#he's just so pathetic (derogatory)

[silusvesuius]

N*loth is literally prime NPD representation and that's just how it is. Dat's just how i feel . if iiiiiii hear anyhing ab him needing to be humbled or put in his place i'll just tear my hair out right here and match his look. not even trying to lift him up or defend him i'm just defending the mentally ill skajrim characters nobody wants to understand,

[signedsfs]

I've got some great fuckin news

Once again got a bee in my bonnet to spend a night doing obscure fandom research to make a point, so. For all those people who keep making the annoying, "Tim keeps '''stealing'' other peoples' names" comments -- have a table.

Everyone with a check mark has used that codename at some point in DC's 80+ year continuity -- Elseworlds and alternate dimensions/timelines count, adaptations (movies, video games, cartoons, etc.) don't unless they've got comic book tie-ins, and neither do in-universe dream sequences/illusions/fantasies/other narrative elements that are objectively "not real" within the boundaries of the fiction.

A purple marker indicates an element that only applies in Elseworlds or alternate timelines. Yellow is for the originator of the legacy title. Star symbol is for borderline cases/extenuating circumstances/it's open to interpretation (with some further elaboration below).

The "other" column is just there to account for people who've held lesser or non-legacy titles, like Renegade, Wingman, Arkham Knight, Drake, Redbird, Talon, Deadman, Black Bat, Orphan and Catwoman.

Point being: the people who have actually gone through the most legacy titles in this family are Dick, Babs and Jason, tied with 5 each (again, not counting "other;" if we counted those separately Dick would've had by far the most). Tim is tied with Steph AND Helena Wayne, so unless you're whining about them "stealing other peoples' names" you're just wrong, and they're all only one higher than Damian, Carrie and Bruce.

This is a legacy family that passes their codenames up and down the inheritance line. It's what they do. It's not a legitimate criticism to level at one character and not the others. Please get over it.

EDIT: I realize after posting this that I missed some colors on the table, mostly with Babs' Elseworld only roles (Batwoman and Nightwing) but I'm too tired to go back and correct them; refer to the info below for more details.

---

Further elaboration on some of the lesser known/niche cases:

- Bruce uses the Robin ID in Superman & Batman: Generations

- In the second half of Thrillkiller ‘62, Babs cuts her hair and dons the Robin costume worn by her deceased partner Dick to get revenge on his killer; however the only name ever used for her in the series is Batgirl

- Cassandra was a member of the Robins orphan gang from Dark Knights of Steel.

- Duke was a member of the We Are Robins gang, as well as the aforementioned DKS orphan gang, and has appeared as Robin in a couple of Elseworlds, including I believe a White Knight spin-off.

- Cass was Batwoman in one of the versions of the Titans Tomorrow, as was Bette Kane, depending on changes to the timeline.

- Babs is Batwoman in the Batman ‘66 comics and in the 1980 story “The Secret Origin of Bruce (Superman) Wayne”

- Earth-3 Steph is Batwoman in Young Justice 2019.

- Helena Wayne is Batwoman in the possible future story Last Rites

- Tim is a member of the Batgirls vigilante/little league baseball team in the DC Bombshells universe, as is Cullen Row. Some call them the “Batboys” instead. I call those people cowards.

- Helena Bertinelli wore the costume that would later become Cass’s signature Batgirl look during No Man’s Land. However, she was more often referred to as “The Bat” and her Batgirl status is up to individual interpretation.

- Dick didn’t originate the Nightwing name, it started with Clark in the Silver Age.

- Steph has never been Nightwing. The panel where she appears in the costume is a Black Mercy illusion that happens only in her own mind. It’s a dream sequence.

- Barbara was Nightwing in the Smallville Season 11 comics.

- Terry was briefly Nightwing in volume 4 of Batman Beyond.

- Damian briefly became Nightwing after accidentally killing Dick in the Injustice series.

- Dick is Oracle in the “Eight Wonders of the World” version of Earth 2 (aka the Black Superman dimension)

[phlegmboymessiah]

Please please please someone kill Bo Burnam right now

[itachiiwrites]

Lilith, you siren, how could you do this to me?

Obsessive!satosugu x insecure!reader

Warning: 18+, NSFW, Smut, Yandere themes, manipulation, cheating, dubcon (the reader wants it equally but is hesitant at first), dark stuff in general, MDNI. Feminine terms of reference used, reader is AFAB.

a/n: I'm on a roll today lmao

Thinking about obsessive!satosugu, manipulating their insecure!bestfriend reader to be with them. You have a shit relationship? No problem.. they'll allude you into thinking they're all that you could ever want.

You think you're incapable of love? Damn right you are, because they're the only ones are capable of giving you that love, to their shared toy. Their obsession.

Oh and it was so easy to actually make you believe that, in their eyes, you were just so pathetic and they loved you for that. They loved that you hated yourself, it was a piece of cake to drill into your head that your boyfriend hated you, because of the way you are.

Satoru would act like a love sick, smitten puppy while Suguru would be just so much meaner as they are taking their shared joy in fucking up your head while they treat you like the sin you are. Seated in the ivory haired's lap while his lover held down your thighs, face deep into your cunt.

Satoru would coo in your ear with his hazy eyes, nuzzling his face in the periphery of your face, a taut, bruising grip on your wrists. "We'd make you feel like the most special person in the world if you give in you know..? It's not like you are capable to feel that with someone else, it's not everyday you'd be treated this good hm..?" He says those twisted, saccharine words, while Suguru deliciously eats your pussy like a starved man, his teeth scraping occasionally against your reddened, swollen clit, making you mewl and gasp. Your skull rendering afloat from the pleasure you shouldn't enjoy.

A foul, derogatory slap on your pussy from the raven haired made you jolt and become alert, earning a chuckled, mocking hum from Satoru with a consecutive shush. "Take it, sweet girl..you know Suguru wouldn't do that if you just fucking listened." He gritted the end of the sentence, cuffing your jaw after speaking so sweetly.

"You're pampering her too much, my darling, she deserves this and more for not appreciating our love." The man pulled away from your poor cunt with a sly smirk, his chin glistening with your nectar. His foxy eyes looking at you with yearning before pinching your already overstimulated clit, making you cry, giving them the sadistic satisfaction of seeing your pretty eyes turn glassy and red rimmed.

"That's right dumb girl..just give in. You don't need that stupid fucking boyfriend of yours.."

And you couldn't even feel the guilt that you are made to cheat. It was grilled into your head that what they treated you, was better than even an ounce of what you deserved. ♡

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: NSFW, derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

♡ fem reader

You hadn’t fucked in a while. 

Katsuki would come home late – where being an intern only landed him with shit patrols and shit hours and shit pay – leaving him in a foul mood almost constantly.

You'd put on your most supportive charm and try your best to cater to his needs – being the designated one going grocery shopping and the one to do the laundry as well as clean the house, take the trash out, and make the bed – making sure he’s got nothing to worry about when he comes home. 

You don’t really care if it doesn’t align with the rules of feminism – you doll yourself up for him and wear only nice things – making dinner the way you know he likes, with extra spice – asking him about his day.

Being the best, most perfect housewife you could be.

But like always... he's tired and replies only in grunts with a sour scowl on his face – doing his routines seemingly on autopilot – eating, showering, going to bed – leaving you alone in the dark with the dishes.

You sighed, boxing up the leftovers before packing him a lunchbox for work. Tying a handkerchief around it to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally spill in his bag, also so he had something to wipe his mouth with after finishing – and as you centered the corners, knotting them together into a neat little flower, you couldn’t help how your hands began to shake followed shortly but tears slipping down your cheeks.

You slid down the kitchen counter into a thud on the floor, pressing your sleeve over your mouth to try and muffle the small cries that soon spilled over. You don’t want to wake him up. You don’t want him to see you like this. He works too hard; he shouldn’t be bothered by his girlfriend breaking down over nothing.

You just miss him – you miss him so much your whole body aches – even though he’s right there in the next room. You clenched a fist over your heart, feeling it strangle itself inside your ribcage – making your throat seize up, dry where you choked down sobs. 

You thought today would be the day. You’d gotten yourself extra ready. Wearing the dress he likes, even the lingerie he likes – not that he’d be able to tell without undressing you first.

You banged your head softly against the cupboards behind you, eyes closed as you calmed down your weeping. Still, you kept your sleeve pressed against your mouth, scared to let even your snivels reach him.

The hand covering your heart dropped into your lap. 

You let out a sigh, then thought about his big hands – imagining them – strong and sturdy and warm on your skin – roaming your body in greedy touches. How he manhandles you with his lips pressed against your ear – speaking filth in that awfully low teasing rust of his.

Your hand slipped between your thighs – under your skirt and beneath your panties – with two slim fingers sliding between your lips to gather the needy slick that had pooled there before bringing it up to rub your pearl.

You bit your sleeve, wanting to moan but needing to stay quiet. You can’t let him find you like this. You can’t wake him up over something so unimportant, not to mention embarrassing.

You’re so pathetic. It stung your heart, but still, you kept your fingers working – drawing wet circles into your clit that had become a hard bud under the attention it had been seeking for so long. 

You don’t often touch yourself. You just leave it to Katsuki. Your hands are so different it’s nearly impossible to even imagine it’s him – and besides, he does it differently – a specific way you struggle to replicate. Suppose he's gotten to know your body a little better than you over the years.

Still, you get there. Albeit a numb and rather boring high, you still shook as it took you. Though, it didn’t come close to how Katsuki makes you feel.

You just end up feeling ashamed…

Crying and cumming on the kitchen floor while your boyfriend’s in the other room fast asleep after a hard day's work. 

You freed your mouth from your sleeve and pulled your other hand out from inside your panties, laying them both in your lap as you mulled it all over. It’s cold and silent and dark, and you wish you’d just rushed along and gone to bed with Katsuki when he’d muttered his goodnight.

You banged your head once again, then picked yourself up from the floor a moment later, releasing a sigh that turned into a yawn while dragging your feet quietly across the floor. You put the lunchbox in his bag before walking yourself to the bathroom. There, you splashed cold water on your face, looking your reflection dead in the eyes. You’d made yourself so pretty today, but he hadn’t touched you at all… he’d barely even looked at you…

You almost cried again but managed to suppress it – washing your face free of mascara and lipstick, then brushing your teeth. You slipped out of your dress and fished one of his worn shirts from the laundry bin. It smelled sweetly musky, like him – fitting you like a tent, reaching longer down your thighs than most of your skirts. It felt nice. You could almost trick yourself into thinking it was him who’d made you cum earlier and not yourself – and that delusion itself was enough to make your chest flutter with warmth. 

You snuck into the bedroom and quietly shut the door with a soft click before sneaking under the covers on your side of the bed. He was already asleep. Deep breaths left him steadily while you studied his back in the dim light. He was tense. Maybe you could give him a backrub tomorrow – and maybe he’d fuck you in return?

One can dream…

The thought put a small smile on your face as you soon followed in sleep yourself.

.

He took out the lunchbox you’d made for him, wrapped in a silly handkerchief with a Pomeranian print. His lip quirked up for just a second. You’re such a dumbass. 

He and Eijirou had picked a tall place like usual – atop an office building with their legs dangling over the edge. It had become standard procedure.

They didn’t like being bothered during lunch – it prevented them from talking about the things they wanted to talk about, if and when they wanted to talk, and otherwise roped them into meaningless small talk they had no interest in. Eijirou could fake it when he had to, but Katsuki didn’t ever feel as inclined. So it was best for both of them to find someplace exclusive.

Which, more often than not, ended up with them atop a rooftop somewhere along their route.

Katsuki popped the lid and found your note. 

Burn it up, Boo!

You’re such a geek. You’re so silly it made him blush sitting there. 

Fuck... he misses you...

His nose stung a bit just thinking about it, but he stifled it with a sharp sniffle before it could get any worse.

Unclenching his teeth with a huff, he picked up his food before chomping down on it. How long had it been since he’d held you? Must be since he started his internship, which is what? A month ago already?

He couldn’t wait to run his own agency. He’d own a building just like the one they're sitting on right now – maybe even taller. You could work there as well – you already act as his personal assistant, after all – or maybe that’s just what a girlfriend does. Either way, if you would work with him, he wouldn’t need to miss you so fucking much all the fucking time.

“Mina told me to tell you something- but you need to promise you won’t tell your girl that my girl ratted. Okay?” Kirishima broke through his daydreams. He was holding a sandwich from the cafeteria. Looks like Mina didn’t pack him lunch, Katsuki thought with a small smug smirk. Poor loser. 

“What are you blabbing on about now, Shitty-hair?” He asked, taking another bite from his homemade lunch with pride. It couldn’t really get any better than you. Surviving the last few months of his internship wouldn’t be too exhausting with you as his cheerleader.

