seijohahaeyo

[seijohahaeyo]

⠀ 𐚁ྀ PERVERTED THOUGHTS ABOUT THEE ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ryōmen sukuna ⋆ satoru gojō ⋆ suguru getō

⠀" jjk men crushing hard on you as they .. please themselves. "

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明示的 ⌇ nsfw. fem!reader. masterbation. dirty talk. crying. begging. perv!characters. ( wc. 1.5k )

SINCERELY , YOURS TRULY Ξ ©INDIWEB, 2024

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⍟ RYŌMEN SUKUNA

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his fist pumped steadily , eyes shut tightly with the edges of his razor sharp teeth sinking into the fabric of your underwear he’d stolen from your dorm the last time he was there. not that you’d notice , you were always oblivious to everything unless it was spelled out for you. plus , when he was rummaging through the drawer , there seemed to be about a hundred in there. if you were to notice , then that meant pigs were replacing airplanes in the sky.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was the dead of night and there was only one thing running through the man’s mind. you. you in that dangerously short skirt the university made all the women wear. the gym shorts that’s hugged your lower body so dearly he swore he could see your ass straight through the black fabric. the busty blouses you always wore to parties that were thrown off campus , buttons coming undone the more you drunkenly danced with your girlfriends on the floor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his hand was full of his base , fingers practically glued together with how much cum had stained them. sweat beads swirled his temples before trickling down the sides of his face and meeting at the crevice of his exposed collarbone. it didn’t matter that your undergarment was washed , it was the closest thing he had to tasting your sweet juices , so he’d take it. all he could ever do was admire from afar , and he’d be perfectly fine with settling on what he had at hand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" f—fuck , just like that. such a good girl , " he mewled pathetically , unbothered by the fact that his door wasn’t locked , and that anyone could waltz in at any given moment. especially you , whose belonging he’d stolen unprovokingly. though , he was wholeheartedly okay with that. he’d let you watch him all day if need be , that’s how much he wanted you. if seeing his desperate would get you to finally notice him , then so be it. at least you had him on your mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his dick twitched every time a teasing thought swept his mind , whimpers prattling along the edges of his dry lips that hung open so pathetically. he found himself bucking into his grasp , imagining that it was you bouncing along him and not his own embarrassing hands kneading the flesh of his throbbing erection. that you were guiding to his third and final orgasm he tediously dragged on , mouth engulfing one of your breasts whilst his free hand groped the other. it was a down right terrible thing to imagine , but he couldn’t help himself. you’d bewitched him so horrifically he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew his imagination would never truly live up to you , but it’s all he had. the only interaction he ever sought out with you was the fantasy world he’d created in his head , like a demented teenage girl gawking over fictional men. he truly felt pity on his own self , but definitely not enough for him to stop. even if you yelled at him to , he’d never be able to bring himself to get over you. your mere existence drove him crazy , his once pride in his intellect being drowned out by the excitement he got whenever he smelled your signature perfume lingering the halls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀tethered cries fell dryly from his quivering lips , liquids shooting onto his bare lower abdomen for the third time in a row. shuttered body shivers ran goosebumps along his silk skin , tattoos bubbling at the chills. heaved sighs were his only form of speech , hands dropping his heavy base and reaching for the nearest towel that he laid on his bed for the specific occasion. it wasn’t his proudest moment , but he’d be able to live with himself as long as you stayed ignorant of his existence. that was , however , until a gentle knock was hit against his door with a an even softer utterance of his name. " sukuna? " , had his blood running colder than niagara falls.

