#if you want smut

[florencemtrash]

The Artificer: Part IV - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, soft Azriel, fluff, some suggestiveness

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

With those words you blew apart the walls he kept so fortified around his heart. Walls you’d steadily been hammering away at like metal until he’d been transformed into a weapon that would only ever sing to your touch.

Author's Note: This is the last chapter, everyone! Thank you for reading! ✨

You hadn’t specified which home you wanted to return to, and given the state of destruction your apartment had been left in during your kidnapping, you were grateful when Azriel and Cassian winnowed past the Day Court to the House of Wind. 

Azriel was your home anyways. More than any physical dwelling or stretch of land.

The water was gloriously warm, sliding over your skin with a soothing touch that had you groaning in pleasure. Madja smiled kindly, pouring more of the jug of medicine into the water and swirling it around with a dark, knobby hand. Her magic poured out as well, lacing the water so that the burning slashes on your back cooled and the flesh began the slow process of knitting itself back together. 

“Thank you,” You murmured gratefully, sinking into the bath until only your head remained unsubmerged. 

The House of Wind breathed quietly in the early hours of the morning when even the streets of Velaris had emptied and its citizens burrowed beneath their blankets to sleep. 

Azriel had been reluctant to leave you alone, practically glued to your side the whole flight back to the city, but finally relented when Madja commented on the absolute state he was in and shooed him off to bathe. 

You sat in the tub quietly, trying not to fall asleep as Madja scrubbed your skin, tainting the bathwater copper until whatever magic in the house whisked it away, turning the water crystal clear again. 

“Azriel. You should be asleep.” 

You stirred at the sound of Madja’s voice and the feeling of shadows sniffing at your neck. You sat up, turning in the tub and noting the damp curl of Azriel’s hair. He was clean and smelled like himself again - woodsy and crisp like the Illyrian mountains at night.

He said nothing, eyes zeroing in on the marks of your back. Madja had stitched them up as best she could, warning you that they would scar. You felt a dangerous tremor in the air coming off him. 

Madja must have noticed too because she dipped her head, promising to be back in the morning to check on your progress, and instructing Az to bind your back before you slept.

He nodded stiffly, moving forward to kneel at your side while Madja made her exit.

“Hey.” You murmured, leaning close enough to brush your lips against his forehead. You winced, feeling the strain in your back and Azriel immediately had his hands at your shoulders, gently guiding you to lean back into a comfortable position. 

He wordlessly filled his hands with a sweet smelling shampoo, running his fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp. He was being so painfully gentle, cupping water in his hands to rinse out the lather. You stretched your neck back to help him, unable to help the tears that streamed down your face. It felt like ages since someone had given you such a kind, gentle touch.

Azriel stiffened, withdrawing his hands and leaving you cold and wanting.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Azriel asked, his golden brown skin paling. 

“No.” You shook your head, “No I liked it.” You gazed at him, eyes wide and begging, “Please do it again.” 

Azriel let out a breath, returning his hands to your hair as you closed your eyes and sank into his touch. He was grateful you were closing your eyes. It left his eyes free to wander over your body, tracing the dip of your breasts as they sank beneath the milky, fragrant water, rising and falling slowly as you finally found yourself able to rest. 

He traced the wound that made its way up your back and onto your shoulder with a feather light touch, hating the expanse of ruined flesh that he knew was hidden further down. He kept glancing down at your hands, swollen and aching even as they healed. It would take a month before your hands and back would heal enough to go back to work.

Azriel swallowed, wiping away at his eyes angrily. This shouldn’t have happened. He should’ve been there to protect you. He should’ve-

“Azriel.” You whispered. Your eyes were open and centered on the Shadowsinger. You reached up, gently wiping away his tears with soapy hands that smelled of rosemary and orange. “It wasn’t your fault,” You murmured, “I’m not angry at you and I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.” 

It wasn’t your fault. I’m not angry at you and I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.

With those words you blew apart the walls he kept so fortified around his heart. Walls you’d steadily been hammering away at like metal until he’d been transformed into a weapon that would only ever sing to your touch. 

He curled into you, ignoring the rush of water that soaked his shirt as he buried his face in the curve of your neck and quietly wept. 

When he finally stilled and the water had turned salty and cool, he gently lifted you out of the tub, drying your hair and your skin with a reverent touch. He then bound your hands and back in ointment and gauze. 

“Stay.” You commanded after he had slipped you under the covers of the bed - his bed - and pulled away. You held onto a fistful of his damp shirt, tugging at it with a frown like it personally offended you.

Azriel obeyed, peeling the hated garment off him and throwing it somewhere in the room. He climbed into bed beside you, letting out a groan of relief when you immediately wrapped your arms around him and buried your fingers in his hair, pulling him close for a kiss. 

“Thank you for coming for me.” You murmured, your eyes drifting closed. You couldn’t fight off sleep any longer.

“I will always come for you, Y/n.” Azriel promised. “Always.” 

He couldn’t be sure you heard him or that you would remember this in the morning, but you had a soft smile on your face when Azriel tucked you under his wing and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You can thank me later by convincing your mate not to slaughter me.

Eris Vanserra’s words rattled around in your mind as you sat at the breakfast table, sandwiched between Azriel and a bronze-skinned female with the most striking features you’d ever seen. 

Emerie. You reminded yourself. 

There had been a great number of introductions the past two weeks as everyone clamoured to meet the female that had stolen Azriel’s heart like a bandit in the night.

Azriel was a private male through and through, and you had the sense that if the circumstances were different, he would have wanted to keep you to himself for a while longer. In between bites of honey-soaked bread dusted with cinnamon and roasted pistachios, Azriel slyly reached down and grabbed your chair, sliding it close to him and wrapping an arm around your waist until you were practically sharing his seat.