“Mina told me-” Eijirou started anew but broke himself off before finishing. “Ah fuck it– doesn’t matter. Just listen.” 

 “I am. Spit it out already.” Katsuki said, unfazed. Not much could annoy him when he was busy thinking about you.

Eijirou hesitated for a moment longer, unsure how he should phrase it. But if memory served him right, blunt honesty had always been rewarded with the impatient ash-blonde – so he decided to be straightforward with it. “Your girl’s gonna leave you if you don’t dick her down soon.” 

That got his attention.

“The fuck?” Katsuki barked, whipping his head to the side to glare at him – unchewed food still in his mouth, making his words come out muffled.

He had his mask lifted like a headband, pushing his hair out of the way and allowing Eijirou to see every angry furrow creasing his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger-” He excused, arms raised with his half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “I’m just tryna help you out.”

Katsuki’s grimace didn’t ease up.

It looked like he was going to say something, but instead, there came a long pause of them just staring intensely at each other.

It was normal. Katsuki had become better at processing things quietly without the need to fling curse words. But still, the frown didn’t lift – only deepened.

“Tch-” He scoffed after a while – looking down at his lunchbox again – fingering the happy Pomeranian handkerchief quietly before muttering, now calmly. “Fuck does Pinkie know…”

Eijirou put his hands down again, turning to look at the city below them, taking another bite of his sandwich – speaking with it in his mouth. “Uhm- she says it’s been a while since the two of you fucked- and that your girl’s trying her best to keep you happy- mh- but that she’s at her wit’s end ‘cause you won’t talk or touch her-”

Katsuki’s frown softened a bit, eyes scanning your handwritten note again. It’s such a small thing, but without it, the day would have still been grey and sour. It was just a piece of paper, but it had felt like a warm kiss on the cheek and turned his mood from annoyed to giddy so seamlessly.

Losing you might just kill him, he thought.

A weak “Fuck-” left him then, along with a sigh. The feeling of dread ripping his chest was nearly enough to make him cry, but he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, and the sting in his eyes relented almost as quickly as it had come.

“That’s girls for you, man...” Eijirou continued. “Talking out their frustrations over coffee and cakes instead of throwing fits.” He laughed, turning his head to look at his unusually still and silent friend. Grinning at the sight of the cute pout that had taken shape on his face. “We could learn a thing or two.” He nudged suggestively.

Katsuki threw him a glance, spotting his shark teeth pulled into a friendly smile. He sighed again, this time with a bit of a bothered groan, knowing that was Eijirou’s way of telling him to open up.

“Not much to complain about…” Katsuki mumbled in an effort to brush the subject off. But the feeling of Eijirou’s round red eyes staring at him intently in wait – goading him into telling more – didn’t relent.

Katsuki wanted to ignore him, but at the same time, there was something inside him that told him he shouldn’t waste the opportunity. In the end, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to share. After all, Eijirou had been beside him for over a decade already, and they weren’t planning on ending their camaraderie any time soon. 

He smacked his teeth as though surrendering, offering yet another groan of annoyance. “If she wants me to fuck her, she should just fucking say so-” He spilled. “What am I supposed to do? Read her mind?”

Eijirou laughed again, shaking his head. “Nah, man- this is a proper lady we’re talking about. She’s not gonna be so brazen. She wants her ~man~ to make those demands.” He explained, keeping his smile before quirking his brow at the blonde. “Speaking of… why haven't you?”

Katsuki threw him another glance, but he couldn’t feel more awkward sharing such things, even after such long years of friendship. 

Not that Eijirou cared if he was a little rigid. Actually, he found it amusing. Katsuki just needs a little time, but sooner or later, he always cracks. It’s just lucky that Eijirou has the endurance for it.

“I haven't been ‘cause-” Katsuki started, visibly struggling. “I don’t wanna be too-” He stopped again.

“What?” Eijirou pushed, slanting his head.

The blonde threw his head back with yet another groan. “She’s all up and down the house doing chores- I didn’t wanna be a selfish prick asking her to put out as well.”

“Wow, man…” Eijirou chuckled, smacking his hand down on the explosion hero's slumped shoulder. “That’s so manly.” He praised.

But it didn’t take long before his smile turned a little sharper – now with not-so-altruistic intent.

“But uhm…” He snickered. “If not your girl... what have you been doing?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Katsuki snapped back with a growl, shaking the makeshift redhead’s hand off his shoulder – his scowl returning to its original glory.

“Oh, come on, man- give us a little something to laugh about~” Ejirou drawled, still with his playful smirk – eagerly waiting.

Katsuki brooded for a moment longer.

But then finally gave in. “The shower… sometimes the car…”

Eijirou laughed, now loudly – boisterously and long enough to make the blonde punch his shoulder. But the assault wasn’t even registered by the sturdy hero, who continued laughing until he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “That’s not manly.” He said, still with amusement in his voice. “That’s just sad, man.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbled in return, refocusing on his lunch as the other male continued giggling.

“To think you’ve been holding back while your girl’s been pining for it.” Eijirou rubbed salt in the wound, adding insult to injury, before stuffing the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “Mh- that’s why communication is key.” 

Katsuki also took his last bite before repeating his last words. “Shut up, Shitty-hair...”

.

He came home to the smell of cooking and the hefty sound of the kitchen fan. The door swung closed with a loud bang, and you soon walked around the corner – spatula in hand with your apron on.

“You’re home early!” You exclaimed, a smile spreading on your face while rushing over to him. Lifting your heels on your toes to plant a quick kiss on his chin. “Oh-” You gasped, surprised when he enveloped you in a hug instead.

Stunned still for a moment, but then you smiled.

“Welcome home~”

He sighed into you, big hands pressed at the small of your back, swaying you snugly against him – the spatula in your hand smushed between you.

You smelled like sweets, and he smelled of smoke, and you both closed your eyes at the familiar but almost forgotten scent – bodies relaxing, realizing how much they’d missed the other's touch.

He held you there for a while, nuzzling his face into your neck with a low rumble – almost like the purr of a cat – before letting you down slowly.

“Is everything alright?” You asked, looking up at him.

He kept his hands at your sides for a moment longer, his usual unreadable expression donning his face. “Not really.” He revealed, then pressed a kiss onto your forehead. “Talk about it later, I’m starving.”

You wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry – trusting him that you’d talk about it later.

He set the table while you finished cooking, and you thought it a very nice change of pace – smiling with a giggle when he pulled out your chair for you. He was acting strange, but still, you wouldn’t complain.

Dinner went quietly. You kept waiting for him to talk, to tell you what it was that was bothering him, but he never did. You were both done not before long, and you got up to start collecting dishes.

He got up as well. Walking around the table, he stood behind you as he grabbed your wrist softly. “Leave it.” He said – his voice gentle, just above a whisper. 

“Katsuki?” You asked, before feeling it – gasping out a surprised “Oh-”

His hand rubbed the silk on your hip, messaging your skin through your dress as he pulled you back against his crotch, where you felt him – fat in his slacks – and nudging into the soft welcome of your butt.

Your chest fluttered with a giddy thrill, flustered and hot already.

“Right now?” You asked in a flushed rush. Bowed with both palms laid flat on the table – cheeks burning and eyes wide. 

“Yes.” He replied simply – voice still gentle but sturdy – perhaps a touch strained.

“Here?” You gushed, swallowing your spit.

“Yes.” He repeated, his lips hot on your throat, with kisses and licks and heavy huffs – his chest stiff and weighty with brawn, beating against your back where he haunched over you.

Your breath warbled, rendering your voice to just an unsteady whisper. “Oh- okay-”

He hoisted the skirt of your dress in quick tugs, bunching it over your hips before molding his clothed bulge neatly into your ass – squeezing your hips and pulling you back to meet his movements as he started rolling into you with need.

You let him – waiting with knees somewhat shakey. It had been so long since you’d last felt his lust for you that now it made you nervous. Your cunt was already weeping at the promise – so wet you soaked through your panties. Even your mouth had pooled with water, desperate for what was to come.

You closed your eyes, listening to him buckling up his belt, followed by the heavy sounds of his pants dropping to the floor – then the warm feel of his hefty manhood resting between your asscheeks. You moaned just at the feel of it. Veiny and warm and soft. Your breaths turned even thicker in your throat – so excited you nearly started wagging your butt to urge him into taking your panties off.

He did. Hooking his fingers beneath the lace, he pulled it down your thighs and knees and let it pool around your feet – giving your ass a wet bite on his way up again.

His fingers then found your puffy cunt, giving it a featherlight feel and releasing a strained grunt at the drippy mess discovered there – bathing his fingertips in your arousal. You heard him swallow thickly at your ear – his breath baring hints of something heavier from his gut – almost heaving as he grabbed his shaft and slid himself down through your thighs.

You nearly started whining boohoos, feeling his girth glide between the fat of your inner thighs, glossing itself in the slick from your cunt. Your insides screamed for it. It was all too sadistic for you to handle – you needed to push back into him – a wanton whimper escaping you even as you had your lip tugged between your teeth.

He answered the prayer, his movements controlled yet strained as he steadily guided it between the split of your pussylips until his head caught on your entrance. He hissed, pressing inside you without any prepping – and you sucked in a gasp, stinging at the stretch, taking the fat mushroom-shaped bulb inside you slowly – so overwhelmed your vision blurred with spotted light. 

Then you released the prettiest moan – whole body tense with anticipation as he eased the fat length all the way inside your pretty cunt – filling it so good, your thighs quaked with curled toes, sinking your teeth into your lip with eyes squished tightly shut – sighing with a needy whimper once his head nudged deep into your cervix.

You and your body both had forgotten his size. Feeling tunneled. You nearly had the urge to climb away as it rested inside you – every meaty inch stretching you out – but he held you steady at the hips, keeping you still as he nestled deep and completely within your walls – making you pant out like a needy bitch in heat. In the end, you couldn’t do much more than curl your toes into the carpet, eyes flickering with arms nearly giving out beneath you.

You didn’t expect the slap to your ass. “Ah- Katsuki-” You yelped with a buck, clenching down even harder around him.

He gritted his teeth at your pretty cry and did it again – planting his hand down hard into the doughy flesh. Pulling back with his hips and thrusting in again.

You clawed the table, picking up the tablecloth in balled hands – struggling to make breaths – insides fluttering and wavering between the delight of finally being filled and the flighty dread of being split in two – crying at the pain, being stretched so awfully good.

He smacked you again, and this time, you whimpered, reeling from the pain of it – feeling the skin sting and prickle – hot beneath the squeeze he made after, gripping the fat like putty. 

“Katsu- s’too rough-” You cried, shaking on his shaft – but also from the pleasure – feeling your head cloudy and hot where your brows cinched up.

He ignored your cry, giving it another hit with his palm. Backing up until only his tip remained inside, then running you through again – pelvis clapping your rear. So deep it choked you, making your tongue loll out of your mouth with your moans. So robbing, you needed to bow down until your tits rested on the table to avoid your arms giving out beneath you – panting as you held onto the feel of his every inch sliding in and out of you. Fucking you so well, you drooled.

“What's this I hear about you leavin’ me, huh?”

A cold rush flushed your body then.

The burn of pleasure suddenly went tense – still there, but vulnerable now. Your heart flared, beating fast – so loud you heard it in your head.

You weren’t able to answer before he’d snuck a hand up your chest and grabbed your throat, lifting you from the table and pressing you back against his chest where his lips could graze the shell of your ear. “I had a lil’ chat with Eijirou earlier. Care to know what he said?” He whispered now, feeling your breath turn thin beneath his hand. 

He held you tight, fingers sinking into your jugular – but more so in threat – not rough enough to choke you. 

Still, it made you squeeze on him harder. 

He didn’t wait for an answer. “He told me that Mina told him that you’ve been having ditzy thoughts about ending things… That true?”

“N-no- that’s not what I said-” You denied with a stutter – chest tight with a need to moan out, feeling the plush bulge of his cock-head knead into your cervix – making a mean outline on your tummy – burrowed so deep it made your thighs shake at the pressure – feeling the onslaught of that tightknit rope within your core begin to fray, soon to snap and let go.

“It's so like you.” He accused coldly, making another harsh thrust into you – cock punching your stomach in the perfect spot. “To go run your mouth with no plans of backing any of it up.”

“B-but I-” You didn’t have your wits with you to defend yourself – busy rubbing your thighs together, chasing the sweet release you felt pursuing.

“Buh-buh-but nothing.” He dismissed – his other hand making way down past your belly button, his fingers soon running over your clit – beginning to rub tight and slow circles into it – making your moans spill past where his hand kept your throat in a lock. “If you wanted me that badly, you should have just asked. But I guess that’s too much for you, isn’t it? You’re just too innocent, aren’t yah?”