⍟ SATORU GOJŌ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man was widely known around campus , mainly for being a charmer , of course. he could never stick to an agenda , always up to something knew every week. always up someone every month. he was passed around more than a blunt at a frat party. he didn’t mind it though , he knew he had the looks , the body , the technique. so as long as he was getting something in return , none of it mattered. none of the whispers made it to his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀despite everyone knowing almost everything about him , one thing they didn’t know was that he could never properly get off to any of the girls (or guys) he slept with. they all sounded the same , wanted the same thing ; a quick fuck a dip. and , though he’s never heard your sweet sounds up close , he’d always think back to your classes spent in culinary where you’d moan in delight at how good a dessert tasted. satoru didn’t know when his obsession started, but what he did know was that just the slightest thought of those noises had him creaming his pants on the spot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀anytime he was amidst a lecture , mind wandering off and running free , he’d always somehow resort back to those moments and would have to excuse himself or he’d make an absolute mess in the auditorium seat. which is exactly what he’d done some time ago. he was caught up in some english lesson when his mind went astray and he could feel a fiery knot forming in his abdomen , the man scurrying to his feet faster than anyone could notice him out the door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he sat in the unisex restroom with the door locked , pants loosely pooling at his ankles with his pulsating tip already leaking out heavily. he could feel himself slowly losing his mind , jaw hanging open with incoherent sounds of pleasure chopping through the eerily quiet aroma that set in the room. every time he is hand glided to the top , he’d slide his thumb pad through the slit of his tip , whimpered sobs following closely behind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man had never even talked to you , for crying out loud. let alone be within five feet of you , and yet he found himself letting off to your mere though any time he had a moment to himself. it’s why he always drowned himself in having sex with random classmates , imagining that it was you who’s folds he was sliding into. your neck he was littering in hickeys. your chest he kneaded at so carelessly. and , every time he did so , he’d have to force himself not to spill out right then and there.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his entire body would tense as the cum that’d leak sooner than he planned , silencing his partner with his own mouth so he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore and would be able to only think about you and you alone , no interruptions whatsoever. it was a guilty pleasure , something he surely wasn’t proud of. he couldn’t believe that the girl he’d only ever admired from afar had such an impact on him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his thrusts would get sloppier the more you lingered his mind , ridding him utterly silent before he became a whimpering mess with your name drooling from his mouth. his quivering lip would tug between his teeth , hand reaching for his base as he slid from between the woman , pumping himself until he coated her abdomen in nothing but his sticky white seed. it wasn’t for her , and she knew that the minute she heard him cry out your name. she knew who you were , much like everyone else. so it was going to be one hell of a day when her friends found out the infamous playboy could only get off to the thought of you.

⍟ SUGURU GETŌ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your instagram has to probably be the most public thing about you. you were closed off. reserved. much like the man who had your socials pulled up on his laptop. he never once uttered a word to you , and you’ve never even looked in his direction. yet , he still found himself fisting his dick to you , imagining that he was bullying it into the depths of your cervix with you crying out his name. it was foul play , something you couldn’t waterboard out of him. a vile and inexcusable thing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but , of course , that didn’t stop him from leading into his second orgasm. the most he had to look at were bikini pics from last year , and frat party videos you’d drunkenly taken and still posted to the public eye. his dick twitched just from the sight alone , his pants already tossed into a random pile in his room. his mind wandered freely the more you videos played on loop , his pumps become more thorough with each stroke.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew you had a second account , everyone did. but you’d never let him into it if you didn’t know him. so , he scrounged your main and made do with what was on display for him. his whimpers were calling out to you , balled fist delving into his desktop as he could barely contain himself. his thumb pad would slide through his slit with the intention of it being your mouth , utterly melting into his seat at just the thought of you taking his entire dick and gagging along his walls with his liquids tainting your perfect little mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he couldn’t help himself , never did. the only " play " he got was from imagining a night with you. because while yes , he surely was attractive, being the talk of the school and all. no one cared enough to actually befriend him. so , he stayed to himself and disregarded everyone’s vague whispers that were passed at any given time he walked by them. not like he’d genuinely care anyway , he had more important things to do. more important things to care about. which , obviously , were you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀some would call him crazy for caring about a woman that didn’t even know his name , let alone acknowledge his existence. but that wasn’t the point. he didn’t mind if you knew about him. for all he cared , you could tease and taunt him for being a loner and he’d still admire you because at least then he could say you knew he existed. it was a twisted way of thinking , for sure , but he couldn’t stop. you had such an effect on him that he couldn’t stop. not now , and probably not ever.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀vigorous sweat beads painted his once clear skin , hair strands falling from his man bun all the while he hunched over in his seat. his back trembled with each movement he made , mewling and sobbing at the endurance. his tip leaked faster than a running faucet , white juices littering his fingers that grasped his dick. all he could do was cry and plea for you to let him cum , ushering that he would be good for you. though , he never once thought it’d get so bad. that he’d be so down bad he actually started talking to himself about you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" p—please , i’ll be a good boy. o'fuck! please , y/n! " he sobbed in hysteria , tears streaming down his cheek bones and meeting at his dehydrated bottom lip that hung open. if his desk chair wasn’t covered in his juices enough , it’d surely be drenched by the time he finished his last climax. he wanted it to build up for some time , enjoying the back arching tension that washed over whenever he finally his hit limit and creamed on himself. which is exactly what he did. he couldn’t stop it , not when the sight before him was you tanning at the beach in absolutely nothing , the " nude beach " sign slightly showing in the background. it was just your backside , but still , it was you so his mind jumbled into an entire mess.