Emerie stared at him strangely, but he remained frigid and silent. 

“Territorial Illyrian babies.” Emerie muttered with a roll of her rich brown eyes. 

Mor leaned back, peeking around Emerie’s wings and catching the blush in your cheeks as you rearranged the silverware and plates. 

Her shoulders shook with laughter, cherry red lips splitting into a wide smile. She squeezed Emerie’s thigh beneath the table, leaning forward to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. 

Forgive him, Em. He’s being an idiot. 

I just don’t see why he won’t tell her they’re mates. I can understand him being protective against Cassian and Rhysand, but me? Emerie told Mor with a grumble, taking a sip of the mimosa Mor loved so dearly and twisting her nose in distaste. This is disgusting.

You’ll grow used to it. Mor responded with a coquettish wink that had Emerie’s core tightening. 

After breakfast and a day spent in the city you found yourself alone in your room - or rather Azriel’s room - once again mulling over Eris’s words.

Your mate. Your mate. Your mate.

You finished tying the bow in your hair, admiring the lush blue satin and thinking of the Shadowsinger who’d gifted it to you just hours earlier, coyly suggesting you wear it to dinner tonight before disappearing to take care of his own Spymaster business.

You smoothed the hand-painted bodice of your cobalt blue dress. Diaphanous silks spilled out from your waist, melting into darker hues where the dress stopped at your ankles. It had been decades since you’d worn such finery, but unlike the dresses you’d been forced to wear for Dawn Court functions, this one you’d chosen for yourself.

You hoped Azriel wouldn’t mind you stealing his colors in such dramatic fashion, even if he had gifted you the ribbon without seeing the rest of your planned outfit. 

You frowned at your reflection, pale plum lips turning down. 

Rhysand and Azriel had been highly insistent on you staying in the Night Court until the end of next month. For Rhysand it was because he wanted to repay you for the swords you’d crafted for him and his brothers - you’d safely hidden them away in your workshop before the Autumn Court males had torn through the place. For Azriel it was because he wanted you to heal in lavish comfort - which Rhysand was more than willing to fund - and because he couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from you ever again. 

But with every pair of trousers, shirts, shoes, and elegant dresses that started to fill your half of Azriel’s wardrobe, you began to wonder - if you were truly Azriel’s mate, why hadn’t he said anything yet? Why hadn’t you felt anything yet?

Everyone else certainly seemed to be under the impression that you’d be staying. That they just needed to wait for your permission before fully absorbing you into their wonderful family. 

Mor had clung to your arm on shopping trips, charming you with her personality and pointing out places in the city and around the River House where you might set up a workshop. Rhysand had already set up an account for you at the city banks, and the last time you’d checked, he’d thrown in such a large sum that your mother would faint if she ever saw the balance books. You’d even gotten roped into joining a book club with Emerie, Gwyn, and Nesta.

Had Eris only been lying about you two being mates? Or maybe Azriel wanted you, but in a different way… 

While you continued contemplating this, Azriel slipped into the room in his usual preternaturally silent way, freezing immediately when he saw you standing in front of the mirror. 

Your dress… He swallowed. Gods you were breathtaking. The bodice laced in the front, velvet blue cords snaking down fabric hand-painted with swirls of dark ink that spilled down your skirts and seemed to collect in a pool along the hem. Your arms were still free to move and you’d decided to forgo slippers for your new favorite pair of boots. The supple leather was molded perfectly to your feet and had, as of yet, been spared the mark of hard labor. 

And the ribbon… gods the ribbon. It hung down your back and over your shoulder like a curl of shadow. 

You were breathtaking. No more or less breathtaking than the day he’d first met you, just in a different way.

So why did you look displeased?

You wiped the expression from your face when you felt Azriel’s presence in the room, turning around slowly with a proud, but shy smile on your face.

“What do you think?” You asked as he slid across the room with silent footsteps. His eyes traced over you, pausing on the bodice laces and the ribbon, like he had half a mind to tug both until they unraveled. “Not my usual garb, I know.”

“I like it.” He insisted, voice as soft and silky as the shadows that wound around your waist and pulled you close to him. He replaced the shadows with his hands, hands moving to your back where they rubbed calming circles. “You’re wearing blue.” He said rather dumbly, still in awe.

He wanted to say, You’re wearing my color. But that was overly possessive of him to think you’d worn the dress for him. He didn’t have a monopoly on all things blue. And yet the fabric matched his siphons so perfectly that his hands disappeared in the folds of your skirts. 

“I am.” 

He stilled, and then carefully asked, “Are you… displeased by it? You didn’t look particularly happy when I came in.” 

You looked down, escaping his gaze, “No! I like the dress. I picked it myself with Feyre and Mor last week. Do you like it?”

“I love it. You’re beautiful, Y/n.”

Ask him now. Just ask him.

Azriel felt your nerves roiling in your stomach through the bond. The bond you still had no idea about. A pang of guilt slivered into his heart. He had wanted to tell you the first night at the House of Wind, when the mating bond had finally snapped in place so powerfully he’d almost gotten down to his knees in front of Madja’s questioning gaze. But then he’d seen your back, and that wave of anger from Icaryon Hill had returned to him ten-fold. Telling you about the mating bond paled in comparison to the need to give you space to heal, to be happy and safe and cared for. So even though it felt like his blood was boiling in his veins and his heart would leap out of his chest, he’d slipped into bed beside you that night and every night afterwards, content to just hold you as close to his chest as possible and get drunk off your intoxicating scent. 

You’d told him you were happy in the Night Court. You’d filled his wardrobe and his heart with more of your things as you traversed Velaris and fell in love with the city. 