You were nearly there until he spun you around. Quickly gathering your thighs, he picked you up and made you straddle him – pushing your back against the wall with a bang that almost had the pictures falling down.

You only moaned, going dumb from the thrill, wrapping your legs around his torso as he sunk back inside you. 

“I don’t buy it, sweetheart. Be honest now-” He breathed with a grunt, pressing his forehead against yours, and you slung your arms around his neck. “You’ve been touching yourself without me, haven't you?”

You bit your lip under his interrogating glare, looking into his red eyes through your lashes only to look away – flighty with a tiny whimper before squeaking out a hesitant but honest, “Ye-yes-”

“When?” He pushed with a hiss – wasting no time.

You burned with embarrassment – fingernails denting the swole and sweaty muscles of his back, feeling him dig inside you so deep and hard and fast you couldn’t help but spill with the confession. “Yesterday- after dinner- when you were sleeping-”

“Where?” He added, clenching his jaw at the shy way you nibbled your lip, telling him all your dirty secrets while pinned against the wall, taking him inside your tight wet cunt with such a face that just coaxed him into going harder and faster.

“H-here, on the floor-” You answered, moaning it for him with your breath in your throat.

“Tch-” He scoffed with a groan and a grin – feeling you clench on him, recognizing your mannerisms – you were getting close. “I didn’t know I was living with a little slut.” 

“I’m not-” You protested with a whine – giving him the cutest pouty face he’d ever seen.

“Don’t lie.” He barked, slamming into you – making you squeal with a moan, fingers pulling the locks at his nape while clenching on him tight – your breath shuddered, stomach tightening up like a knot before suddenly snapping. He chuckled hotly, feeling you shake from it. “Don’t you fuckin’ try it when you’re cummin’ on my cock like that-”

His lips mushed yours with another groan while you moaned from the release. He gripped your ass tighter, pulling you to meet his rhythm, riding it out of you – biting your lip to finish the kiss. 

“Be honest-” He seethed, his voice tight – low and gravelly, thick with arousal. “Where do you want it?”

You quaked at the question, head full of cotton from your orgasm. You looked at him with hearts in your eyes. “Inside me, please, Katsuki~”

“Fuck-” He stuttered – that was the last he could handle before burying himself deep – gripping you tight and keeping you snug against him as he emptied himself with hips jutting – pressing you firmly against the wall behind you.

He kept you there, forehead to forehead, holding his breath down to the very last drop – then let out a long and relieved sigh. But still, he held you there – with sweat running down his temple as he huffed air until both your breathing calmed down. And even then, he didn’t let go.

Instead, he carried you off toward the bedroom – leisurely in his steps as your legs dangled over his arms before placing you both down in the soft bed.

He helped you out of your dress, shimmying it off over your head with your hands lazily raised in the air – then he tore his own shirt off over his shoulders, flexing his back with a stretch and groggy yawn before laying down with a complete sigh. 

Throwing an arm over your midriff, heavy and thick with muscles – his hand splayed on the small of your back – holding you snugly – limbs tangled together with your heads propped on the same pillow.

“Next time you’re thinking about touching yourself when I’m asleep, just wake me up.” He grumbled, his eyes already closed. 

You gave a breathy giggle, murmuring an “Okay~” with a smile. Looking at his face and the cute blush dusting his cheeks with dew.

He had that small scrunch between his brows like always, twisting his handsome face into something so adorably moody even in his sleep. 

His warm breath puffed slow and steady against your face – dewy from his slightly parted mouth.

“Katsuki?” You whispered after a while, tapping your finger on his peck with a soft bite to your lip. 

He opened his eyes, sleepy but awake still – blinded by your wide-awake eyes eagerly staring back at him.

“One more time?”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[lilacxoz]

JJK Men when you want to hang out with friends!

(Gojo, Choso, Toji, Geto, Sukuna)

Warnings!!! Smut, creampie, derogatory remarks, possessiveness, power play, pet names(baby, ma), decryphilia, strong language.

No beta read. Expect errors.

minors DNI

GOJO SATORU - just 5 more minutes.

“Please don’t go.” He’s almost begging. It was pathetic, yet you your hips met his every thrust. He held his thick heavy arm around your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, onto his angry cock.

“-toru, they’re waiting-“ he slams his lips to yours. He didn’t care that your friends were waiting downstairs. He needed you, his hips clashing with yours.

The sound was lewd, the slap of your hips with his, the squelch of his dick disappearing so deep inside of you.

He pulled away from your lips, his eyes practically glowing with the lust hidden behind them. He was a mess, his white cloudy hair stuck to his sweaty face.

“Just fi-five more minutes. Just f’me,” he breathes out, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the wooden door separating you from the hallway of your apartment.

Your hand reached down quickly to his wrist, his tip abusing your cervix with his deep thrusts. “Baby, don’t stop!” You cry out, the fear of getting caught nothing but an after thought. And how could you? Gojo’s dick so deep inside of you.

Your jaw fell slack as his hips snapped against yours, a painful pleasure that makes your mind foggy. His hand held your silky dress up to your waist, crystal blue eyes drinking in the sight of his dick go in and out. His thrusts so fast and brutal, like a piston broken from the case.

But it wasn’t enough, his brows furrowed as his veins popped out of his arms. He couldn’t get a enough, needed more and more of you. As if he was starved of you, high out of his mind.

“-Toru, s’too fast!” You cry out, face smushed against the now damp wood. Drool slid from your lips, eyes rolled back and your makeup running down your face. It was disgustingly perfect. The way you were just as drunk as he was off the climb to your highs.

Only you were closer, clenching oh so tight around his pulsating cock. “Yeah- fuck! baby’s gonna cum, do it. Mph! Cum f’me.” And the way you gripped him made his release an embarrassingly high pitched whine, head falling back as his hips dug into you.

He chased after you, using his arm to help clash your hips with his at a bruising speed. His lips parted as he whined out a mix of your name and ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’s.

You bit down on your lip, still sensitive as he poured load after load of his thick ropes, drooling down the length of him. He was mesmerized, slowly riding out his high as he watched that creamy ring form around the base of him.

“Baby, hah, the girls are waiting-“ he grabbed you deeper into the apartment, keeping you still connected.

“Ju-Just, five more minutes. Just f’me, all f’me.”

CHOSO KAMO- dressed like that?

Choso was quiet, the kind of person most felt intimidated by. He had this quality about him, made him unapproachable. That never affected you though. Until you were on the receiving end of his intimidation.

He had his fingers deep inside you mouth, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror above the sink. “Just look at ya, hah, so slutty, fuck!” His dick was so deep inside of you, your black tights ripped in a threaded mess.

He was absolutely feral, eyes drinking in the sight of your face in the mirror. How dare you expect to get away with wearing such a small skirt, and your tits poking out? You were just asking for it.

“Baby, ah! Im just going to, ngh! have dinner with Nob-“ you couldn’t finish, fingers pushing deeper and deeper past your lips. Your tongue dancing across his digits.

“Only I get to see you like this.” His hips smashed against yours, “don’t forget that.”

You felt delirious, your brain a mush of emotions. Yet all you could think about was the way his tip was crushing, no, bruising your cervix.

“Ah~ never, yeah- never let me go out,” you cry, your mascara running down your damp cheeks. He knew you were right, yet he didn’t give a shit. He’d crawl to the end of the earth for you, just to bring you back down to the hell he lived in.

“You’re mine, you go out with me.” He purred, his hips snapping back against yours in one more delicious thrust. It made you see stars, your lips parted as you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Cho- yeah yeah yeah, don’t stop, please!” You cry out, thighs shaking as his thrusts only slow down.

He knows you’re breaking beneath him, fingers only plunging deeper down your throat. The tiny bathroom mixed with his heavy breaths and and your gags. He loves it, relishes in it.

“Throw it back on me,” he groans, a gutteral deep groan. He lets out shaky breaths, his hand on on your hip tightening. It hurt, his nails forming crescents on your skin.

You did as he asks, your thighs burning as you desperately crawled to your high. “Lemme cum, baby please! Ah! Lemme- FUCK!”

Tears burn your eyes as, Choso practically growling at the way you tighten around him. He’s done playing, you’ve learned your lesson.

He slips his fingers from your mouth, lazily bringing them down to your clit. Your body goes limp against the cool stone sink, crying out his name deliriously.

His pace was inhumane, letting out a high-pitched scream with each thrust. It was too much, your body spasming as you landed face first from your high. And Choso was right behind you.

Ropes and ropes of hot cum painted your insides, your jaw falling slack as his seed disgustingly slid down his balls and the insides of your thighs.

“All. Mine.” Choso said between each thrust, fucking his cum oh so deep inside of you. Deep enough to make you forget about your dinner with the girls.

TOJI FUSHIGURO - so pretty f‘me, ma.

Toji May not like how dedicated you are to doing your makeup and hair before going out with friends. But he knew you deserved a night out away from the brats. But he couldn’t let you leave without showing you how much you deserved it.

He let out a guttural moan, large hand on the small of your back as it arched deep into the sheets. “So pretty f’me, ma.” He just couldn’t stand it, the bounce of your ass against his base. Taking in every single thick inch of him.

Your teeth dug into the pillow below you, lipstick stained to the white sheets. You had to be quiet, afraid to wake up the sleeping kids he managed to put to sleep.

“Quiet ma, just, yeah, put those brats to sleep~” he purred. But you couldn’t help it, drunk on his dick as he shoved so deep inside, painfully delicious.

"Toji- fuck, the girls will be here, ah! so-soon," you mewled out into the white pillow. Toji shushed you, his thrusts slow yet so fucking powerful. each thrust digging you deeper, deeper, deeper into the bed.

"I'll be quick ma," he groaned, digging his face into the crook of your neck. your eyes fell back as he sunk his teeth into your skin, lips parting at the pain it delivered.

He was drunk on your pussy, the way it was so tight around his angry dick, shoving it oh so deep into your syrupy mess. it was enough to make you cry out, not caring if the kids heard you.

"Shhh," he shoved your face deeper into the pillow. your hands desperately found purchase in the sheets, thighs shaking as your orgasm approaches so quickly. it was almost embarrassing how whiney you were, but it turned Toji on so much. he couldn't get enough.

"cum on this dick baby," he let out a grunt with each powerful thrust. your head wobbling against the fabric headboard with each snap of his hips, crying into the pillow as you fell so hard into your orgasm.

he winced, you were so fuckin' tight. milking him, he didn't think he'd have the heart to pull out. "keep squeezin' ma, put, fuck, another brat in-into you." he was losing his mind at this point, hips slapping against your ass so hard it was bruising.

he found the willpower to pull out, shooting hot sticky cum all over your ass. he let out deep and throaty moans at the sight, using his tip to make a mess of it over the fatness of your ass and hips.

"oh so pretty f'me, ma."

GETO SUGURU - back that ass up.

Geto was addicted to you. But when he came home from a long day of working with monkeys only to find you all dressed up for the club. He just had to get his taste.

“Back that ass up,” he purred deep into your ear, his tip just kissing your entrance as he held your back against his chest. Waiting so patiently for you to sit on it.

"I've gotta gooo," you softly plead, making half-hearted attempts to leave. Geto knew you weren't sincere, his tip glistening with the mixture of his pre-cum and your sticky wetness. he was reveling in it.

his hands pull you closer by the tight fabric of your dress, your panties nothing but a pool at your feet. he brought his lips against your ear, brushing them against the soft shell. he needed you, needed you so bad.

"C'mon baby, just a quickie before you leave," he purred. you looked back at him, his cheeks flushed as his eyes were glued to the connection between you. As much as you didn't want to be late, the look in his eyes was enough to egg you on.

you slid down on him, oh so slowly. he gritted his teeth, so tight as if he'd ground his teeth to a fine powder. his head fell back as you ever so slowly bounced on his dick.

he softly moaned your name, cupping the fat of your hip. he loved when you sat on him, your perfect figure, eyes following each curve of your ass and waist. he just couldn't. get. enough.

the bed groaned under your combined weights, his teeth capturing his bottom lip as he lost himself. he was so pussy whipped, the only thing on his mind is how deep he was inside of you.

he reached a hand around, a handful of your stomach. he was obsessed with you, your body, your mind, and especially your needy pussy.

"fu-fuck girl, pussy soooo hungry," he groaned, his hips moving with yours. he watched your ass bounce and ripple, sucking him to the fucking base. milking him of everything he had.

"ngh~ yeah! gonna need yo-your card tonight, ah!" you whined, his tip just kissing your cervix.

