reality. He folds his hands on the desk and leans forward thoughtfully. Keigo never prompts you because the pregnant pause between that sentence and your litany of sins is too delicious to deny. You stew in your own apprehension, fidget in the wooden seat.

You stutter as you list your transgressions. This week was similar to the one before. You talked about a coworker behind her back (nothing bad, mind you, but it’s still unacceptable). You told a couple of lies to hide your friend’s surprise party. You held the Lord’s name in vain after you stubbed your toe.

“And… and I…” Keigo cocks his head slightly to the side. You aren’t usually this reluctant to commune with God. “And I touched myself, Father. I touched myself… inappropriately.”

Keigo chokes on the saliva in his watering mouth, cuts you off before you can finish the final apology. The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Touched yourself? What do you mean?”

He’s never seen you this flushed, not even when you told him about the man who groped you on the subway. You look down at your feet and wring your hands.

“I didn’t mean to, Father. I just… I had never done that before… And it just happened.”

The weakness in your voice is enough for Keigo to regain his composure. Authoritative yet kind men are a comfort to vulnerable women like yourself. It’d be wrong if he didn’t do everything in his power to help you grow from this affair.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways but Satan does not. He carefully plans his traps,” Keigo says. “I- The Lord needs to know what you did.”

Dear God, you had tears in your eyes. Little crystal droplets that make Keigo unbearably thirsty, tiny specks of saltwater that he needs to lick off your heated cheeks. He can feel beads of pre-cum clinging to the fabric of his cassock and places a hand in his lap to gently palm his cock.

Your mouth moves but no words come out. Keigo decides to help. That’s his job, after all: To help.

“Let’s start with the temptation. What brought you to commit such a grievous sin?”

You wince at the term grievous sin but he’s right. You deserve to be ashamed.

“I was… I was watching a movie,” you whimper. “And it turned out to be R-rated but I had already rented it. I should’ve just not watched it but I… I did.”

Keigo nods. Go on.

“There was a scene. And it was so graphic. I hadn’t ever seen anything like it before.” You bite your lip. “The man and the woman were naked.”

Keigo’s fist grips his cock through the watered silk. He’s not sure if you can see the subtle pumps of his arm but he knows your naive little brain wouldn’t put two and two together. The thought makes his grasp tighten.

“And what about this scene prompted you to touch yourself? What about this scene made you tamper with your own purity?”

A tear spills at the implication that you willingly soiled yourself for fleeting, carnal pleasure. If Keigo wasn’t so bewitched by you, he might have felt guilty — but the humiliation written on your face just made him harder.

“He was on top of her. It was their wedding night and he was kissing her so deeply. Father, I’ve never been kissed like that.” Keigo knows. You’ve told him before. Pecks on the lips are acceptable, a guarantee in courtship. But those long, all-encompassing kisses? Those are for your husband and your husband alone. “And he… He put his hand between her legs. And… it just looked like she enjoyed it so much.” You look up, meeting Keigo’s gaze in a desperate search for salvation.

Keigo pictures your innocent doe eyes widening even further at the naked actors on the screen, your uncomfortable squirm as you felt wet and hot between the thighs. You probably looked like you do right now, bashful and mortified. His vision zones in on the space between your legs as you cross and uncross them nervously.

Keigo clears his throat. “What happened next?”

You squeeze your thighs together. “Father, do I have-“

“Yes.” What others would correctly interpret as eagerness, you simply register as impatience. Not wanting to disappoint, you breathe in deep as Keigo’s stare pins you in place.

“I never… I didn’t put anything in,” you tell him. “I would never, ever do that, Father. You have to believe me.”

Keigo nods. He’s certain that you’re telling the truth. A good girl like you knows that your cunt is meant for a man’s cock, not your own silly fingers. But he still needs to hear you say it.

“I’m not quite sure I understand.”

It takes everything Keigo has to not moan at your helpless sob. It’s a pathetic, broken sound, a cry from the heart of a tainted sinner. It’s your own personal crucifixion, your shame bared to the only man who can help you off the cross.

“It was over my panties, Father. I- I didn’t… It just- It felt so good,” you sniffle. Your shudder, half from arousal and half from your pitiful crying, makes Keigo’s breath pick up. It’s too much for him. Too much and he needs more.

“It felt good? How’d it feel to touch yourself over your little panties?”