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice was quiet, tinged with a child-like guilt that he’d carried around with him ever since he was young. A guilt that made him want to beg you to love him, even though he hadn’t been able to protect you like you should have.

“What?” You looked at him in alarm, “No! No, you’ve done nothing wrong, Az. Nothing.” 

He deflated in your arms, nuzzling into your neck so you felt every sigh breeze against your throat. 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

He gave only the barest shrug of his shoulders. Then he began to kiss your exposed neck, gently tugging aside the thick straps of your dress to kiss your shoulders. You shivered when he reached the new scar tissue, soft lips tracing their pattern like he wanted to smooth the skin there and erase the pain of what had happened. 

His shadows condensed around you both, reflecting the anguish he kept simmering beneath the surface. You wove your fingers through his night-black hair and he relaxed beneath your hands. 

Ask him now. Just ask him.

“Azriel? Why haven’t you said anything about the mating bond yet?” You blurted out before you could lose your courage.

Azriel jolted back like you’d slapped him, pupils blown. 

“You…” He exhaled heavily, “You know?”

“Eris told me. But when you never said anything, I figured he might have been lying about it or that maybe you didn’t want me to know or something-”

“No.” Azriel cut in quickly. He had no idea how Eris had found out about the mating bond when his brothers weren’t even aware, but that was a mystery to be solved another day. “I wanted to tell you. Please know that I wanted to tell you.” 

“So it’s true.” You said breathlessly, feeling your chest clench in anticipation. “We’re mates.” 

Azriel became a solid block of ice, silent and foreboding. You were nervously shifting from foot to foot, pressing your hands tightly against his chest and that made him feel sick to his stomach. Finally he nodded, steeling himself for the worst and praying for the best. 

It took a moment for the words to fully seep into your mind and into your heart. Then your face broke in a grin that put the sun, moon, and stars to shame. 

“We’re mates?!” You shrieked with laughter, leaping into his arms and throwing your arms around his neck. “You bastard! You absolute bastard!” 

Azriel dared to laugh back, melting into you like cream on a summer day. 

Bastard suddenly seemed like quite a pleasant title when it came from your lips. 

He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, spinning you around before he could help himself. 

When you felt the bond for the first time, it wasn’t some thunderous crack in the air or some shifting of the bones of your soul. It was more like twirling around in Azriel’s room with his hands flat against your back until you both stumbled back into the bed, something gentle and solid sliding into place and setting the air abuzz with gripping clarity. Like metal melting and fusing together into something impenetrable. 

You stroked the bond, a rumble of pleasure leaving Azriel’s body. 

Hello there, my love. You said softly.

His eyes became pools of liquid gold. 

Hello, Y/n. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest like an ecstatic bird. The feeling didn’t dissipate as Azriel led you down ethereal arched hallways to the balcony where a small banquet table had been laid out for his family - yours too now. 

You were very aware that your hair was disheveled and that your skirts were crinkled despite the efforts of Azriel’s shadows to make you presentable. You could only hope that the color you’d swiped over your lips wasn’t as smeared as you suspected it was. 

Azriel, on the other hand, looked as flawless as he always did. Not a single hair out of place. He’d somehow even managed to wipe the pale plum lipstick off his mouth and his neck in the time it took to walk downstairs to dinner.

Cassian sputtered on his wine, spitting half of it out on the black lace table.

Gwyn squealed in excitement, blue robes billowing as she shot up from her seat and clapped her hands. 

“I called it! Nesta, you owe me fifty gold.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Nesta grumbled, a leather bag appearing in her hand which she deftly threw in the priestess’s direction. “You couldn’t have waited another two weeks?” But a smile of approval pulled at the edges of her lips.

Rhys and Feyre leaned into one another as Mor, Emerie, and even Amren stood from their chairs, prepared to offer their congratulations. 

Azriel tightened his hold on your waist, pulling you even closer to his side like he wanted to be absorbed into you. A deep hunger lay barely concealed behind a facade of nonchalance. But he managed to hold that all back when the females approached, but to Cassian he gave a growl of warning.

Cassian gasped, clutching at his chest, “My brother. My own flesh and blood. What is this betrayal?”

“Technically you’re both adopted. No blood relation.” Rhys called out from a safe distance away at the end of the table. He lifted his wine in acknowledgement, grinning brightly at the two of you. Unlike Cassian, he had a slightly better grip on his self-preservation skills.

“Shut the fuck up, Rhys.” Cassian said, rolling his eyes and retreating back to his seat glumly, “Well at least sit down! We’ve been waiting for you both.”

You glanced at Az and he finally smiled, bowing his head to your neck and gently pressing kisses there. You slid forward out of his hands before you could fall prey to more of his tempting touches. 

Soon. You promised, clicking your tongue. He’d been touching you incessantly ever since the bond fell into place. So impatient.

Azriel sent another wave of longing through the bond. He’d waited over five hundred years and then some for you. You didn’t want him to have to wait much longer.

You snatched an empty plate and cutlery from the table before piling it haphazardly with lamb, garlic-roasted potatoes, and a few other mouth-watering offerings before finishing it off with a slice of lavender cake.

Azriel looked all too pleased when you returned to his side. In fact he looked equally, if not more, flustered than you as you gripped the plate with an iron grip. 

Everyone else stared in shock, almost overcome by the way Azriel was nearly bursting apart at the seams. 

He was ravenous and wanting and looked ready to shred your bodice to ribbons. He didn’t know how he’d been able to control himself back in the bedroom. 

“We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” You said, offering no more explanation. 

A month. Azriel chimed in.

“A month.” You amended and Azriel smiled. “Maybe more…” His smile grew even wider. 

Without another word, Azriel swooped down and gathered you in his arms, leaping off the balcony in a flurry of wings, shadow, and blue skirts. Your laughter rang in his ears all the way to the cabin he kept tucked away in the Illyrian Mountains, a cabin not even his brothers knew about. 