Geto groaned, holding you still in his hands before he started to ruthlessly fuck into you. he'd give you what you wanted, but first, he needed to cum inside of you. and with how pent-up he'd been lately, he wasn't far from it.

you cupped your hand over your mouth, your moans and begs uncontrollable as he elicited your climax. and it came quick, eyes rolling back as he fucked wave after wave of pleasure into you.

you were squeezing him so tight, his moans turned whiny and pitchy as his thighs burned. years of training led him to this fucking moment, fucking into you as if his life depended on it.

"yeah, fuck fuck fuck!" he whimpered. "gonna fill this pretty pussy so good," he groaned. and as if the straw that broke the camel's back, the look you gave him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted had him falling-diving into his orgasm.

he held you close as he came down from his high. and then you felt the coolness of his debit card slide onto your thigh, seeing those familiar digits making you smirk.

RYOMEN SUKUNA - take it off.

Sukuna was the king of curses. He always got his way, and was the strongest among most. Except the last part didn’t apply to you.

He was pissed that a mortal such as you even dared to step out of the closet in such a slutty dress. Your tits falling perfectly against your chest, your fat hips so tight along the thin silky fabric of your dress.

He hated women for their seductive power. Yet right now, he loved the way you had him wrapped around your finger. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he loved how easily you riled him up.

“Take it off, woman.” He demanded, voice deeper then usual. Your pink slips formed a smirk as you shook your head. Your mistake.

Now your face was smooshed against his silky aubergine sheets, crying-no, begging him to slow down. Begging for his mercy.

his tongue fucked in and out of you so fast and quick, lips trembling as you struggled to even form coherent words. stupid women, he thought, thinking you could do whatever you wanted.

his nails dug into the soft flesh of your ass, blood soaking his fingers as he spread your ass apart. but you didn't care about the pain, you needed him to bring you to that finish line.

"Kuna!" you moaned, voice bouncing off the walls to his chambers. Perhaps a servant could hear the disgusting moans slipping from your pretty pink lips, perfect. he wanted the whole damn world to know how defenseless you were to him. how obedient you were.

"louder, women. let the world know you have no power against me," he groaned. the truth was, Sukuna was the one powerless, so drunk and delirious off of your pussy. it was almost sinful, the way he ate you out as if you were his death row meal. and maybe you were, with how many civilians he killed on a daily.

you fisted his silky sheets below you, crying out his name to slow down. your knees were weak with how white hot cold flashes sent your body over the edge. the overstimulation mixed with your orgasm caused you to moan so loud you could shatter glass.

Sukuna liked that. seeing you fall apart in his hands.

he slapped your ass as he drank your orgasm, pretty folds drenching his lips and chin in your arousal.

he managed to pull away, flipping you onto your back. he stood to his full height, letting his robes fall down his body to reveal his two angry thick cocks, begging for you.

"I'll show you, mortal woman, you are powerless against me in that slutty clothing."

[glass-trash-bab]

@uhhbeans ok here's the babygirl

Hes literally so fucked up for real. Born in a wet cardboard box all alone. He has been essentially kidnapped by the party and now he's slowly becoming part of our found family 🥺

I need to talk about our dnd session today and how the dm npc ive been bullying for two sessions became the party babygirl

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Lonely Together ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

LONELY TOGETHER | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  1.8k | CONTENT: disgusting brainrot from the Jackson era Joel pic being released, unhinged delulu take on him being sad and lonely and fixing it with sex as a coping mechanism, just general filth idk what to tell you, he's got a mouth on him, degradation kink?, use of derogatory terms but in a sexy way, my result of "sad horny" on the what kind of horny are you? quiz making a lot of sense in this fic

| SYNOPSIS: Joel is lonely. You're lonely. You decide to be lonely together.

It had started out naturally. Joel Miller’s house was remarkably quiet these days, some fracture in his relationship with his step-daughter Ellie being the catalyst for her departure, and he walked around most of the time looking like a kicked puppy. You were no better and with much less of a valid reason to be such a sad sack. You shared one thing in common above all else: loneliness. You’d both honed in on it, recognizing it in another person but not really knowing what to do with it for yourself let alone somebody else.

That is, until, the root of the loneliness made itself clear. You were desperate to be wanted, and Joel was desperate to be needed. A symbiotic give and take that restored some sense of equilibrium to the world when you gave into the urges and gave into each other.

And maybe you wouldn’t normally be so whiny and so pathetic. Maybe Joel wouldn’t normally speak so harshly and demanding. But you drew it out of each other, a safe place to be the worst versions of yourselves and chase what the mind and body needed to make things feel better if just for a little while.

There was no shame in how you meshed together. No second thoughts or chastisement for any notion of your ego being left completely checked and abandoned at the door or his flying off at the mouth with some manic call to ownership. It’s part of what made this dynamic work so well.

You refused to let yourself feel guilt or embarrassment over how he made you feel and act, and he didn’t kick himself for this rough, insistent version of himself that you brought out. It’s what led to a nearly constant need for each other, saying and being things that never left the walls of his home where you normally met up and often stayed the night.

“I know you’re not muffling those pretty little sounds,” he grunts and jerks your head up from where it’d been buried in the pillows as he slammed into you from behind. “Those are my sounds. They belong to me, and I wanna hear ‘em.”

You choke out some pathetic moan and let him puppet your head with his hand clutched around a fistful of your hair. The impact of his drives intensifies as he seeks out more of his sounds. Between the air being punched from your lungs and the mouth of your cervix being punched by his cockhead, you aren’t entirely sure what sounds you’re making, let alone if they’re enough to feed his demand for them.

“Yeah, there you go,” he husks and grips his free hand around the crease of your thigh to pull you closer to him. 

There were times when he was particularly possessive and desperate, and your body subconsciously pulled away from the intensity of his focus, only to have him drag you back even closer to his whims. You always let him. He never gave you more than you could take, and, when he did, it always ended up being just a touch further than what you understood you could manage. He was always forcing you to learn about yourself like that. You resented and pursued it all the same.

“You know better than to make me chase this sweet little cunt,” he snaps. 

You mewl out some kind of apology, but you both know this is just another part of the dynamic that feeds you both.

He pushes your shoulders down into the mattress, head sideways so he can still hear what he does to you, and jerks your hips back. You’re practically limp as a ragdoll, having gone at this now for the better half of an hour, growing exhausted from being taken to the edge so many times just to have him draw back at the last minute.

He pounds into you, and the wet smack of your smeared arousal sounds with each snap of his hip against you. Your slick is everywhere –  your pussy drooling and begging and crying for release – a sort of debauched canvas he’s made out of you in all the ways he’s bent you and folded you and angled you for his liking. He locks your wrists behind the small of your back and uses the leverage to somehow pound impossibly harder.

You feel like you’re about to push through the mattress in a few thrusts if he keeps up this pace, a mind boggling stamina for someone in his 50s. It felt like at times his need to be needed outweighed your need to feel wanted, but you would never complain about the frenzied fervor it invoked in him.

Just as you’ve accepted your fate of being plowed through the mattress, he’s yanking you flush against his chest and driving you down onto his cock. Your hands fly for an anchoring point, and Joel obliges by wrapping an arm under yours and crossing it against your chest and neck until he’s cradling your throat in his palm. Your hands claw onto his forearm like a port in a storm, and you hold on for dear life.

He grips your throat, just enough for you to respond how he wants: a tiny shiver and a throaty moan.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he grunts. He’s slamming you down onto his cock now, almost deranged in how he seeks out any and every way to make you come completely undone. “My little fuckhole. Say it.”

“I’m–I’m your little fuckhole,” you choke out around the squeeze of his hand.

“You better mean it, baby. Any hole is mine, ain’t that right?”

As if to prove his point, he slips his thumb into the rim of your ass with ease, all the smeared lubrication of your unfulfilled orgasms making a slippery entrance for him to finger. You gasp and clench around him, around his thumb and his cock, all excitement and nerves and anticipation for where he would take this.

You cry out when he plunges his thumb deeper, maybe a reminder that you hadn’t answered him, and you were expected to always answer him.

“Anything! All of them!” you yelp. The sting of his thumb now steadily pumping in and out of you made you feel all the more dizzy and keen for release.

Apparently pleased with your corroboration, he slips his thumb out and grips onto your hip once more to resume his devastating drives. He presses your head back against his shoulder until your ear is next to his breathy mouth.

“Bet you’d let me wreck you there, too, wouldn’t you? Rip you open on my cock ‘til you were gashed and gaped, huh?” He sounds unhinged and so close to spilling inside you that you can’t help but moan and clench.

He breathes a laugh, all he can manage at this pace, and bites onto your earlobe before letting whatever crazed thought that passes through his pussydrunk brain spill from his lips. “Would wreck that hole, baby. Would have you sent up to the clinic just to see what they could do for it. Tryna hide your face all embarrassed when you gotta tell ‘em it’s all wrecked like that because you’re such a nasty fuckin’ whore for my fat cock. Let me use whatever hole I want just because I can, ain’t that right?”

You don’t question why his frenzied promise of fucking your ass so hard you’d need to go to the clinic makes your orgasm come blazing from out of nowhere up the back of your spine. He’s not far behind, a few more thrusts before he’s groaning and filling you with more wet and slip. You collapse together onto the bed and lay limp and panting for what seems like forever as he softens inside you.

You come back to earth when Joel gently nudges you and nuzzles your neck and ear. “You okay?”

It always struck something strange in your chest when he got tender like that, sounding genuinely worried he’d gone too far or been too rough. But, just like always, it was exactly what you needed. What you both needed.

“I’m okay. Felt so good,” you tell him in earnest. He pulls you closer to him and drinks in your praise. He needed this as much as he needed to bury himself inside of you. “Always make me feel so good, Joel.”

He hums a little gravelly acknowledgement and presses a line of soft kisses to your neck. You smile and wiggle your head for him to kiss more of you. It felt unreal in these moments afterward, each time building something strangely sacred and dangerously close to attachment. To companionship. To raw, genuine feelings. To love.

But that hadn’t ever been the point of this, and it felt terrifying to acknowledge. It was easy to say you came to him because he made you feel wanted. It was easy to say he broke you down and built you back up because you gave him that control.

It was decidedly complicated to say you maybe had found more in each other than intended, and neither of you needed complicated. So you deflect. You change the subject. You skirt around the elephant in the room.

“So,” you start and turn over to face him. He hisses as his softening cock slides out of you. You feel his cum dribble out of your cunt, and you want so badly to press your hand down there to keep every bit of him inside you longer.  

He props himself up on his elbow to focus his attention on whatever it is you’re about to say, his fingertip drawing idle lines across your jaw and lips.

“You wanna fuck my ass for the first time, and I’m gonna get reamed so bad I’m gonna need to seek medical attention?” you tease.

He laughs a little at your delivery and at himself for getting so unhinged that he’d babbled about it in the first place. “Nah, baby, just got caught up in the moment. Would never wanna wreck it that bad ‘cause then I wouldn’t be able to fuck it again.”

You snort and grab at his chin. “Wow, not because I would have a wrecked asshole for the rest of my life? You just want it intact enough to fuck as many times as you want?”

He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t that the point of all this? Me fuckin’ you how I want? You gettin’ what you need?”

It sounds false on his lips to the point that even he makes a microexpression of acknowledgement that it might’ve started that way but had morphed into something more – something complicated. But, at least for today, you were going to keep it easy.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you agree with an impish smile. You drag Joel down into a sloppy, lazy kiss.

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

to me, LND proves what the '04 movie suggests: Webber cannot imagine Christine as a grown ass woman. She can be of child bearing age, so she can give the gift of a male heir, and then she dies. Not out of authorial malice, I think, not even subconsciously. But as an expression of a truly fuckin baffled "well, what else can a woman do?" kind of cluelessness.

see also: the kind of evo psych guy who literally goes around wondering out loud what "purpose" women over 50 serve, wondering why evolution "allows" this to happen when it's clearly (to them) suboptimal.

but ANYWAY.

Gaston Leroux's Christine would never. You just know she ends up being like 90 something in some Northern village somewhere giving cryptic one liners about her mysterious and romantic past to wide eyed children and swooning teenagers and envious and yearning younger adults. probably had like five other weird as shit scandals happen to her before settling down, honestly.

It will always bug me that Christine died relatively young, outlived by Raoul and seemingly the Phantom. Even without LND, she’s dies like late 50s, early 60s. And yeah people didn’t live long back in the day, but she was a wealthy woman who I’m sure had the resources to live a longer life than others.

There’s so many characters that are alive and kicking that are around the same age that Christine died: The managers, Madame Giry, the music conductor, the old owner. So I don’t buy that it’s just “old age”.