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⠀MUCHOS GRACIAS FOR USING ©INDISPACE PROGRAMS

[seijohahaeyo]

"TW1TTER P0RN LINK5: PT4" — jjk men.

☆ cw : nsfw twt links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact. ( make a request here! )

☆ note : kinda done with tumblr fucking up my posts, but wtv,,, comments and reblogs are appreciated!! mwah <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO / SUKUNA RYOMEN

cw: unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, fingering (4).

adores seeing the mess he's made inside of you

he's just so, so fucking big compared to his love

guess he gotta prep you nicely for both of his cocks

finally getting pounded like his darling deserves

"would you take it all?"

NANAMI KENTO / HIGURUMA HIROMI

cw: fingering, spanking, size kink.

"relax and let daddy take care of all your needs"

"ever so pretty when I leave you red"

gotta definitely brag about his new watch

ever so comfortable bent over his lap <33

another one just bc my size kink is going crazy

GETO SUGURU / SATORU GOJO

cw: riding + yourself on the shelf, jerking off vid.

always gonna make you work for it

he loves showing you off to the camera so much

little things he likes to send you when he's away ♡

better keep that arch deep for him

"bend over and take it like the pretty girl you are"

CHOSO KAMO / INO TAKUMA

cw: unprotected sex, oral, jerking off, body worship.

eating you out oh-so-slowly and oh-so-nicely <3

pretty boy will never be able to get you out of his mind

will ask to worship you every single morning

maybe spooning it's even better than you'd think

his princess always tastes so, so sweet on his tongue

© tojisdove 2024. please do not copy, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my permission.

[seijohahaeyo]

𐙚 jjk men nsfw twitter links 𐙚

𐙚 nanami kento

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𐙚 fushiguro toji

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𐙚 sukuna ryomēn

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𐙚 getou suguru

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𐙚 kamo choso

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𐙚 enjoy! 𐙚

[seijohahaeyo]

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife. 

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on. 

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes. 

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away. 

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.  

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops. 

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest. 

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors. 

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince. 

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.” 

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin. 

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low. 

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers. 

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table. 

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you. 

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles. 

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling? 

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.” 

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined. 

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin. 

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.” 

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck. 

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” 

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright. 

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow. 

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity. 

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again. 

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

You don’t. 

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him. 

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to. 

“Why are you squirming?” 

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming.  And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him. 

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t. 

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks. 

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him. 

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you. 

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers. 

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste. 

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty. 

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you. 

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together. 

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again. 

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms. 

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again. 

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it. 

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him. 

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it. 

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact. 

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth. 

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.” 

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp. 

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating. 

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button. 

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again. 

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey. 

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted. 

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[seijohahaeyo]

there better be a Slam Dunk fandom revival on this hellsite when The First Slam Dunk gets released in the US this summer. I NEED MY BOYS TO GET BACK THE LOVE THAT THEY DESERVE

[seijohahaeyo]

why are you, as a man, not wearing dangly earring 

[seijohahaeyo]

He's obsessed with your voice. He loves the way you whimper and struggle to get the words out. He loves to ask you what you want and refuses to do anything until you beg for him.

He's buried deep inside of you, barely holding himself up over you, panting heavily. He looks down at the pretty faces you're making and he thinks the only thing that would make it better is the sound of your voice.

"Tell me what you want, baby" he breathes in your ear, dropping his head down to your neck. You can feel his chain, cold on your warm skin, and it makes you whine and arch up into him. "I asked you something, sweetheart" he hums leaning back down to press kiss over your chest.

"Please" is all you're able to stutter out at first and it makes him smile into your skin as he lifts his head to condescendingly shake it at you.

"How am I supposed to know what to do if you won't tell me?" there's a pout on his face, you know he's mocking you but you still lean up to kiss him. He indulges you for a few seconds before pulling away and raising his eyebrow at you and that's when you realise he's serious; he really won't move until you tell him exactly what you want.