There amongst the snow laden mountaintops, you buried yourself in his arms and in his love. You stripped him down to nothing and he tore your dress to pieces, promising he’d buy you all the blue dresses you could ever want. 

I like when you wear my color. He revealed after you he had you splayed out in a sea of tattered cobalt fabric

You giggled in his ear. At least let me wear the ribbon then. 

Azriel groaned in response, collapsing on top of you and stealing kisses like he needed them to breathe. 

He let you wear the ribbon. 

He let you wear nothing but the ribbon.

Back in Azriel’s room at the River House - your room - Sunseeker hung on the wall, thrumming with a pleased and subtle power. Nightshade called out from next to her, a dark twin of obsidian and blue pearl. Her equal in every way. 

Two blades for two mates.

<- Previous Chapter

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[moechies]

“shit, this pussy’s damn tight, girl.” toji chuckles, leaned against the wooden headboard of his mattress, with your pretty cunt impaled on his dick. you’re sat upon the man’s lap, back slumped into his bigger body as he lifts your legs to your chest with a singular arm.

“hnn—! thank y-you, thank you, thank you !” you slur, holding onto the man’s bigger arm for leverage as he pumps his cock against your cunt, your round butt slapping against his pelvis.

“tch,” he smirks, “thank you? haven’t heard that one b’fore.” his thrusts come to a slow, leaving you breathless and dazed. you lay back against the man’s chest as he continues lazy but brutal pumps to your poor cunt, pushing against him in an attempt to get him to slow.

“hnn.. ‘m sorry..” you cry out, embarrassed, face growing flushed as your nose scrunches at the memory of a few seconds prior.

toji can’t help but fall into a short fit of laughing at your adorable innocence, soft lips curled into a mean smirk, “‘s alright, sweet thing. yer so polite, hm?” he taunts, pressing a weighted kiss against your lips. you slip your tongue against his before you lose the chance, pressing your face closer to the man’s touch.

“y’take cock like a naughty brat, though.” he whispers in between a breath.

his sloppy tongue overrules yours, slowly but surely swallowing you whole. he peeks through a sliver of his eye, watching you pant into his mouth with your eyes squeezed tight, drool leaking down your chin, so entirety focused on kissing him back. “toji—“ you mewl.

“ya started it,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, giving your cunt a soft slap. you jerk and cry against his hold, pushing the said assaulting hand away, making him giggle. “what a dumb little thing.”

“please ! ‘m gonna c-cum! toji, please, please—“ you cry as his thrusts get harder, pace becomes sloppier, before it all comes to an abrupt stop.

your pants slow, gentle mewls that leave your lips as you begin to fall into a fit of sobs. “no..” toji breaks a grin, petting against your hair whispering sweet praises, “‘m sorry doll, daddy’s tired. let me have a break, yeah?” he adores how you look up to him with bleary eyes, chest full of pained hiccups as you attempt to bounce yourself atop his cock in your position. “..w-wanna cum!”

“don’t be so selfish, sweet thing. ‘m old, ‘s what ya get for hangin’ around me.” he lies through his teeth. pace slowly resuming. his creamy, slicked up cock causes his thrusts to grow in noise, face flushing at the evidence of the use of your poor cunt.

“daddy —!”

“shhh, settle down and let daddy focus, yeah?” he mumbles breathlessly against the shell of your ear, “or else daddy might get too tired.. and won’t be able to finish ya off.” he sighs.

[tiedsuccubus]

What position was nanami’s mom getting clapped in to create such a beautiful man

[hellishattempt]

nanami kento comes home on a saturday afternoon, hands full of groceries and hair freshly cut. in the distance, he hears his precious wife humming along to her favorite soundtrack. you must not have heard him come in. he smiles to himself, setting the groceries on the counter, but not unloading them. that can wait. right now, he wants to hold you.

he slips out of his shoes, padding quietly to the laundry room where you are folding towels. you have your back to him, headphones lodged in your ears. as nanami gets closer, the music bleeding from your headphones becomes audible. he chuckles softly. no matter how many times he tells you it's bad for your ears, you insist on listening to your music at just below full volume.

snaking his arms around your waist, you jump at the sudden contact. nanami presses his chest against your back as you take out your headphones, leaning into his touch. you sway in silence for a moment, nanami resting his chin on your shoulder. when you turn to face him, your expression changes at the sight of his hair.

"your hair," you state dumbly. "you cut it."

"yes," your husband muses. "is there something wrong with it?"

"no, no!" you assure nanami, studying his hair. "i just wasn't expecting it. you normally have me do it, which you know i don't mind doing."

"i know, but i didn't want to bother you on your cleaning day."

your expression softens at his words. nanami, your ever loving, ever caring husband, always thinking about you before himself. you reach one hand up, smoothing the hair down the back of his neck. as you bring your hand up, the freshly cut hair pricks your palm, and nanami lets out a low hiss.

you immediately apologize, pulling away. "did that hurt?"

"yes, but it's okay. it felt... good," nanami confessed. "... do it again. please." his voice is thick and demanding, and you obey without hesitation.

this time, you use just the tips of your fingertips to graze his undercut, beginning at the base of his neck. his breathing quickens as you continue to to run your hands through his undercut, going up and down, switching from one hand to both, thumbs caressing the sides of the cut. the laundry room fills with his melodic whimpers and faint groans. his eyes are shut tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"fuck..." he cusses lowly.

"you okay, nani?" you giggle, stopping momentarily. his eyes flash open, pupils blown. "kento?"

"let's go to the bedroom," he insisted, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the master bedroom. you barely have time react before nanami pushes you back on to the bed, practically ripping your leggings off.