She should’ve been in her 80s, the last one out of the three, giving cryptic interviews to the press on “The Strange Affair of the Phantom of The Opera”. She should’ve been a consultant on movies based on the tragedy and fuck with the directors so nobody ever knows the real truth.

How is it that the center of this massive story was never able to share her POV? She doesn’t live long enough to tell her story and instead we have to figure it out based on the perspectives of the men who loved her but also never fully understood her.

[stxrslut]

HUMILIATED 𖤍

summary; when rafe gets with you as a barrier to stand between the tension that stands in stone between him and his drug dealer, but the moment barry realises what he's doing, he takes it to his utmost advantage and uses you to prove to rafe that he will never be anything other than pathetic to him  

content; rafebarry x reader, dubcon, ass eating, use of weed, “bitch” is used in a derogatory way towards reader

rafe cameron is a pathetic man. there’s no doubt about it, anyone who’s ever met him has found it out in some way or another. you’d been told this when he started going after you, and to your dismay, you’d ignored it. you’d had no idea that rafe had alternate motivations when he began pursuing you, but you were ever so wrong. 

maybe one month ago, more or less, there had been a rather monumental night. rafe and barry, up late, smoking, had fucked. it was quick and rushed and sweaty and gross. and then rafe had run for the hills, never to acknowledge the night again, or so he thought. 

overcome by a mountain of emotions and complicated thought processes, he’d done everything possible to distract himself, starting with a few hookups, and then a relationship with you. 

you do the job well enough for him, but even so the dealer is always somewhere in his mind. you notice sometimes when you’re having sex that he just disassociates, but you’re not sure what he’s thinking of, maybe that’s just how he is in bed. 

whilst you’re not aware of all of the backstory behind them, you know something is up with rafe and barry. when you tag along with rafe on his weekly visits the tension between them is tangible. barry always remains stony faced,rafe always looks similar to a prey animal, scared, skittish, ready to run or play a defence. you quickly become aware that you are his defence. 

rafe takes you there to try and intimidate him. to try and show him, to send a message that says “I don’t need you.” 

tonight is one of those nights. you are sat cross legged on one of the two couches on barry’s front porch. you feel rather uncomfortable. 

the two men are smoking weed, each of them have their own joint, because apparently sharing doesn’t happen anymore. rafe occasionally offers you a drag, which you occasionally take, but you think if you got high, the tension in the air would make you puke. it might make you puke anyway. 

nobody has said anything for over five minutes. you decide to crawl into rafe’s lap, for some comfort, retreat, maybe just to make him break this deafening silence. 

rafe lets you take a place straddling his lap, you wriggle down there to get comfortable before you rest your head on his chest. to your absolute disappointment, the silence continues. 

another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, you can’t keep count. you hear the moving of cushions from behind you, barry must be changing the position that he’s sitting in. 

looking up, you see rafe’s jaw ticking in supposed frustration. you can tell that the thoughts are rushing around behind his eyes before his gaze hardens and he looks back down to you. 

without speaking, his hand cups the back of your head and he pulls you up to lock lips with him. the kiss is sudden and a little too intense for the context, being that his drug dealer is watching it happen. 

there’s really not a way for you to protest and this does help occupy the quiet and awkward just a little bit so you don’t. along with you not protesting, it escalates just a little bit. a lot actually, within minutes you’re humping on his bulge. 

your mouth no longer on his lips and now on his neck, you can see his face just a little bit. he’s staring right at barry, not looking away, not blinking. his only acknowledgement of you is the hand on your lower back, guiding your movements just a little bit. 

you think maybe you should just stop, walk home without him and escape this turmoil of looks and telepathic communications you can’t tap in on. but something else happens before you can act on it. 

you don’t see it coming, so it takes you by surprise when barry’s firm pair of hands pull you back to stand up against him. 

“fuckin’ done with this.” he grumbles, but he’s not speaking to you, he’s speaking to rafe, who’s face you can now see is bright red, eyes wide and lips parted. “you think you’re such a tough guy huh? nah. we’re not doin’ this no more. you wanna fuckin’ show off your girl like that makes you better. huh?” 

he yells, pushing you aside but blocking you in, as he goes down to rafe’s level. you watch in shock as he leans forward and grabs rafe by the collar. then he pushes him down to lay on his stomach on the couch, making his cheek smush up against a pillow that probably smells of mould. 

once rafe’s pants are pulled down and his ass is revealed to the cold evening air, barry grabs you once more, forming a ponytail in your hair to keep a firm hold of you. 

his mouth comes up close to your ear, “you think your man’s tough huh? nah. gonna show you what a fuckin’ pathetic little son of a bitch he is.” the dealer's words are driven by an anger that you are not sure the origin of. 

you have to avoid yelping when suddenly you’re pushed to your knees and your face is inches away from his ass. you can guess now what you’re about to do. 

hand still on your head, barry levels his face with rafe now, “feel like a big guy now rafe? do you feel good?” 

and then your face is shoved down. your mouth immediately comes into contact with his asshole. by default, you begin to move a little, parting your lips and tonguing at it. barry chuckles, “this girl knows what to do, doesn't she? you got her trained rafe? you like having your ass ate?” 

rafe whimpers. he feels humiliated, this is not the reason he ever dated you. he dated you for confidence in himself, not whatever the fuck this is. 

unfortunately, for him that is, pleasure is there too, and he can’t resist reacting to it. his ass shifts upwards to accommodate the boner that was pressing into the couch uncomfortably. 

the sounds he’s making are oh so pathetic, whimpers and whines and little begs to barry to stop this. he doesn’t stop though. 

even when you come up for a breath of air you’re swiftly pushed right back down by his firm hand, “keep goin’ bitch. I didn’t tell you to stop.” 

after chastising you, barry turns to rafe with a clear sense of what he’s about to do. “look at you. fuckin’ pathetic. never gonna be the big man you think you are rafe cameron.” 

it takes just a few more seconds and then rafe cries out embarrassingly loud. “mmh- fuck. get her off o’me.. stop it.” tears are falling down his cheeks while he feels nothing but humiliation at what he’s doing. 

barry does pull you away, pushing you aside, but only after he’s sure that rafe has endured every last second of his orgasm. 

you move up to sit on the floor two feet away, eyes fixated on the two. rafe is breathless, body limp on the couch, cheeks red and tearstained. his eyes bore into barry’s, it’s like they’re speaking in their heads again. whatever the fuck has happened between these two, you just hope to god you don’t have to stay a part of it.

[consciouscarrot]

day 13 - thigh riding [s.g.riley]

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader

content warnings; making out, dry humping, mild blood play (biting lip and nails digging into skin), couple of spanks (r receiving), some degradation

notes; i really liked writing about the blood play, so i may do more in the not so distant future :) the start is shit soz

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

the sun had long since set when simon had come home, and what was supposed to be a quick cuddle on the sofa before bed, had turned into a filthy make out session, with you straddling him and your tongues swirling together, spit mixing in your mouths.

he nipped at your bottom lip, teeth dragging it towards him, biting down until your syrupy blood pooled onto his tongue, groaning at the metallic taste, thumb swiping over your mouth when it began to ooze down.

unbeknownst to you, your hips had begun to rock against his thigh, body desperate to release the tension that had been gathering in your cunt, friction burning as your button ground just right against your underwear and the thick material of his jeans, not helped by his hands under your skirt, kneading at your ass.

“makin’ such a mess, my needy girl,” he said with a smirk, jolting his leg up and chuckling when your breath hitched, cunt throbbing as your clit catches against him.

your face heated when you caught sight of the dark spot staining the blue denim of his jeans, fluid smeared across the material.

“didn’t mean to m’sorry, i’ll clean them, promise,”

“it’s okay, sweet’eart. just can’t help yourself, poor girl needs t’be touched, don’t ya?”

his scarred hands ran up and down your thighs before sliding up to your lower back, undoing the button and zipper on your skirt, hushing you when you whined in humiliation.

he groans when he finds your underwear completely soaked through, white cotton near transparent and showing off the folds of your neglected heat. he ripped the material straight from you, fabric tearing at the seams as they fell apart in his fist.

you bury your head in his shoulder, whimpering as he seized your hips, encouraging you to resume your movements against him, rumbling out praises when you listen, sloppy pussy gliding against him.

simon manhandling you to sit properly on one thigh, bare cunt now in the perfect position for you to get just enough friction with your legs either side of one of his.

wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips meet again, kisses all tongue and teeth, messy and desperate, you grip at his blond locks, revelling in the groans he lets out in pain.

he smacks at the fat of your ass, smiling as you gasp into his mouth, hips jerking at the added pleasure. you babbled, whimpering out whatever words came to mind, sometimes little pleas for him to just fuck you, chanting his name like a prayer, and sometimes only able to squeak out a repeated fuck fuck fuck.

“so desperate, aren’t you, love? just need to rut against my leg like a bitch in heat and y’already close,”

despite hating the derogatory words, your cunt throbbed, toes curling in your socks, face still pressed to his. you shifted your position, accidentally nudging your knee into simon’s bulge, earning you another spank, ass stinging as it reddened.

you panted, moaning and crying out on every thrust of your hips as you tried so hard to kiss him back, unable to focus with the feel of him against your sopping cunt. inevitably giving up on your piteous attempt, your teeth grazed over his jaw, canines scratching against his stubble.

tears collected along your waterline, bottom lip wobbling against simon’s as the coil in your belly tightened, feeling like it could snap at any moment.

he pulled back, wanting to watch your face when he made you cum in such a pathetic and degrading manner, using whatever part of him you could get just to gain some pleasure.

a final slap against your ass sent you over the edge, giving you that finish push you needed to let go, tension finally releasing from your body.

legs clamping around his thick thigh, your head tipped back, body shaking erratically and eyes rolling to the back of your skull, simon held onto your waist and shoulder to support you.

he watched you fall apart on his thigh, one of your hands falling down to his arm, sharp nails digging into his bicep and scalp, he moaned when he felt the acrylics break his skin, pain turning to twisted pleasure as his blood trickled down your delicate fingers, staining the skin beautifully.

he felt you go limp in his arms, and guided you gently into laying against his chest. you clung to his shirt, crimson coated digits fisting this dark material, occasionally whimpering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, trusting him to keep you safe in your vulnerable state.

large hands rubbed at your back, pressing a long kiss into your shoulder. he dabbled with the idea of sinking his teeth into your neck, hard enough to scar, branding you as his own, knowing that like this, you’d have no choice but to accept it, to let him mark you as simon riley’s slut, scarred imprint of his teeth impossible to miss.

he decided to wait, wanting to get your consent first, knowing that it would only make it hotter that you wanted his branding on you, wanted everyone to know that you were his.

he jolted his leg again, laughing darkly when you whined at the overstimulation on your sensitive pearl, murmuring into your ear that he wasn’t done with you just yet.

[awniie]

HELLO KITTY

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ summary: sukuna breaks your favorite stuffed animal

content: fem!reader, pathetic attempt at fluff n angst , reader cries when he breaks the stuffie, mean!sukuna-ish, readers gets called a baby (derogatory), reader is called small, modern au, implied sex, proofread to an extent

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ notes: I’m not sure what compelled me to write this, like at all !! also I tried not to refer to him as a boyfriend in this cus I don’t see him as one :sob:

“what..is that?” Sukuna asked as he entered the room. He was talking about the little cat toy you were snuggling with. You held it tightly against your chest, the blue light of your phone casting onto the dolls white cotton covering.

“Oh her? It’s hello kitty!” You exclaimed, quite proudly for a grown woman with a cat doll between her chest. You shut off your phone and roll over to show him the toy. Sukuna snatched it from off your body and inspected the…thing. It was white and fuzzy with black sewn eyes and a matching butter-colored nose. As if that wasn’t trivial enough, the toy wore a tiny little pair of overalls and a small pink bow ontop its ear. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, It was the epitome of naivety and childishness, and it made him sick. Curiously, He tested the elasticity of the toy, pulling and stretching her limbs in awful ways.

“Kuna, be careful! You’ll break her.” You warned, arms reaching for your poor kitty. You quickly remembered why you were hesitant to show him the doll earlier, that your hello kitty was small and delicate and sukuna was quite the opposite, and now your worst fears coming true. Your protests fell on ignorant ears, and the sickening sound of ripping fabric filled them instead. Scratchy white poly-fil spewed in the air. Your boyfriend stood in front of you, a look of mild surprise played on his features as he held the now-headless hello kitty.

“Huh.” he murmured before throwing it on the floor sending more fluff scattered across the room.

“Sukuna! What is wrong with you?” You accused, rushing over to where your beheaded kitty laid. He couldn’t believe how quick you left off the bed, cradling the ripped doll in your hands.