"please fuck me" you whine, you know it won't be enough for him but you hope it is because if he doesn't move in the next thirty seconds you feel you might combust.

"That's a good start, sweetheart, but it's not quite enough" he chuckles at your responding whine and buries his head into you neck because he's struggling to hide the fact that not moving is affecting him too. "how do you want me to fuck you. tell me how you want it"

"please, just fuck me. fuck me hard. fuck me so hard you break the bed, bite me, spank me, I don't care just please fuck me" He lets out an elated laugh, this is exactly what he wants to hear. He leans in to kiss you and ends up muffling the sob you let out when he finally starts moving. it's intense and it makes you dizzy, you're beyond coherent words at this point. You can't even think straight. He feels so good inside you that you almost go delirious. You instinctively grab at his skin, raking your nails over his shoulder blades and he bites down on the closest patch of skin available to him in response. He loves being able to get you like this, he loves listen to you break like this. You and the pretty noises you make are all his to enjoy.

haikyuu: atsumu miya, tetsuro kuroo, ryuunosuke tanaka, keishin ukai, kei tsukishima

[seijohahaeyo]

NSFW!!

atsumu loves fucking raw, so he can feel every part of your pussy squeeze his cock as he mercilessly fucks you.

he goes slow at first only to tease you. he wants you to beg him to speed up so that he has an excuse to completely destroy your pussy. when you do, so lost in the pleasure, he plunges deep into your sopping cunt, hitting the right spots with each rapid thrust. you can only moan as he now presses his full body weight onto you, pushing your legs further apart to gain more access. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberate through the room as his thrust becomes sloppier.

he’s so close, but he wants to get you there first. he places his thumb on your clit and rubs eager circles, trying to get you to cum so he can feel your tight walls squeeze him. your legs shake at the fullness, plus the now added stimulation to your clit, and you cum so hard that your hands come up to push his hips away. atsumu hasn’t reached his climax yet, so he slaps your hand away, ignoring your cries and focusing on how your slick covers his thick cock, cream white rings coating the base. he shuddered at the sight, balls tightening and giving you one last rigid thrust. he cums deep inside you, tainting your walls with his thick load.

getting to cum inside you has always been atsumu ultimate goal.

[seijohahaeyo]

Imagine how funny it’s be if it was the “break up with my son” trope with rich boy gojo but instead of break up it’s his mother begging you to stay with him forever because he gets insufferably sad/annoying when you’re not around

[ FINALS WEEK ] GOJO SATORU.

“satoru.”

“please don’t leave me,” his voice is croaked, frail, broken. you roll your eyes—gojo has always had a knack for being the most dramatic person in the room, but you think of all his moments, this one might just take the cake.

“this is ridiculous—”

“please,” he even pretends to sniffle, and for a moment, you almost consider actually leaving him. “i’m nothing without you. empty with no meaning—”

“satoru, it’s just for this week,” you say flatly.

gojo has always been spoiled, and truth be told, you don’t hold yourself to the standards you’d like to be able to say you do in order to break the cycle. but really, it’s not your fault—his pout is rather dangerous, and he’s pretty damn good at whining, and he knows how to bat his lashes just right to get what he wants. this time, however, you’re determined. this time is strictly a no-giving-into-satoru time, and he can shed pretty tears all he wants, but you’re not relenting.

“what if you fall in love with someone else during our one week break up? i won’t make it if you do,” he gasps dramatically. you have to hand it to him—his ability in theatrics is at least persistent, even if quite a bit overdone sometimes.

“i’m sure your house would be peaceful then,” you snort. you can just picture the offended pout on his lips even though he’s not here, and you’re somewhat happy that he can’t see the smile you crack over the phone—that would only add to the drama, and he’s already a handful without the addition.

“baby, don’t do this,” he begs, making you sigh. 

it’s finals week. meaning all the days of class gojo has made you skip in order to coddle him (again, he’s very spoiled) will soon come back to really bite you in the ass while you have to make up for what you missed to pass your exams. meaning no gojo satoru will be allowed anywhere near your vicinity as an added distraction to keep you from studying. you know your boyfriend, and you know him well. you know that i promise i’ll just sit and be quiet will turn into his head resting in your lap, which will turn into pouts for your fingers to play with his hair, which will turn into complaints of boredom, which will all end with forced cuddles and an earful of his blabbering as he steals your attention. 

and you cannot afford a single failed final. 