"kento, what are you doin-" you try to protest, his hands clamping around your wrist and bringing them down to grip his hair. his head disappears between your leg, lips latching around your clit. involuntarily, your fingers tighten around his sharp undercut. he moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body.

from then on, nanami kento always got an undercut.

[skyrigel]

Simon “Domesticated” Riley is my favourite.

Yes, he would kill for you and he would die for you but his affections and undying love isn't limited to oaths. It's boundless and endless.

He will cook for you, learn because he wasn't taught very good and he wants everything to be good for you.

He will sing for you, because you'd heard him in the shower and couldn't get past to fall asleep without his husky songs to make you fall asleep on his chest.

He will wash the dishes, side by side you. Laughing along as you dry the plates and using his hands at work to your own advantage to play mischief on him.

He will hear you, as you would continue to talk about everything because nothing was out of field, and despite you being a very seducing distraction, he's always trying his best.

He's a “my girlfriend, my wife” guy despite the other Task force guys teasing him about it, he doesn't mind holding your purse, instead he prods on it, he's always on his knees to tie your shoelaces, to help you out from those pointy heels. He doesn't mind being whipped, as Soap christened it, or smitten as Gaz chortled, because he is, as he should.

He's not patronising, despite being raised up to be one. He's gentle and kind and soft for you, and he's working on becoming a better man everyday for you.

He doesn't let his anger that's so unforgiving and terrible get the better of him, he's not a monster despite the blood on his hands as you've always told him so, he would pace around the lawn, sit in the grass, wash his face but he wouldn't let his anger be something you should be scared off, he wouldn't let it get between this holy thing called love.

He talks things out, understands your opinion, values them openly. 

He expresses everything even so it'd become difficult after being told to be stoic for so long, but he tries, always for you. 

He's always startled and flushed when you compliment him and he's trying to learn that you mean every word of it.

Masterlist

[tswkento]

inappropriately touching nanami in a crowded elevator;

your nimble fingers pulling down the zip of his slacks and your hand sneakily prodding through the freed entrance as he grabs the metal bar behind himself, hoping no one notices anything.

and you’re the perfect picture of nonchalance: pretty face directed forward, the curled corner of your lips that he is able to distinguish from your profile telling him that you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, and your pace unrelenting as you stroke him through his briefs.

up and down, up and down, up and down while kento feels like he is losing his mind, and why the hell is this elevator so slow and there’s so many people and no ounce of shame in you. same for him, though, he is worried if he should be disappointed with himself for giving in to his desires right in the crowded elevator or impressed by how persuasive you can be to convince him that it’s okay.

there was no persuasion from you, by the way — just a cute little smile at him whilst your eyes glimmered with mischief and nanami knew he was fucked.

when the last person, aside from him and you, leaves the elevator, you finally take out your hand in time with him pushing the “stop” button and pressing you against one of the cold walls, one veiny hand wrapping around your throat loosely as the other grips your bottom.

and kento kisses you like a thirsty man drinks water; he devours your mouth until all you can do is twitch in his hold as his thumb presses on your clit just right. rubbing, tugging, teasing and prodding while his lips encase your tongue between them and you grip the sides of his head, ruining his hair.

and when you come with a whiny moan escaping your pretty mouth, no thoughts behind your cloudy gaze and arms gripping his shoulders, nanami barely stops his hips from rutting rhythmically against the smooth surface of your thighs because him being a mess is only for your eyes whilst he doesn’t mind others seeing your fucked out face. they’ll know it’s from him anyway.

[evilgwrl]

CW: Somnophilia

Simon loves how responsive your pussy is, even when you’re asleep, docile body snoozing next to him as he laps at your cunt like a madman.

The taste of you fuels him, sweet clit nuzzled against his nose as he slurps at your entrance, almost feral. His hands are desperate, clawing down his boxers as an angry cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, a light trail of dark hair leading down to his manhood.

You let out a whine, still asleep as he pushes your legs back, holding you by the knees as he lines himself at your entrance.

He practically groans as he sinks in, your tightness wrapping around him with a wet, gummy welcome as he feeds his cock into you. Your breasts bounce underneath your loose shirt, nipples pebbling against the fabric before he roughly lifts it up.

Your eyes begin to flutter open, calloused hands at your breasts as he tweaks at your hard nipples, working them under his touch.

“Si?” You whimper, mouth open as he pounds into you.

“Shhh, lovie, it’s okay. Go back to sleep sweet girl.”

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: f! reader, aged up! characters, dom! maki / sub! yuuta, cunnilingus, bondage, overstim

maki using you to teach yuuta how to eat pussy !!（〃∀〃；）

well, teach might not be the right word. it's kind of like when parents throw their kids into the pool and force them to learn how to swim.

her hand has a vice grip on the roots of his jet locks, shoving his pretty face between your legs — legs that are tied by the ankles to either side of the bedframe. yuuta clearly has barely any clue what he's doing, but, to his credit, he can barely breathe.

his tongue is lapping at your sopping cunny so so so desperately, no direction or technique in sight. it's not even close to enough to make you cum, it's barely even stimulation at all. ugh!!

maki can tell you're dissatisfied — it's written all over your face and clear in your lack of moans — and it brings a scowl onto her face. "yuuta," she hisses, dragging his face against your sex, "try harder."

yuuta tries to mumble some sort of apology from his useless mouth, though it comes out as just a weak whine.

"listen to me," she scolds. and, again, it's just a whine in response.

though, he seems to actually listen. you can almost hear the cogs of his brain turning as his tongue tentatively flattens on the underside of your throbbing clit. the moan the bubbles from your parted lips is enough confirmation that he's finally doing something close to right. so, he does it again. and again. and again. until your choked moans and the lewd, wet sounds of his tongue lapping at your weeping bud fill the room.