“It’s not my fault it was made so cheaply. Plus, you too old to be playing with dolls anyway.” He said, quickly disregarding the whole thing.

“No! That was my hello kitty, you had no right to break it.” You told him between sniffles, holding the two pieces of your hello kitty in each of your palms. Warm tears ran down your cheeks and your nose reddened.

“Do you see yourself right now? You’re acting like a fucking baby.” Sukuna retorted, annoyed at your reaction. He honestly didn’t mean to break it, but what’s done is done and you were a fool for thinking that lashing out at him could change that. “It’s just a child’s toy, get over it.”

“You are sick. I hate you!” You yelled, holding the pieces of your broken toy close and leaving the room, not before slamming the door with teeth-rattling force.

Sukuna sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn’t expect you to get so animated over a cartoon cat replica, but then again human emotions were much more sporadic and quite frankly annoying. He gave your outburst no more than another thought. He knew you well enough to know you’d be back soon, crying and whining and begging him to talk to you and give you some attention. He’d just have to patient until your came your to senses..

..Or at least that’s what he thought. Your boyfriend seemly underestimated your ability to hold a grudge. You hadn’t truly spoken to him in 3 days, the most he’s gotten out of you being “uh huh” or “no”. He pretended your coldness didn’t bother him, but it did. A lot more then it should’ve. The pointed shoulder-checks, the refusal to make any eye contact, leaving the room whenever he walked in. It really bothered him. He knew that the only way to get back your favor was with probably some form of atonement. But, he has his own pride to worry about and he refused to be the one to grovel at your feet and apologize. No it would be you. He was Sukuna Ryomen and he would not bend to the will of a foolish mortal girl.

But, a week without speaking to your other can be unbearable, even for a callous curse such as Sukuna. After being with you so long, he found himself having a sort longing for you. Why would he though? He didn’t need anyone, especially not you. If anything, you needed him…so why weren’t you acting like it?

Even though you were mad at him, outwardly you seemed fine. You were doing everything on your own, pretending as if this giant curse of a man didn’t even exist. You still laughed at stuff on your phone, you still ate your favorite foods and enjoyed yourself, while Sukuna clearly wasn’t.

He hated the silence that he had grown unfamiliar with after being with you. You seemed to never shut up before, but now? Sukuna found himself longing for your annoying voice and pestilential chattiness.

He missed your body. He missed your delicate fingers that you would intertwine with his rough, pointed ones whenever you went to the store with him. He’d express so many times that he didn’t like you doing that and he’d “cut your fingers off” if you did it again. But you always did, and it never happened.

He hated the absence of your warmth. He had become so accustomed to your late night snuggling, he had trouble sleeping without it. One particular lonesome night, he watched you sleep from the door you always left slightly cracked. He longed to be next to you, to feel your faint breath tickling his neck, to run his hands down the curve of your spine, to have your sleep-mucked face be the first thing he sees in the morning.

So, that’s why he was now on the couch, hissing and cursing as he attempted to put the stitch through the tiny hole of the needle. He was trying to sew your god-damned hello kitty back together, which proved to be a much harder task than he thought initially. Sukuna had watched you do it many times, stitching whatever article of clothing he had ripped off of you the night before. You made it look simple, and of course you were just a little human. Nothing you did would take much skill, right?

“Fuck!” He hissed through clenched teeth and he stabbed the pin through the pad of his finger. A bead of dark-red blood swole and eventually dripped down his finger. Watching the blood drop made him think of you. You would’ve taken his tattooed hand and cooed at the injury, leaving a kiss on the stabbed finger. He always thought you were stupid for making such a display over a little nick, but now? He felt some sort of…emptiness without your comfort. Sukuna quickly chased those thoughts away, telling himself that he was only doing this for his own benefit, not for you. No, he’d never do something like this for you.

-

“Kuna…?” You called, the moniker sounding foreign on your tongue after a long week of ignoring the man to whom it belonged too. His head quickly snapped as he watched you come into the room, treading lightly as if the tension could break with a footstep too heavy. In your arms was the patched up doll, looking a little limp but still in one piece.

“What do you want?” He asked, his tone glacial, suggesting that he didn’t care. But he knew he cared a lot, a lot more than he should’ve.

Just a few minutes ago, Sukuna creeped into the bedroom, ensuring sure you wouldn’t hear him over the sound of a running shower. Afte the coast was clear, he meticulously placed the doll on your bed, propped up on a pillow, the hello kitty freshly washed and sewn. He relished on his work, shoving away the feeling of…anxiety? Then he waited and waited for you, hurrying back to his place on the couch only when he heard the shower faucet stop running.

“Did you…fix my doll?” You asked, leaving the question hanging in the heavy air. You avoided eye contact as you sat across from him, fiddling with the hello kitty’s stubby arms.

“What does it look like? It’s fixed, isn’t it?” He retorts, gesturing to the crude stitches that encircled that dolls neck. He sounded pissed off, but he was far from it. He missed your voice, even if you were wasting it by asking him stupid questions.

“Oh,” was all you were able to say. Sukuna rolled his eyes, mimicking your “oh”.

You stumbled with your speech, trying to find the right response. In all honesty, you were shocked. “T-Thank you.” You murmured, your voice a little louder now.

“yeah, whatever. Now you have your doll, so you can stop your damn sulking.” He muttered, waving his hand in dismal. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, careful not to break the delicate silence.

Warmth bloomed inside of your chest. Yeah the stitching was clusmy, revealing his lack of delicacy, but somehow it felt better than him buying a new stuffed animal. There was something that was almost thoughtful about it, and sukuna ryomen was anything but the sort.

He couldn’t believe himself either. Had he really done that, for you? It was impossible. He could’ve easily forced you to speak to him, or lashed out at you for being a brat. So why didn’t he? He sat there, waiting for the repercussions of his actions to hit him. Disgust. anger. anything. but strangely, it never came. Instead he felt a sense of relief and lets out a breath he had no idea he had been holding.

You then slipped into his arms, your ear resting against his surprisedly-existent heartbeat. The hello kitty was still in your grasp, and you fiddled into between your two hands. He didn’t say anything, because he wasn’t even sure that words would come out of his mouth. You felt so nice on him again, and he placing his around you, never wanting to let you go.

As the two of you laid there, distressing fact came crashing down on him. You had broke him. You contorted his barbarous heart into ways that no stich could fix.

[tteokdoroki]

Nonono but hear me out

Corrupting Priest Gojo

The all knowing (derogatory) cocky witty surprisingly young Priest Gojo who doesn't look like a virgin but the second you put his mouth on him he doesn't scream for god anymore, he screams for you- imagine pulling on the rosary around his neck or even binding his wrists together with it- the broken blabbering, sobbering priest Gojo just gonna see the pearly gates when you're done with him and his pretty, not-so-untouched-anymore cock

-glasses anon

oh my god im …. insane ….

tw: sacrilege and religious imagery but the idea of gojo growing up in the church and never wanting to disobey the word of god and what he’s been taught all his life so by the time he becomes a priest he’s a complete and innocent virgin. when you put your mouth on him for the first time his milky thighs are quivering and his cock is so painfully hard and flushed he thinks that he’s being punished :(

like poor priest gojo with the prettiest tears in his eyes in his angelic blue eyes — shining like holy water, as you swipe your tongue through the slit on his seedy cockhead. he chokes on a sob, grasps when you cheekily fondle his weight balls and dip your tongue over his taint. satoru grasping at the little cross sitting over his heart, begging for forgiveness through hiccups and sobs, moaning out your name like it’s a prayer.

the closer gojo gets, the more he forgets who he’s supposed to be worshiping. not you, the woman on her knees between his legs, sucking the life out of him, licking up every drop of precum and grazing over the blue veins on that tattoo his dick. he cums with pathetic moan as the burning in his pelvis ceases and he fills your mouth with his cream, in thick syrupy waves.

stop and when his eyes flutter shut during his orgasm, the halo of his white hair askew and his lips parted in sinful moans — you reach up to grab his rosary and tug it so hard the beads snap and clatter across the floor of the confessional booth. you drag him down to press a kiss to satoru’s lips, feeding him his own orgasm, his first taste of sin.

and the second he tastes himself on your reddened lips, he finds out what it’s like to be cast out from heaven.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[etheries1015]

That virgin Lilia stuff is both hot and kinda funny. Imagine he jizzes just from you sitting on his lap.

Lilia who can't control himself so much as a single intimate contact causing him to need release? 700 years of raising children and fighting in a war, I'm sure he's pent up beyond anyone's comprehension. The way you sit upon his lap despite knowing he's hard, fully clothed you sit purposefully spreading your legs in a way that hugs his cock just perfectly despite its confines. His mind wanders to the idea of you being on his lap cockwarming him, and he's pathetically quick in cumming in his pants. I like the vision...the intimacy of being fully clothed leaves much to the imagination, which can oftentimes be more erotic than the act itself...

But I won't lie, the term "jizzes" just isn't it LMFAOOOO don't be shy, use the derogatory terms hehehehehe

[lalunanymph]

𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌 — naoya zen'in

the color red has never held this much meaning for him until you came along

tw. femdom, heel f/etish, foot worship, b/ondage, collaring, leashes, toe sucking, sub!naoya, fem!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears nail polish, a corset, heels), o/ral s/ex, unprotected s/ex, o/rgasm denial, o/rgasm control, misogyny, repressed emotions, classism, mentions of sexism, mentions of pregnancy, lots of religious imagery, mild angst

a/n. this was supposed to be a purely h/orndog fic but picture you by chappell roan started playing and it became a sadfest instead

Everything’s quiet except for his laborious breaths.

The persistent tick tick tick of the clock is second to the blood drowning in his veins, his mouth going dry at the sight before him. 

The red of those heels lovingly encasing your stockinged feet was a glaring sign. 

A sign that for tonight, his pride, body and integrity did not belong to him; laid bare for you to control and bend to your whims.

But, Naoya didn’t mind. He wouldn’t have it anyway. In fact, if you batted those pretty lashes and asked him nicely enough, he would give you the world.

Everything you touched was all yours. 

Including himself.

The leash around his neck was a pleasant suffocation, second to the loving graze of that Louboutin tip caressing his jaw, trailing down his neck—leaving a trail of heat wherever the rubber sole touched.

“Look at you,” your exhale made the hair on his neck stand. You shifted in the sofa chair, and those sharp eyes couldn’t keep from flitting right between your legs where the short, black leather skirt could barely cover your glistening pussy. 

The tightness of the corset accentuates your curves, swathes of silk covering your shoulders like a gauzy dream. Naoya finds himself dumbstruck, staring right at the rise of your breasts fighting to spill out of the restrictive cups. You look like a fallen angel astride her throne, bearing down on him with a leer while he’s the foolish mortal worshipping you at your desecrated altar.

He fights back a groan when the sharp edge of your heel presses against his sternum, and you hum, slowly move it to his neck, prodding his Adam’s apple. 

“Like what you see?” your husky voice sends tingles straight to his leaky, neglected cock. 

It’s almost embarrassing how he’s standing at attention while you seem so unfazed, cool eyes roaming down the leather ties winding around his torso, binding his arms behind his back; leaving him trapped in your web of seduction.

Naoya fights back a sneer, taming his first instinct to spit back a derogatory word to your face.

You lift a brow, as if to goad him. Well, where is your fight now, Zen’in scum?

“Just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean you're above me, whore.”

The second those words leave his toxic lips, he internally cringes.

Shit, no. I didn’t mean—

But, he doesn’t get to take his words back, not when you give the leash a harsh tug so he has no choice but to stumble even closer, shuffling on the cold floor with his sore knees. 

Clicking your tongue, you fix him with a devastatingly disappointed look. “And here I thought you were going to play nice tonight. You wouldn’t want a word of your little… habit… to reach your family, don’t you, Zen’in?”

Unlike alcohol or drugs, his addiction had no physical detriments. But, if someone were to ask him what he couldn’t live without, that tight little hole clenching right in front of him would be his answer.

He can’t help but slobber like a dog whenever he catches a whiff of you, spit pooling in the back of his throat, hastily swallowed down when you smirk. 

“You still want to taste me? After what you said?” You kiss your teeth, and this time, your right heel is flat on his chest. You exert the slightest force to push him back, and he clenches his core with his entire strength, determined not to bow to your desires. “Pathetic.”

That incriminatory word accompanies your heel moving downward, and he almost murmurs a whine when he feels the pointy tip caress his stiff cock. Your cruel, red lips twist into a sneer, and you don’t stop for him to take a breath, flexing your toes and nudging the hard rubber against his weeping tip.

“Look,” you coo. “You made such a mess.”

The expensive leather of these heels he painstakingly scoured day and night for you was besmirched with his own pre. Naoya feels his face heating up, especially when you push your heel under his nose, your next command implicit and unmistakable.