so, with careful and deliberate consideration, you come up with your solution—which seems to have utterly broken your (painfully) spoiled boyfriend. no staying over the nights for a week is a very hard thing to grasp for rich and spoiled boyfriends who rarely hear the word no, apparently, and gojo is not taking the news lightly.

in fact, he seems to be taking the news a lot harder than you initially anticipated. never did you think a one week ban from sharing a bed with gojo so you can earn your degree would turn into his mother phoning you with a desperate plea to not break up with her son. it takes you by surprise, makes you stare at your phone with a double take to make sure you’re really talking to who you think you’re talking to—and that she’s really said what you think she’s said.

which begs the real question…where did the words break up even come from? and then you realize a certain somebody has exaggerated your rule for the week to something entirely new.

“satoru, you are entirely too much,” you groan, “one week of no sleepovers will not kill you. stop being bratty. and stop telling your mother i broke up with you, liar.”

“you practically are,” he huffs. “you don’t see me all day when you study. now you’re taking away the night too? just say you stopped loving me.” you scoff, and he pauses. “don’t actually say that, though,” he adds quickly.

“some of us have to pass,” you scowl, “i don’t have trust funds to swim in.”

“you can—”

“if you say i can spend your money, you might have to tell your mom we actually broke up.”

“so mean,” he whines, “well, why can’t i just sleep in your bed? i don’t even snore, i wouldn’t bother you,” he protests. he’s stubborn—which sometimes makes your heart flutter (like when he defends your honor to his snobby father) but sometimes (like now, for example) it’s enough to make you wish his lips would sew shut. permanently. 

“because,” you sigh exasperatedly, “you never sleep unless i’m in bed with you, and i’m going to stay up very late. stop being difficult—”

“i promise i’ll be good—”

“you are never good,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes. “and you break this promise every time. no sleepovers for this week until all my finals are over. and no more bothering your mom. got it?”

“but this time for real i’ll be good—”

“no, toru,” you say firmly, a hint of finality in your tone. it’s silent, and you can just imagine him deflating, and a small part of you feels just a little bad. “baby, i promise i’ll try to squeeze in some time every now in then, okay? we’ll meet for lunch or something.” you try to ease his conscience, but it doesn’t do much to persuade his sulkiness. 

“yeah, whatever,” he mumbles under his breath. 

a sulky gojo is a nightmare to deal with—you silently send your prayers to his mother for the next week, and you almost consider saving up for a fancy gift to offer her as an apology. but you also feel just a little bad for your sweet (though annoying) boyfriend. it’s at least the slightest bit endearing that he enjoys your company as much as he does, and you’d be lying if you say you don’t enjoy it just as much. 

so you relent—not fully though, you reason. “you can stay only the night,” you mutter, huffing as you hear his breath hitch with excitement, “and you have to stay in the living room until i’m ready to sleep.”

“i’ll tell my mom we’re back together,” he grins.

“we were never broken up!” you hiss as you pinch your nose, but before you can help yourself, there’s a light giggle that spills past your lips.

“she’ll be thrilled,” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes fondly. 

“cause it means you’ll leave the house to see me.”

“true,” he laughs this time, soft and sweet and enough to make you think spending nights with gojo this week isn’t the worst thing to happen. “i love you. say it back—”

“okay bye. i have to study,” you grin as you cut him off, hanging up the line with a snicker.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[seijohahaeyo]

Bokuto is having a hard day.

He bumped into someone, spilled their coffee and they were in too much of a rush to let him replace it.

He tried smiling at a baby on the way to the stadium and it cried.

He's not making any shots, his teammates are in bad moods and he can't tell if it's because of him.

He planned to meet you and some of your work friends after practice but now?

He's not so sure.

He feels pretty crappy and then, as he's leaving practice, Meian makes a comment.

"Don't embarrass yourself."

Bokuto feels hollow after that and then the cherry on top is when he's walking up to the station and that spiteful low hanging tree branch snags his team jacket again, rips the repair you already made once, and Bokuto feels like an absolute burden on everyone and everything and even though you assured him you didn't mind fixing his jacket after he tried and tried to thread the needle he feels like such a dud and he just wants to see you but when he gets to the cafe he sees you inside with your friends and you're laughing and so happy and he, he--

Spins on his heel and leaves.

"Ko?" He hears your voice. "Ko!" you call running out to him. "Hey."

You're smiling when you pull his arm and turn him around.