"that's better," maki grumbles, and you can feel yuuta's lips curve into a smile at her half-hearted praise.

it's not long before your strangled, pitchy moans grow louder and yuuta's slurping the cum you're despoting onto his eager tongue. maki smiles a little as your squirm and whine through your orgasm — though your writhing is heavily reduced by your restraints. she uses her free hand to gently rub up and down your trembling thigh in a stark contrast to how hard she's gripping yuuta's hair, forcing his mouth onto your twitchy, overstimulated cunt again.

"too much, maki! tell 'im i need a — ah! — break," you gasp out when yuuta's tongue doesn't let up, flicking your throbbing clit like it's all he's ever wanted.

she almost laughs in your face at that. too much? no. he won't be done until he's mastered the art of making a pretty girl cum. "not yet," she says with a small head shake , "put your tongue in 'er, yuu," she instructs the boy.

and, he is so obident to her every command — she has him on the shortest leash, you think — sinking his hot tongue into your hole. he moans against your pussy when it excitedly clenches around the pretty pink muscle. he fucks his tongue in and out of your spasmodic entrance, a small smile on his lips as another climax seems to crash over you.

and, true to maki's word, yuuta spends hours learning between your legs until he is an expert! though, unfortunately for you, you end up a shaking, sniffling mess after far too many orgasms (o^▽^o)

[bi-writes]

your lieutenant won't take off his mask for you. ehhhh, but you can make it work, right? (18+, ghost x fem!reader)

"no one sees my face. not even you, bunny."

but you don't mind. his face surely isn't the thing that drew you to him in the first place. no, it was when you were sitting in a loud room, and it immediately went quiet because ghost shuffled in. when you watched him duck his fucking head to get through the door only to stand there broader than the width of it. when he looked down at you with what was definitely a scowl under that mask and grumbled out "little bunny" at you in the filthiest voice you'd ever heard.

he could call you those names all he wants; he likes bunnies.

it doesn't bother you, that he doesn't want to take off his mask. you can still kiss him nasty through it.

as far as you're concerned, that's his face. you pet it like it is as least, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close, nuzzling your nose against his. he huffs underneath it, but he never pulls away, and you lick a fat stripe over the bony cheek of his mask, whining when you taste salt and sand and gunpowder.

you soak it with your spit. you cradle his head, tilting it this way and that, flattening your tongue and licking over his jaw. he holds back a groan as you kiss him open-mouthed through it, pinching his fat cheeks and planting wet kiss after wet kiss over his puckered lips. his lips part easily for you, shaky breaths like music to you, and whenever you let out a soft moan, he can't help the way he fists your ass and pulls you closer.

you want him to taste you. you force his neck back, pulling his chin down, and you lean over him just enough that you can spit on the front of his mask. you press your face to his after, using your tongue to soak it into the fabric, and you practically purr when you feel his tongue pressing back, cotton practically dripping with your saliva as he sucks on it.

you can't wait to sit on his face next. top 10 ways to die, water-boarded by pussy has to be one of them.

[inkbybambi]

chemistry teacher soap catches gym teacher simon fucking you in the bathroom during a school dance, tattooed hand over your mouth to muffle the pretty noises you make. he doesn’t think either of you notice, until those dark eyes turn on him, a slight tilt to his head in invitation.

soap decides he has a better way of keeping you quiet, stuffing his cock down your throat, enjoying the way you choke on it and the way simon tugs him forward to lick into his mouth, a hum of approval low in his throat.

[hxltic]

Bakugou, whose stamina is unbeatable. Who has just finished fucking you in any place necessary of the bedroom—the bed, the mini-couch, the floor—and still can’t keep his hands off you.

After laying on the bed for rejuvenating moments (at least for him), his large hand slides up your shoulder with a few coaxing kisses.

“Shower,” is all he says, his gruff voice strained and warm breath perceptible against your neck. You just nod weakly and attempt to ignore the mess between your legs.

In fact, he has to carry you to the bathroom. When you’re both in the shower, he still acts as support: your back is to his chest so he bears most of your weight, and his fingers span your lower stomach while you attempt to wash yourself.

You can barely keep your eyes open, so relaxed by the water, but he can see all of you just by where his chin rests on your shoulder. The water and soap sliding past the peaks of your breasts, the souvenirs that you not-so-sternly asked him not to leave on your skin.

Where you rest in front of him, he can’t help but feel aroused all over again, especially rubbing his hands over your supple skin that he couldn’t appreciate the first few rounds, clouded by the roughness you love.

Unable to just watch, he gently spins you around. Your eyes are half-closed, so you pay it no mind. You just continue your slow, leisure washing, completely unaware of the fact that he’s completely hard again, even if you wouldn’t be surprised.

Your eyes open back to reality when he gently takes the loofah from you and hangs it up on the little hook. His muscles casually ripple when he does literally anything, and if you weren’t so attracted to it, you’d be jealous.

“C’mere,” he orders, his voice in that soft tone reserved for you. His hands follow, crossing at your lower back and pulling you toward him even more. The atmosphere is hot and slow with the exhaustion settled into both of you.

You do something of a hum in question, but don’t resist when he leans down and slowly captures your lips in his. Your longing for each other is evident simply in the sigh that follows when you connect.

There’s water dripping everywhere, mostly on you, but the kiss is everything Bakugou usually isn’t: patient, slow, and needy. Actually, no. He was always pretty needy.

“Kat,” you whisper, and he groans in response, stretching his hands up your wet skin until he crosses your ribs, his thumbs move past the side of your breasts, and your arms are naturally guided to his neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking, to be honest, but you didn’t care. Not when you could feel the length of him pressed against your stomach.