Your inexperienced ears don’t catch his change in tone, his soft pants, the faint sound of cloth pumping underneath his fist. You cover your eyes with your hands and part your thighs subconsciously, remembering that sweet release. The release you swear you’ll never taste again.

“S-so good, Father. It was like a mountain and I just kept going and going, even though I felt dirty. I was all caught up and thinking about my future husband and-“

Keigo’s voice is rushed when he interrupts. “Take your hands off your face.” Your hands fly to the side and you meet Keigo’s intense glare. “What’d you do? You cum? You cum all over your hand, soak right through the fabric? You cum thinking about a man? Who was it? Tell me.”

“Yes!”

Your sobbed reply breaks Keigo. He stares into your wide, teary eyes, makes sure to hold your attention as he cums in front of you for the first time. It’s so much more intense, so much more real when you’re three feet away. It’s better than he ever could’ve imagined, far surpassing the nights spent with your social media pulled up on his phone. His fingers run right over the head of his cock and tug one last time before painting the inside of his cassock white.

Keigo lets out a yell, a primal sound that’s impossible to shove down. You startle but leap into action, standing at the desk and grabbing his arm.

“Father, are you okay?”

He wrenches himself from your manicured hand, almost spits at you to not touch him. But he manages. Keigo sits back again as the fabric clings to his skin, warm and messy.

“I’m sorry about that. Happens sometimes.”

You nod agreeably, just like you always do any time he tells you something. He slows his breathing, takes in the depravity of the situation, and gives you a warm smile.

“It’s obvious that you’ve learned from this experience which the Lord always appreciates. Now I need to assign you a penance.”

You’re out of the door within the next five minutes, that cute little skirt swishing behind you as you wave to him with a grin. Keigo presses his palms to his eyes, tries to justify his guilty conscience despite the dried fluid sticking to his leg. It’s not his fault he’s an addict and certainly not his fault he’s a sinner. He merely indulged in instinct, in the imperative passed down from generation to generation since the garden of Eden.

The fact of the matter is you’re a gift from God, a present wrapped specially for him. It’s why his mouth waters and his heart races when you clutch your little rosary beads with that look of supreme concentration. It’s why his eyes nearly cross when you offer to stay after service and help him clean. It’s why he finds himself obsessed, his mind completely ruined with your face, your legs, your cunt. God created you for him and him alone.

And who was Keigo to deny the Lord?

[after-witch]

Fragile Little Thing [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Title: Fragile Little Thing [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: Your “boyfriend” is having a rough day and he doesn’t appreciate you being such a difficult partner. If you can’t behave, maybe he can’t behave, either. 

For request: a fic with Yandere hawks. Maybe he breaks/ ruins something extremely precious to his darling. Something that money just can’t buy.

Word Count: 1800ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped, abuse

The muffled sounds of Hawks returning to the apartment are all too familiar. Jingling of keys. Click, click, clicking of the locks. You know he’d love it if you greeted him at the door, like you used to do. Which is partially why you choose to remain in bed–though really, you’ve hardly left it since that morning, except to greedily drink water from the tap and use the restroom.

So it comes as no surprise when the door to your ‘shared’ bedroom opens and Keigo stands in the doorway, looking disapproving and sad and–you catch it, in the way his eyebrows furrow–slightly annoyed at the way you’re in practically the same position as when he left: curled up on the bed, holding onto a pillow like a shield in front of you.

Keep reading

[after-witch]

Comfy Couch [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Title: Comfy Couch [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: It’s fine if you’re not paying attention to Netflix, really. But not paying attention to your boyfriend? That won’t fly. 

For request:  Could I request a soft yandere Hawks fic centred around him getting jealous?

Word Count: 1000-ish

Notes: Yandere, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation 

He doesn’t know how you do it. 

How you can turn the ordinary act of snuggling together on the couch, only half paying-attention to whatever new binge-worthy Netflix show went viral this week, into an absolutely perfect afternoon. There’s nothing special about what you’re doing, nothing special about the day. But everything you do is somehow extraordinary.

The soft warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you occasionally make a comment about the show, the way your smile lights up when you laugh and–

Oh, no. He could do without the way you keep picking your phone off the couch cushion and thumbing through it. He could do without the constant dings from your messages, though you did (to your credit) quickly turn your phone to vibrate when you noticed how irritating it was becoming.

Keep reading