He feels like a dark cloud.

"I thought that was you. Are you coming inside? Everything ok?" You try searching his expression when he shakes his head but he won't meet your eye. "Ko, what's wrong?"

"I just, uh, I'm not feeling well," he mutters. "Sorry, just gonna go home."

"Oh, okay, let me just go grab my things," you reply without hesitation but he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"No, you just go enjoy your friends." He doesn't wait for your reply before he leaves.

Home is only a few train stops away, thankfully, so he doesn't have to wait long until he can enclose himself in the safe space but not even this place can bring his spirit up.

All he can see when he looks around is how his high-energy has led to accidents. He wonders if he does enough chores around the house. He can't cook like Osamu or clean like Sakusa. He feels worse and worse as his mind spirals on the burden he must be to you. All he wants to do is curl up into a ball.

It's not long before he hears the front door.

"Ko?" You call, voice muffled by the walls. He hears you open and close a few doors, soft footsteps padding around until the approach and the closet door screeeks open. Your voice is soft. "Ko?"

Gentle.

There's a rustle as you rummage through the clothes, he tries to shrink but you find him and crouch down to his eye level.

It's still dark in here, light from the bedroom shining on only half your face and Bokuto thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world, inside and out.

"Ko?"

More than he deserves.

With his knees up to his chest he buried his face but you hear the sniffle.

"Ko," you murmur and lean in, wrapping your arms around him. He tries not to but

He cries.

"I just can't do anything right today," he sobs as big tears drop onto his uniform. "Look, I even tore my jacket," -he flicks the rip- "again and I still won't be able to fix it.

"I can't do anything for anyone!" He angrily weeps.

"Bokuto Kōtarō." Your voice is soft but stern. He tenses up and you tilt his chin to meet your eye. "None of this is true. And" -you cut him off before he can interject- "even if you don't believe it, I do."

Holding his gaze you gently ask "do you believe in me?" He nods fervently and you smile warmly, cupping his cheeks. "Then believe me when I say you are the kindest, purest, warmest, most wonderful person I've ever met."

Tears overflow now-shining eyes that take in all of you. He lets you pull him forward, shifting his body in your arms, his weight onto you. He's about to protest that he'll crush you when you start running your fingers through his hair.

He sinks into you.

You clutch him tighter, unphased by his size, and listen as he tells you about all the bad parts of his day. You offer solutions or counter points, assuring him it's not a problem to fix his jacket again.

"And Meian said that because he embarrassed himself in front of his girlfriend's work friends," you offer with a small laugh. "She told me all about it last MSBY dinner."

He wraps his arms around you, too.

You're still stroking his hair. "We all have bad days, Ko, but it doesn't mean that we're bad."

Bokuto had a hard day but you,

Your words, the sound of your voice, your arms around him, listening to him, loving him...

You make it better.

[seijohahaeyo]

☾ ⁺ ˖ ˚ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ

pairing: faerie!midoriya x fem!witch!reader

wc: ~3.5k

cw: a mother figure is mentioned several times, and this is the mother that essentially brainwashed the reader. fem reader (she/her pn.), gendered pet names, grinding, fingering, love bites, overstim, piss kink (vauge), dumbification, oviposition, breeding. death is alluded to several times, but never happens. could be considered dubcon. oh. and monsterfucking. 

ever since you were young your mother reminded you day after day without fail: “do not have dealings with the fae.”

she screamed the first time you blew out a candle, telling you to never do it again. she taught you wordplay so you’d never lie, even told you to keep your business to yourself so you were never coerced into something you had no part in. you saw the way she looked at you when she thought you didn’t, and it irked you. what, did she not trust you? you’d follow her rules just fine.

and it all worked. you were so heavily protected that when the letter ‘f’ was even brought up in conversation, you tuned it out, lamenting the bad fortune that would befall the loud mouth. that when you met someone you were sure to be polite, only doling out ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry’ if you’d known them your entire life.

it’s still funny to think of it now. though you followed all of your mother’s rules, one always fell apart. “don’t be a snoop.”

your curiosity could fill the void of many gas giants. the need to know more and more taking over your entire brain and body ‘til you found yourself elbow deep in troubles, but so happy they barely mattered. everything. you wanted to know everything and more, and the more the better.

but all of that makes it almost funny.