Bakugou moves a few strands of drenched hair back behind your ear, and then strokes the rest at your nape to keep your head up to him. It was admirable, really, how he could be literally twitching in arousal, and still move like it doesn’t bother him at all.

Although, he is getting closer at hinting to it, because somewhere in the heat, your right leg is being lifted to his hip. When you find an escape from his kiss (he doesn’t allow you many), you glance down to what he’s doing.

He interprets your brows slightly furrowing and the low, tired droop of your eyes, already knowing what you’re going to say.

Voice still soft and practically gone even in distress, you begin, “I can’t go another round. There’s no way I’ll—”

“Shh,” he places a kiss on your forehead, then another at your temple. His head dips to lick and kiss in the crook of your neck, and your fingers either run through his wet, blonde hair or span the muscles of his back. He’s completely gone.

The left hand that upholds your leg starts to massage your thigh and inch up to your ass. “I talk to this pretty pussy almost every night, and you don’t think I know what you can handle?”

A whimper leaves your mouth and your hold tightens around him. Despite your lower body being completely stretched and at ease, he can still feel the tension elsewhere.

He continues, his voice dripping with reassurance, “Slide it in yourself. Then you tell me how it feels.”

And after a few moments and a sigh, you carefully reach down and wrap your fingers around him the best you can. You can feel him react to the movement alone, and with a prayer, you guide his head right to your entrance so you can sink when you’re ready.

When you descend, an immediate whine feels the air. He still fit perfectly from earlier and the sensitivity had tripled.

“Fuck,” you curse, wrapping yourself around him again. He holds you close.

“Feel good?”

You nod, and he throbs inside at the same time. He kisses you again, making sure to uphold you through your fatigue. Helping those in need was his job after all.

His right hand that covers your lower back loosens so that your weight inches backwards, then it pulls you right back in until you’re pressed against each other.

He groans with pleasure. The vibrations move to your lips that kiss him like he’s the last man on Earth.

And then he does it again, and again, until your head is simply resting on your own shoulder with your arms encircling his neck, water rushing down your hair and back. Your eyes are completely closed as he cradles you, erotic whines, whimpers, and moans falling from your lips into his ear.

Your slick walls drag up and down his skin. He moves so easily in and out that he can feel the outline of where his head usually reaches—the little space left. He was nowhere near as deep right now, but he is sure with the slight bend of his knees, he could have you screaming how you were for the hours before this.

And funnily enough, he doesn’t want you screaming at the moment. It’s something previous Bakugou would never say; not rock hard and needing to be balls deep in you quick Bakugou, at least.

You were worn out and tired, your body unable to take his usual pace. He’s almost 90% sure if he lifted you off the ground, you’d comply and hold on tighter, but he’s not going to push you that far. Not when he’s content like this, caressing your beautiful, dripping figure as you cry his name.

“Mmghn, that feels s-so good.” You speak, just above a whisper. And somehow, he can still hear you over the water and small splash of you both meeting in the middle. It’s like his brain is wired. No matter what, he’ll always be able to hear you.

He nods and kisses the side of your head again, keeping stable and consistently moving with minimal effort. The underside of your right knee is now resting in his elbow, so his hand can hold your waist and pull most of your weight that way instead of trying to push your whole body with just your thigh. At some point, you began helping him out.

“Keep moving your hips just like that, baby. I got you.”

You groan at the instruction, and he chuckles heartily. Love poured from him and into you, making you feel more safe and secure than ever.

It didn’t take long until warmth gathered in your core with your clit dragging back and forth along his cock. He occasionally grunts and has to fix position to keep himself from spilling inside, not before you do first.

He can’t explain the relief he has when you insist that you’re gonna come soon in the form of a warning. It builds with each “thrust” and being so close to him as he carries you to climax.

“I’mna come,” you say again, more rushed this time, but muffled by his shoulder.

“I can feel it.” He responds, keeping pace. “Do you know what it feels like having you pulsing around me? Knowing you’re going straight into your sleep after?”

You shake your head.

“Hell, baby. Hell.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way: the only option you have on sleepless nights being him. When you tap his shoulder or rub yourself against him, knowing he’ll never say no. Hope could he? He takes great pride in being your melatonin.

And, without fail, you fall into a perfect deep sleep, his cum still dripping into or out of you. It’s never there in the morning, and he loves that the only way it will happen is if he wears you out.

“Kattt…” You toss your head back, a low rumble in your throat that you only make when you’re on the verge of completely losing it. He attacks your neck again, letting your body naturally bounce off him and come back.

“Let yourself feel it. Let me take you there,” he encourages gruffly, nipping at your ear.

“Agh, fuck,” you nearly sob, digging yourself further into him somehow.

His eyes shut, a wave of clarity rushing over him. It’s you, his woman, his everything, needing him. He thought he knew what he wanted early in life. He knew he wanted to be desired by others in multiple ways, the best at everything. God, how wrong he was.

Now he wants to be the best at everything for you. Because you deserve nothing less. He doesn’t want to be desired by anyone else but you, because you carry all the validation he could possibly gain dopamine from. Nothing compares to you being completely and utterly dependent on him, clinging to him for dear life.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he spouts, not bothering to stop or care about being sappy. He loves to hear you whine in response, only to finally come up with a few words. Clearly you got the cheesy feeling too.

“L-Love you, Kats.”

He bushels the hair at the bottom of your head with a grunt, tilting your nose up to him. He lets his lips kiss you passionately first, then he pulls away, but obviously not too far since you’re still nose to nose. Your eyebrows are upturned in that sensual expression he loves.

His deep, crimson eyes flicker to your puffy lips, a sign of the night, and land on your pretty damp eyelashes. He was breathless and stern.