Despite his pride, none of his blue-blooded dignity is a match for all that lustful blood and desire pooling south right in between his legs. Cheeks pink, pupils blown wide with lust, he bends his head forward, pink tongue flitting out to lap at the smooth red surface, a low groan tumbling from his swollen lips when he tastes himself right on the imported leather.

“Good boy.”

Giddy with relief, he eagerly expresses his gratitude, continuing to lick and polish your shoe with his tongue.

You hum, evidently impressed. Chucking your right heel off to the floor, he’s left impressed by your red polished toenails straining past the thin black panty hose stretching across your delicate and graceful foot.

His cock throbs, silvery drops staining the floor. 

Without warning, you grasp his chin, forcing him to look right into your fervent eyes. Your hair flows wildly, cheeks warm and lips so swollen from biting down on them. 

“You’re really such a messy, boy, aren’t you, Naoya?” 

He almost groans when the rough nylon touches his jaw, your foot right in his face. The smell of your arousal is strong enough to make him dizzy, and he’s almost delirious, wrapping his lips around your toes, sucking and licking them until the black fabric is drenched with his spit. The artificial plastic taste gives way to the softness of your skin, and he’s sure he would’ve exploded all over untouched if you hadn’t removed your toes from his mouth. 

All worked up and tied down with no friction, his hips buck, veins popping up on his neck from trying his hardest to not plant himself face first into your inviting cunt.

You’re not making it any easier.

Your whispery moans, feathery sighs. Naoya feels like he’s died twice and still missed his chance at heaven.

The leash in your hand clinks, and you give one harsh tug, getting his attention.

“Tell me,” you start, foot resting right on his neck. “What always brings you here? To me?”

Naoya’s a man of many vices. Drugs, pretty girls, alcohol—everything under the sun is what he’s sampled during his wretched time at the Zen’in estate.

No one has ever said ‘no’ to him. Worst of all, they let him run rampant.

But, you… 

You’re the first to ever keep him in line.

Those pretty eyes blink, hazy and lowered. “It seems you’re not as serious about this as I thought.”

Slim fingers topped with a pearlescent nail polish tug at his collar; reminding him of his spot below you.

One errant glance, and he drinks in your soft curves, the fleshiness of your sacred thighs.

Holy. Beautiful. A sin dangling right in front of his face. 

You’re still waiting for an answer, but what could he say?

That he’s fucking sick in the head and everytime he closes his eyes, all he sees is your face hovering in the darkness behind his lids; beckoning him to burn everything he knows and step into the void beyond with nothing but your hand to hold?

How could he—the only Zen’in son—even think to leave the lap of his luxurious life just for the chance to lay his head on yours? 

You don’t care about his worries or why he suddenly lapses into silence.

You’re waiting for his answer.

“I…” he licks his lips, wetting them. If he had puppy ears, they would’ve dropped by now. “I… n-need you.”

“What was that?” 

Your taunts, your sly ways… 

Naoya could never have enough of you. 

“I need you,” he confesses in a low murmur. 

The red hue of your lips perfectly matches your shoes, and Naoya wonders how the pigment will look smeared all over his pale neck and chest. He wants you to mark him; to make him yours.

“You can taste me.” Finally giving him the permission he’s been aching for, the Zen’in heir can’t hold back his excitement at getting to bury his tongue in your cunt. 

You spread your legs, manicured nails parting your folds to show him the glistening heart of your arousal ready to be devoured.

Naoya licks his lips, shoots you one longing glance. May I? 

Still obedient. Still waiting. 

A hopeless devotee waiting for his final blessings. 

You nod imperceptibly, giving him the green light.

He moans at the first taste of you, sublime and musky—you melt right on his taste buds. Your thighs twitch in the periphery, breaths hitching. 

The first time he ever ate you out, Naoya had put on such a horrible performance, you sent him back home with an explicit command to study how to pleasure a woman before you let him back into your sheets. The second time was marginally better, and by the third, he had you gushing down his chin, crying out in lusty surprise. 

No one could say Zen’in Naoya did not put in the effort when the rewards were far too tantalising to give up.

The soft suction he has around your clit sends shocks of pleasure up your spine. A whimper drops from your parted mouth. Smaller fingers twine in his hair, holding him in place while your free hand tugs on his leash, reminding him of his place. 

What good is having everything handed to you on a silver platter if it doesn’t even taste this good? 

He's a lazy piece of shit in every part of his life except this one which he gladly works for. 

And your hard earned taste is sublime. Sweeter than sin. He’s drowning in such honeyed humiliation, he’s grown to crave it. 

Naoya is careful to use the exact pressure you love. The speed and consistent strokes you always came undone for. 

In return, your sounds give him an insight to how well he’s doing. Your elated sighs, hitched moans, broken whimpers.

There’s an endless want taking root, bleeding and rotting right where he supposes his ego should be. 

A want that turns into a need to be like this forever—to be the only one who touches, teases and tastes you.

To see the desperation glossing over in your eyes. Feel your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

For his devotion, he wants you to use him thoroughly. Impeccably. You should always get your way with him—that is the law of his Universe. 

“So good for me,” you breathe and everything in his world is ablaze. “My obedient pet.”

Yours. Yours. He was all yours.

He looks good right in between your thighs—even more handsome when his mouth is busy. 

The bridge of his perfect nose brushes your clit, that toxic pink tongue so used to spewing hate buried right in your tight heat. 

Neglected and leaking freely, almost pathetically, his cock is red raw and angry; shallowly humping the air. You want to laugh at him—at this humbled, spoiled rich boy who was being put in his place.

Whores like you are only good for one night. Those haughty words from when you first met him stains your memories, making you seethe. 

You want to slap him for what he said. Kiss him stupid until his blind prejudice turns to love.

Naoya tenderly touches the tip of his tongue back to your clit, those hazel eyes flitting up to your face, as if searching for approval. You hum, fisting those dark-tipped blonde locks. 

“Go on,” you coax. “Make me cum on your tongue like a good boy.”

Good boy.

Good boy. 

Good boy. 

Triggered, his entire body reacts, shuddering almost violently. His chest squeezes, and something deep in his soul breaks. 

I love her, Naoya thinks fiercely. A bound worshiper on his knees—that’s what he is. And like a mad devout, he would serve you for the rest of his life. I can’t live without her.

He bathes his devotion right on your perfect cunt with his tongue; unable to get enough of your pleasurable sighs.

“You’re making me feel so good.” 

He groans, wishes you would unbound him so he could show you how much he wants to adore you. 

Naoya would serve you on his hands and knees for as long as you want him because fuck his family.

His father could kill him. His brother would make fun of how far he’s fallen. 

His entire world could come crashing down, but if you were there, he would gladly let it all burn. 

It feels like hours he’s been in between your thighs. Naoya would’ve thought his tongue would give out, but even if it did, he would force the limp muscle to work. 

He must pleasure you. He must please you. It’s the very core of his being.

Your hand leaves his hair, and he chances a quick look to find it slowly undoing your corset, one devastating button at a time. Your aching breasts spill out, sweet and tender, nipples sharp and ready to be sucked on. 

He chokes on a moan, feeling his head growing lighter. You’re sucking on your own fingers, gooey strands sticking to those damp digits as they glide across your stiff nipples. It makes him cross eyed how you're  kneading your tits and playing with yourself while he services you. 

With every encounter, he’s grown more accustomed to your reactions. Learned how to trace the path of your release with his fast reflexes and mind. 

Your feathery moans, hitched sighs. A soft cry and your plush thighs twitching. 

Give it to me. He nearly cries out. Give me that sweet nectar, my love. All of it. For me—just for me.

“I’m cumming,” you gasp. He doubles down on his efforts, trying to get you to lose it all. “Shit. Shit—”

You curse, grasping his hair as you work yourself to the edge, back bowed and head tossed back. 

More, more, more. 

He growls, aggressively working his tongue back into your little, pulsing hole. Your clit is throbbing, and his chin is slick with your juices. 

So sweet. You taste too fucking sweet. 

Naoya drinks from you like a starved man. Your thighs are shaking, whimpering gasps slipping past your trembling lips. 

His lips leave your cunt with a slick pop, and he flickers those sharp hazel eyes across the soft expanse of your belly; sweeping past your hard nipples and your flush throat.

He eases back on his haunches, waiting for your next command. Always eager and ready.

“Come here.”

You lean forward, grabbing him by the shortened leash and tugging him closer.

He barely has time to prepare himself for your kiss searing across his mouth, his groans lost in the frenzy of your tongue fighting to quell any errant sound.

Naoya kisses you until spit runs down his chin and you’re lapping right at his teeth, his gums. He feels your tongue twine with his own, smearing red lipstick all over his open and heated mouth. 

Growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he cracks open his lids at half-mast, tracing your movements as you lean back into the couch, sated and content.

His knees are surely bruised by now, and the circulation in his legs could be cut off for all he cares. And yet, he never wavers in his devotion, awaiting your next word.

“Can you stand?” 

You get to your feet, kicking off your errant high heel and stretching your calves. He shifts forward, wincing when blood comes rushing back to his stiff limbs. 

Naoya braces one foot on the floor, trying to get himself up with sheer strength and stubbornness alone.

For a man who spent hours on his knees, he’s surprisingly limber when he staggers to his full height. 

Your palms smooth across his broad pecs, trace down his muscular obliques and sinewy biceps; feeling his traps stiffen under your touch. 

Despite standing a head shorter than him, his presence dwarfs your own—you're a supernova and he's flickering starlight about to fall into the center of your gravity. 

There’s a smudge of red by the corner of your mouth, and he fights the urge to lean forward and kiss it. 

Your fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck, and you grab it, pulling it with enough force to make him wince. With what easy force you have, you push him back, little by little; testing his give. Until it’s him who’s sat on the couch, legs spread wide and completely pinned under the weight of your heavy-lidded stare.

Mounting him, you push back your hair, and he can’t help to stare at the graceful curve of your neck—how your perfume drowns him in waves.

Strawberries and cream. Something warm underneath the current, like freshly done laundry. 

Sweetness and sin all wrapped in one with a little red bow. 

All he can see is red.

Your red lips, softly tracing kisses from his jaw down to his chest.

The red shine of your leather heels, haphazardly tossed onto the floor.

Red on the inside of your mouth where your gum meets teeth; he feels like you could devour him in a heartbeat.

Naoya wishes he could drown in the vermillion hue till all he lives, breathes and loves is red.

You reach for his cock, stroking it slowly, watching his reaction. 

A vein pops from his forehead. His breathing goes from hard to laborious. 

You mess with his mind. 

Take away his resolve. 

Naoya’s lips hover in the orbit of your own, two stars that flirt with a colliding end. 

You’re the first to chase destruction, kissing him while you stretch yourself over his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans into your hair. “You’re going to kill me one day, darling.”

And Naoya’s not one to say such pretty words, but something about the sincerity in his gritty baritone, how those hazel eyes flutter close, makes you want to believe in anything he says. 

There’s a picture of two not quite lovers silhouetted in the dim darkness, her arms around him; his face finding solace in the crook of her neck. 

His hands twitch, sliding in their bonds, and he wishes he could hold her—wishes she could move her hips faster. 

“Naoya,” you moan into the sensitive shell of his heated ear.

Indescribable. You’re a vision he can never get enough of.

Someone who knows him inside and out despite not sharing his family name. 

You’re the antithesis of everything he should want. You’re not particularly powerful or famous. Not from a family worthy of joining your names together.

And yet, he’s stuck here. Chooses to be under your indescribable touch while you rock your hips, taking him deeper where he’s never gone before.

“I—hah…” he trails off, throat going dry. 

You’re astride his lap, staring down at him, but he doesn’t feel small under your scrutiny.

If anything, something warm wraps around his throat, making his chest ache.

He wonders if you’re hurting the same way. 

Naoya can’t form any words. Your pussy’s taking him so well. 

He’s delirious. Wishing he had half of his wits left to stop you from distracting and disarming him. 

“Does it feel good?” You tantalize in a teasing coo. “Being fucked by someone lower than you?” 

He’s stammering, unable to hold back any longer. Fight back any pretenses. 

“Yes. It feels so good.”

You hum. “You should see yourself. All sweaty and fucked out—just for me.” 

His glassy eyes and gritted teeth almost make you laugh. Naoya sniffles, unable to hold back his baser needs.

He would do anything to make this moment last. He doesn’t want to return back to reality once this is all over.

“You want to cum so badly inside of me.” It’s not a question but a statement. Naoya can’t even deny it. He would be a fool to lie to himself. “Don’t you?”