Keep reading

[seijohahaeyo]

— content warning: smut, mdni 18+, hard dom!kirishima, slight!fear play.

it was a huge mistake for pro hero!bakugou to send his sweet little sidekick out to villain!kirishima’s lair. it was like sending a pig to a slaughter house, a lamb into a lion’s den...but you were the dynamight’s sidekick, there wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. he’d thought, you were trained by the best of the best.

kirishima should have been afraid of you.

but then it’s so cute how easily you’re turned into a quivering mess beneath the bloody villain, tiny pussy stretched over his thick and hardened cock as he pumps it into you over and over again. your hero costume is in tatters, clawed away by blood riot as soon as you showed a crack in your resolve. the wire you wore crushed as kirishima pulls apart the coloured spandex you wear (proudly donning your agency colours)—slick with your arousal, squishes your teary stained cheeks together all while fucking his way into your womb and lining it with his seed, his thick white cum until you feel it spill over your puffy folds.

you don’t beg for him to stop, you beg for more. you don’t cry because it hurts, but because it’s not enough and you feel like you’re falling apart at every nudge of the villain’s cock against your squishy ribbed walls. you squeeze around him at the sound of the earth shattering above you, blood curdled screams no doubt from the many henchmen enlisted by kirishima, blood riot himself. the red head keeps you pinned to the surface below, smiling cruelly at how you weakly squirm for your mentors help and how you so eagerly grind your hips up to meet his dick that churns up your guts and makes you drool down your own thighs— marked by his grip on the soft flesh.

your neck fits perfectly in his grip, seazing with every breath you struggle to take when kirishima’s half pushed down belt scratches against your inner thighs and the metal of his belt leaves pleasuring and painful indents on your skin. the other one of his large hands pushes down on the meat at your waist as your fuzzy gaze hones in on his sadistic bloody grin.

“ah, ah, ahhh little lady,” kirishima tuts, pulling you back on your cock as you try to squirm away, run from the orgasm he’s about to give you. “where the fuck d’ya think you’re goin, huh?” god, and he’s pulling your hips up to match his pace, sticky strings of your endless orgasms tying you both together. you’re dizzy with lust, wondering how he’s not tired yet and how this feels so good, drooling with an empty head and taking kirishima over and over. “you said you wanted for me to make you cum. now you’re bein’ ungrateful, hm? or was it that you were too greedy, baby?”

“m-m not greedy! i-i just,” gargled words amongst other gasped noises escape you, there’s no room to think when the meat of his cock is filling you with every stroke. villain!kirishima is so big it doesn’t even feel like he’s pulling out, thrusting so deep you almost feel him in your throat.

“just what, little hero?” and the great blood riot bares his fangs, still menacing despite the pink dust to his cheeks that only flares up when you clench down on him just like that. it’s so fun to to with you, to play with someone that doesn’t belong to him. “cat gotcha tongue? i thought the sidekick to dynamight woulda had a little more fight in her. guess you break just as easily as your sweet little pussy. ain’t that right, gorgeous?” kirishima’s not even talking to you, pulling his sweaty body off of yours to push your knees into your chest, folding you to fuck you how he wants as he speaks to your creamed cunt, rough fingers flicking your swollen clit as you arch away from him again.

“look at you, struggling to speak. to fucking breathe. so cute,” he continues, hands on your chest, your throat sometimes even with fingers shoved into your mouth so that you’re constantly fully. the villain smiles and it’s almost dazzling despite how evil and sinister you know he can be, it only serves to make your puffy and swollen folds throb with need. “bet’cha not this well behaved for dynamight, he lets you run your mouth. but with me, you know better, ‘cause i fuck you better, ain’t that right sweetheart?”

you can’t help it, can’t control the gushing of your cunt that answers the red head’s question— trembling beneath him with humiliated tears running down your face as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. “i don’t— we’ve never,” your twisted sentences and wet cheeks make kirishima laugh heartily, punctuating each of your moans with deep hard thrusts, bearing down on your g-spot just right so he can make it that you can’t form another word.

“you don’t fuck with your boss, awh! that’s my loyal little hero,” kirishima coos, wiping your saliva on your cheeks and sucking it off his own fingers. “you only fuck with me. otherwise, it ends badly for both of you.” fear and just contort the heartbeat in your pussy, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from widening as the villain ravages you. “oh little one, you’re shakin’. scared that i’ll hurt ya? that your boss will find it what a cute little villain slut you are?” you’re shaking because it’s both, because you don’t know what society will make of you knowing you’re fucking the most notorious villain of them all.

because you don’t know how katsuki will react to losing your trust.