“Don’t look away. Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You blink, registering his words with the shake of your head. “Don’t stop,” you plead.

He calls your name, and it’s enough to know he’s being dead serious. Both his grips tighten, mainly the one in your hair, and you don’t know if it’s water dripping down your cheeks or a tear or two.

You can feel your bottom leg beginning to shake, and the heat get to your head.

You shut your eyes instinctively, “K—”

“I’ve got you, don’t even think about it. Look at me.”

Your eyes shoot open in remembrance of his words as he leaves and reenters you again with increased speed, the sound when you slap together even louder. He holds your head in place. “I love you more, baby. More than you can ever dream.”

You watch his eyes and they say everything you can’t, everything he can’t, and that alone is enough to send you over the edge.

Your jaw drops and you literally begin shaking, not caring that all the strength you had left went into your orgasm. Your head pounds with the stream of the shower and fatigue, and your hands begin to slip at his neck, but you don’t even care. You know he’s got you. He said it himself.

“Shit,” he hisses, your orgasm expected, but the power of it not. He almost missed the fact that you were gushing around him by mistaking it as the water, the countless times you’d done this before catching up to you. He keeps thrusting his hips forward and whispering you praises. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

You are sobbing now, real tears as he stills and twitches inside. He holds the promise he made to you since you did the same. He keeps his eyes focused on you, even as white spurts paint your insides, and puts his swollen lips on yours. Through your gasps, you couldn’t kiss him back, so he bites your bottom one instead.

It isn’t until you lose your footing and go limp against him that he bends to pick you up and lower your leg gently. You’re still jerking slightly, your muscles overworked, and the last of his release lands somewhere on your thighs as your back is arched against him.

Before you can say anything or even think about it, he holds you upright and bends down to kiss you with all he has left, now that you’re somewhat here. When it’s over, you fall against him completely.

The rest is a blur, and the next time you know what’s happening, you’re tangled together in the unused guest bedroom.

©️ hxltic

[theghostinyourwalls]

Do the sexy face babe 🤤

[briefkittenearthquake]

I like my men smart

[kiatoru-archived]

"fuuuuck," choso groans, long and drawn out. he tosses his head back, a plume of smoke escaping his lips, his joint hanging limping from his fingers. he uses his free hand to grip and knead at the fat of your hip before raising his palm and bringing it down hard on your ass.

you let out a high pitched squeal and clench around him.

"cho," you whine, pretty tears collecting on your lash line.

"come on baby," he whispers, taking another drag from his joint and gently blowing it at you, "ride me harder, make yourself cum on my cock, gorgeous."

your lungs burn as you inhale the excess smoke and you gyrate your hips faster. choso moans loudly and bucks his hips up into you, making your clit grind against his happy trail. fat tears pour down your plump cheeks.

"s' deep, s' deep!" you moan and squirm above him as his tip nudges against your sweet spot.

"fuck," he growls, dropping his joint off the edge of the couch in favor of gripping your hips, "stop runnin' from my dick baby, gotta fill you up."

you choke and sob, trembling above him and clinging to his shoulders, whining and moaning over how good it feels.

"take it all baby," he mumbles, lips pressed against your ear, "m' not stoppin' till i cum s' deep in this pussy that she never forgets me."

[skyrigel]

Simon who just can't say no to you.

It has been like this from the moment his eyes met yours, a very terrible Monday morning if he hadn't met you but now that you remembered, it's the most beautiful day of both of your lives.

“Is that seat taken ?” Simon looked up at the small morning roused and still sleep laden voice, you were as knackered as you sounded, probably runnin’ on black coffee and cuppa noodles.

“Yeah.” He wasn't even aware how quickly he said it, “Yes, ofcourse miss.”

He scooted his big thighs together, trying to make as much space as possible for you and as if some divine thought struck him, he looked up — cheeks tinting with red.

“Would ya’ like window ?”

“No, But thankyou for asking.” You answered, sitting next to him and making sure to leave some space because those legs were thick and definitely his big cock needed some room.

Fuck, look away —

“Ghost...” Another man climbed inside bus, his eyes trained on you and your partner who's apparently Ghost ?!?!

“Wot ?” He said roughly, his shoulders pressed against yours

“Nothin’ old man.” The other man smirked and sat next to a Grandma who knitted half a sweater.

“Your friend?” You asked.

“ A little...Simon.” He said, “Simon Riley.”

“Oh.” You smiled, feeling blush creep up your neck and cheeks.“I like Ghost better.” you would've booed if you weren't feeling so tingly and nervy.

“You would like Simon more.”

“I would like that.” You couldn't believe you were flirting on a Monday morning.

One month later

“Ghost...” John horribly snorted, sprawling on couch as Simon paid him no attention.

“Wot ?” He asked, giving you his pinky as you painted the last letter ‘Y’ over hot pink nail polish, completing your H-E-L-L-O K-I-T-T-Y nail art, every letter on each nail.

“Nothin’ old man.” John smirked as you clicked your tongue, beaming up at Simon.

“Done !” You blew air and flashed a grin as Simon brought his hand up to examine your work.

“Done Luvie.” He smiled, bumping your nose with ‘I’ on his nail.

And you also liked Simon better.

Grim Reaper! Simon

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[sellenite]

Imagine giving him a handjob for the first time and he’s soooo sensitive. He’s trying so hard to stay quiet and not move because he’s so embarrassed, but his cock is leaking so much.

And your fist feels so good wrapped around him.

You bring your hand up to his tip and squeeze him a little tighter, and it’s completely involuntary how he arches up into your touch and lets out a throaty groan.

And the high points of his cheeks are pink because he can’t believe he just let that sound out, but he can’t stop the whines now because his head feels so light and you’re pumping his cock even faster.

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