You push him for an answer, intentionally slowing down your hips. Your smaller hands wrap around his throat, squeezing down, choking him whenever he starts to buck too soon.

“Don’t,” you warn. Strained and breathless. “You’re nothing but my tool, Naoya. I cum first.”

He nods, panting with his mouth wide open. A desperate dog for your affection. 

“Yes. Yes.” 

You scrape your fingers through his hair, grabbing a fistful of it. Naoya loves it when you start to tug.

It means you’re close enough to lose your control. 

He feels it in the faltering of your hips, your pretty lips parted to emit breathless whines. 

Your eyes screw shut, head lolling back to expose your pretty neck to his scrutiny. Naoya wants to taste your skin, feel your pulse ticking under his lips.

“Please,” he manages to strain out. “C-can I lick your neck?” 

You slow the roll of your hips, a confused tilt of your head. “You want to—what?”

“Neck,” he pants out, unable to hold back his hips from shunting deep inside you, feeling your gummy walls fluttering around him. He swears he’s about to lose his entire mind. “C-can I taste your skin?” 

Your answer comes in pushing his face right into your neck, like he’s taking shelter from the world right in the crook of your body. 

Naoya doesn’t hesitate to leave indents of desperation on your skin, where they tingle and are sure to blossom into hickeys later. He paints your neck with his tongue, tasting salt, skin and an undercurrent of sweetness which he can’t shake off.

You’re grinding on him, clit bumping the coarse terrain of his pubic hair. His mouth is devoted to leaving as many marks as he could on your skin. 

It was the breaking of an unspoken rule—Naoya was never allowed to claim you like this. 

A dark thrill shoots up his entire body. 

Could you finally be warming up to the idea of him?

Taboo. Hidden. 

That is how his love for you is forced to be. 

The Zen’ins could never know of your existence. If they did, no doubt the elders would try to remove you from his life whether through force or coercion.

Damn them all to Hell, Naoya thinks, fighting back a groan when you release a string of mewls, his name mingled in your sounds of you losing to the deep end. 

You’re so close.

His bound arms ache not from the restraint but from the inability to hold you. Naoya knows that if he does, he may never let you go.

It’s a blessing and downright atrocity how magnificent you look when you cum.

Cheeks all warm, kiss-bitten lips parted, legs splayed wide to show off his raw cock slicking in and out of you.

You’re so wet driblets of creamy white rivulets down his balls, streaking your thighs.

He wants to ask if you’re still on the pill. Naoya thinks the one surefire way to force his clan’s acceptance is if your body yields and gives him a son. 

Only then will this union stand a chance to shine.

But, the words get trapped in the back of his throat; he can’t help thinking that even if he remains your plaything, he would give up the entire world to watch you cum. 

The tips of your hair touch his thighs, and your breasts look inviting enough to suck and bite, jiggling right in his face. Tempting him like twin apples of sin, promising him more than what the Zen'ins’ long dead garden could give him. 

“Kiss me,” he pleads.

You laugh, airy with a hint of triumph. 

“Why should I do that?”

He can’t think. 

Can’t feel anything except for your slick walls melting around him, your soft arms holding him right to your chest. 

“Please,” he tries again, more desperate. “I need to kiss you.”

You relent, just this once. 

Your lips touch his, velvet soft and tasting of him. He moans into your mouth, his entire body jerking as if touched by a livewire.

He’s trying to hold back—to buy his body more time so he can pleasure you.

Naoya’s never been one to put someone else above his own needs but with you, it comes naturally. 

He lives and breathes for your praise. Needs to feel your pride for him or else he thinks he might just die from its lack.

“So good for me,” you give it without a second’s thought. He thinks you’re sent from somewhere up above. “Does my pussy feel good?”

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. It’s too good.

You’re teasing him now, all lidded eyes and wet lips. “Don’t you just want to cum in me? Isn’t that what you want?” 

He’s about to answer when your thumb presses into his pulse point, middle finger digging into the side of his neck. 

Naoya chokes on his reply, managing a teary little nod.

“Want to flood all inside of me—so hot and heavy. Isn’t that right?”

He whimpers at the mental image of white coating your walls, getting sucked into your body, trickling past your cervix.

Where it might take and bloom.

“Yes,” he gurgles, looking at you like you hung the moon. “Y-yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I-I want—” he’s unable to speak, afraid that if he does, he will cum. And he can’t do that yet. 

You haven’t given him permission to.

A slap across his cheek. Naoya’s cock jumps from the bite of pain, fire crawling across the reddening skin. 

It’s his ego that feels the sting more than his face. He’s already a disappointment to you. 

“Are you forgetting?” You snarl, tightening your fist around his throat. “You answer me when I ask you something.” 

“—Cum,” he spits out, every fiber in his body growing numb except for the spot between his legs; the sensation amplified by the lack of oxygen. You’re fucking him harder and faster now. 

You release his throat and he sucks in a few jagged breaths. 

His cock is too heavy, red and swollen with the load he’s been holding back for the past hours of your torment.

How long has it been since you’ve kept him strung and on his toes?

One hour? Two?

Naoya doesn’t want to count down the minutes; he wants to take in every second of your attention. 

Slowing your hips again, you coo, toying with him like a precocious little kitten finding a mouse. “Is that it?” 

You sink your fingers in his hair, adjusting yourself so your thighs are splayed further apart on each side of his hips. 

If his hands were free, they would run up the smooth expanse of your back, down your plush thighs. Softness gliding across his fingertips, your body an open map to explore. 

He would ask you to put those heels back on for him, but as it was, Naoya could barely form a coherent thought.

“I want to taste you,” he confesses with an errant sniffle. “Put you on your back and fuck you—shit.”

He curses when he feels you clench down on him. 

“And then what?” you breathlessly prod.

Splashes of white behind his closed lids. Naoya’s so close, he could cum with one more thrust.

Your soft palm flushes flat against his pelvis, holding him in place. Keeping him skewed in this limbo of motion and pleasure.

Adjusting yourself, your cunt molds around him more snug than before; your position shifting along with your intentions.

You keep him inside you, warm and inert, ticking your hips in slow, sensual circles to goad him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Feels so good, you feel so good.

“Need you,” he whimpers hoarsely.

You laugh, a pretty chime that makes his heart hurt. “I know. But, you still haven’t answered my question yet.”

You shunt your hips forward, egging on his reply.

There’s something underneath those airy words. A fissure of need; curiosity waiting to be watered.

Why do you come to me when you could have anyone else in the world?

He blinks the gloss of tears, gritting his teeth. The last of his patience is wearing fucking thin. 

“I want to fuck you until you’re mine—until you’re pregnant.”

The image of you, round and sweet, carrying his sons, makes Naoya almost lose it. His cock pulses in pathetic response, and your faded red lips quirk into a secretive smile.

“Pregnant, huh?” You pick up the speed, clipping your hips with his. 

Naoya isn’t prepared, his body tightening against the assault of pleasure you so casually wreck onto him. 

“Y-yes.” He nods, and it’s adorable how desperate he looks.

The famed Zen’in heir, reduced to a sentient dildo for a woman his family would call ‘lower class trash’. 

It would make your entire soul soar if you weren’t so concentrated on mocking him.

“And do you think I would allow it?” You sneer. “I don’t want your babies.”

Worse than your slap, Naoya actually feels his heart breaking.

His jaw clenches and he grits his teeth. The tears in the corner of his eyes are mingled with both pleasure and heartbreak.

“Why?” He groans, tilting his head back when you start to breathe heavier, your trembling body a shivering blanket over his own. 

His arms ache, his cock is about to burst and he’s been digging his heels into the carpeted floor for the past minute trying his damndest not to thrust into you.

If you want to break him, you might just succeed tonight.

You tip your face closer to his, and he drinks those poisonous words straight from your lips which intimately brush against his.

“You will never be enough for me.”

He wants to argue—I have money, riches, houses. I could treat you better than any asshole. 

But, what comes out instead is, 

“I would be if you let me.”

Your sensual grinding falters, and for a split second, he sees the emotions waver across your pretty face. 

You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip. Naoya’s eyes flutter close when he feels you sliding your digit past his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

He obediently sucks, desperately wondering if you would respond. A tremor of sadness ripples across your pretty eyes.

You defy his assumptions once more, pressing your mouth to his lower lip, hot breaths hitting the sensitive strip of his jaw. 

“Don’t make me promises you know you will never keep.”

I won’t. He can’t fight back, not when you kiss him like you want to consume him. 

You pick up speed, using him to get yourself off; barely caring about his deep reverberated groans and clenching fists behind his back.

“Don’t cum,” you whisper, breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Hold it for me, baby. Hold it.” 

He tries. Oh god, he’s trying.

You’re the vixen coming straight from his horrors of hell, here to torment and tease him with your vice-like cunt and seductive ways. He presses his face to your neck, trails his lips down a heated path to the tops of your tits. 

Your groan reverberates in his hair when he starts to suck on your nipple, tonguing and teasing them to stiff, swollen peaks.

It sparks the pressure in your lower body, makes you fuck him harder again, taking him deep enough for the mushroom tip to touch your cervix. 

Naoya fights against the band waiting to explode, nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent moon indents. 

Not yet, the shrill reminder sets off everytime he desperately wants to explode. Not yet.

He nips on your stiff nubs, getting them all wet and perky before he moves his mouth back to the juncture of your throat.

You’re making it hard for him to focus, moving your hand south to cup his balls, squeezing them lightly in tandem to you sinking down his length. 

Sweat bullets down his back, his chest. It sheens over his skin, glosses across his face. 

Naoya’s panting now, glassy hazel eyes locked with yours. He can’t look away, not when he’s drowning in such a pretty death. 

I can’t, he mouths, unable to use his voice. His hips move without warning, pushing up into your tight heat. I need you. 

Such desperation makes you see stars, eyes squeezed shut and your thighs stiff—shoulders locked as you grab his hair harshly with two fists. 

Naoya cries softly when he feels your velvet walls melt all over him, going gooey and spurting warmth till it trickles down his balls. You crumple limply onto his chest, breathing hard.

His head thumps back on the headrest, feeling your body jerk and tremble like the last leaf of autumn. 

You lift your head, kitten-weak, and nuzzle his jaw. 

Naoya tilts his face forward, and you kiss him, leaning up slightly so that your bare and sweaty chest is pressed with his own. 

He takes your docility for his own selfish reasons; thrusting up into your tightening cunt, feeling your cum sloshing around and trickling further down to stain the sofa seat. 

The balls of his feet press firmly on the floor and he rocks your world slowly, surely. Even without the use of his arms, he’s a good fuck, hitting that one spongy spot inside of you with ease.

You spill out moans, his name lifting off your lips.

“Can I cum?” he manages to whisper. 

You’re too tired to speak, nodding.

Thank you. He fervently murmurs inwardly. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Naoya lets you hold onto him as he jerks himself off using your body, every hard thrust making you whimper and the couch creak.

With every muscle tensing, his release bursts like the hottest, ripest fruit; coating your walls and mingling with your essence to run white down his thighs. 

Your walls spasm around him again, a tinier tremor and you sigh, palming the collar around his neck.

Naoya’s spinning head barely registers you unlocking the damn leather circle, loosening the bonds around his arms. They hang free, blood running back into them and he wilts under your tender touch massaging the locked joints.

Once he’s limber and lucid, he scoops you into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest.

You want to scold him, to tell him this isn’t right.

He shouldn’t be holding you like you mean something to him.

It’s unheard of: a man like him and a woman like you.

But, drowning in the circle of his embrace, there’s no rank or rule. Just two people holding each other, skin melting onto skin, breaths shared as one.

“I want to stay here,” he breathes, eyes drooping close. He reminds you of a tired puppy, worn out from a rough day of play. “Sleep here. With you.”

Your rebuttal is swift. “You know you can’t.”

Lethal as you are, you’re still a woman and at every core of one is a tender romance waiting to be nurtured.

Naoya hopes his pout will move you, but your heart must be made of brambles when you shake your head, refusing his sway.

He falters, and that stupid, stupid ache is back in his chest.

“Can I at least hold you then?” 

It’s a meager trade-off when all he wants is to melt into your life and become the air you breathe.

This time, you don’t fight him off, wrapping your arms tighter around his broad shoulders, sinking your fingers into his hair.

“For how long?”

This vulnerability is new. A reveal you hadn’t expected to make.

Naoya must also sense it. He hums. How adorable can she be? 

“As long as you want me to.”

He thinks you murmur the word “forever” into his shoulder. You kiss his neck, underneath his ear. Dew drops of devotion landing upon his skin.

You don’t demand it of him, however. 

You could never ask that of him.

— reblogs and feedback will earn you a big wet kith <3

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, edit or claim characterisation and storyline for your own.