“or is it because you’re going to cum?” kirishima cuts through your thoughts like a butter knife through tension, unwinding the knot that’s been growing in your lower tummy— reminding you of how close you are and how many orgasms he’d dragged out of you. trapping your body beneath his, kirishima speeds up the patterns on your clit, sinks his blood thirsty teeth into your shoulder until he draws the crimson liquid and groans hotly into your ear.

“don’t worry little lady, villains don’t kiss and tell...even if i plan to send you back to dynamight with your cunt stuffed full of my cum.”

[seijohahaeyo]

Izuku who cannot help but get drunk every time he's even near your pussy. He just loves being intimate with you so much, loves making you feel good, and feeling good himself.

Izuku who destresses his day by planting himself right between your knees and slurping loudly and unabashedly at your cunt. Literally not even trying to make you cum, just wanting to be close to you and intimate with you.

Izuku who turns into a complete mess when you go down on him, all flushed skin and soft "fuck baby"s. Who can't help but to fuck your pretty face until the tears roll down your cheeks. You're so beautiful.

Izuku who, when he finally sinks into you after what feels like hours of foreplay, lets out the most beautiful noises of pleasure just for you. Who'll fuck you hard and fast and deep, stretching you out on his thick, vascular cock, ramming into your sweetest places as he incoherently babbles about how good you feel. How amazing you are. How much he loves you.

[seijohahaeyo]

Just a friendly reminder ‼️

[seijohahaeyo]

cw. pussy slaps. manhandling. size kink. degrading. aftercare.

we can all agree that bakugo would absolutely abuse your cunt before bruising your cervix. Literally spanking your pussy, pinching your sensitive clit all because “your pretty little cunt was just asking for it, all soaked and clenching around nothing like a fucking whore.” Not to mention his massive ribbed cock stretching your poor little pussy out. He’d be so mean about it but as soon as he’s done and you cant even walk, so full and sore, he’d kiss your poor abused little cunt, and carry you around since he’d made you so useless. poor baby. but that aftercare? such a big sweet asshole.

[seijohahaeyo]

nsfw links masterlist

minors dni!!

(I’ll keep updating this, it’s more so to keep tally of characters I’ve already done)

Haikyuu

Suna

Kuroo + extra

Akaashi

Iwaizumi

Oikawa

Aran

Bokuto

Ushijima

Daichi

Kenma

Sakusa

Hinata

Tendou

Terushima

Asahi

Kageyama

Meian

Atsumu

Osamu

Kita

Ushijima and Bokuto

Mattsun and Makki

Daichi and Suga

Jujutsu Kaisen

Masterlist (includes- Sukuna, Toji, Nanami, Choso, Getou, Utahime, Mei Mei)

Getou extra

Noritoshi

Yuuta

AOT

Eren

Armin

Levi

Jean

MHA

Overhaul

Dabi

[seijohahaeyo]

you spoil him with kisses and you refuse to leave his face untouched. even for a second. you do it with impatience, soft skin rests beneath your eager fingers, you can’t help yourself. he made it so difficult as soon as his head fell in your lap.

and with his eyes closed, WAKATOSHI inhales.. and exhales, finally. such nervousness and shyness rest deep within each slow reaction he lets out. his chest goes up and down, up and down again, the beating on his heart, resounding, goes up to his ears, thump thump and he can’t make it stop. he’s nervous indeed and not because you’re so excited to feel every fiber of what makes him human, but because he’s in all honesty not used to the feeling of it all. to the emotions you make him feel. being touched like this, what a novelty it is to him.

he’ll never get used to this— or he will, perhaps, but never in his life will he get bored of it, nor stop your exploration, your desire to reach that thing you’re looking for. a treasure maybe?

no spot is left untouched. your fingers reach his lips, (thanks to your lip balm they are now soft) in a stupid attempt you stick your finger in his mouth and he does nothing— does nothing but open it. you stop. you laugh and he’s confused “my angel, close your mouth.” his nose, you kiss it, his eyelids too, a reddish tint covers his cheeks and you kiss them. once. twice. ‘how do i make myself stop?’

you can’t!

and wakatoshi falls asleep, still there with his head in your lap. you can hear his breaths, so slow, he’s relaxed and comfortable now, you’d love falling asleep too.