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theanonymousninja247 · 2 months ago

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Sweet Flipping Chicken and Mercy May 😳🥺🫢

Bayverse!Leo as a Boyfriend – Headcanons

(Because even if I don’t like him, he deserves better characterization and development. And besides, I love overanalyzing.)

Pairing: Leonardo x Female!Reader

Warnings: Overprotectiveness, possessive behavior, affection-starved. Subtle (but present) hints of: narcissism, egocentrism, perfectionism, spirituality, insomnia. I developed him so well that I actually like him now—I don’t like that.

Leonardo, as a partner, would be a fascinating study in contradictions. At first glance, he seems like the perfect boyfriend—disciplined, loyal, protective, someone you can trust without hesitation. But being with him isn’t easy.

Not because he’s cold or indifferent—on the contrary, he feels too much. He’s just spent his entire life learning how to hide it. To him, emotions are a double-edged sword: love can give you strength, yes, but it can also make you drop your guard, make mistakes, and risk everything you’ve fought for.

And Leonardo can’t afford that luxury.

Since he was young, his identity has been tied to duty. He’s not just an older brother—he is the older brother. The leader. The one who must always have the answers. There is no room for error, no space for doubt. That’s why, if he ever fell in love, he would do so with the same intensity he applies to any challenge—with absolute commitment. But also, with a need for control that can be suffocating.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust his partner. It’s that he needs to make sure nothing puts her in danger. That she’s safe, that there are no loose ends, that every move is calculated. Don’t expect Leo to be the laid-back boyfriend who goes with the flow. He will want to protect you—even from things that might not even be a real threat.

If he comes to your house and you don’t answer, his mind will assume the worst before even considering that you were simply in the shower. If you go out alone at night, he won’t be at ease until he knows you made it home safely. Not out of jealousy, but because the thought of losing someone he loves terrifies him. But instead of expressing that fear, he translates it into rules, into planning, into strategies.

Because Leonardo doesn’t know how to handle what is beyond his control.

This was evident in Out of the Shadows. His instinct was to make decisions for everyone, to divide the team when he felt they were weakening. He truly believed he was doing the right thing, that carrying the burden alone was the best course of action. But in the process, he lost sight of what his brothers really needed. And that’s exactly how he would be in a relationship—not out of malice, but because he believes being the strong one is his duty.

And while Leo loves with every fiber of his being, he doesn’t say it easily. He’s not the type to look you in the eyes and just blurt out an “I love you.” His way of showing affection is more silent, more tangible. He will remember exactly how you like your tea, he will learn to pick up on even the slightest change in your tone of voice, he will make sure you always have an escape plan in case things go wrong. But if you expect spontaneous hugs or verbal expressions of love, you might find yourself frustrated. Not because he doesn’t feel it, but because, to him, love isn’t something you say—it’s something you prove.

However, if someone manages to break through his armor, they will see something that few have ever witnessed. Because beneath all the rigidity, the discipline, and the self-imposed perfection, there is a boy who never had the chance to make mistakes. A boy who has spent years carrying a tremendous weight, who can’t remember the last time someone saw him and not just the leader. A boy who desperately needs a space where he can stop being the strategist, the protector, the flawless Leonardo… and simply be Leo.

Leonardo isn’t someone who easily succumbs to distractions. Not because he doesn’t enjoy them, but because he’s always believed his time should be invested in something useful. Yet on the rare occasions when he allows himself to let his guard down—in the privacy of his room or on a quiet night at the lair—small details reveal who he truly is beyond being the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

For instance, he enjoys science fiction movies and TV shows. He wouldn’t admit it out loud—after all, Mikey would never let him forget it—but there’s something about exploring space, about advanced civilizations and the ethical dilemmas these worlds present, that fascinates him. Perhaps it’s because he sees his own struggle reflected in them: leaders forced to make impossible decisions, burdened with responsibility, torn between duty and heart. Whether it’s Star Trek, The Expanse, or even some of the more philosophical tales of Ghost in the Shell… Leo sits with his arms crossed, pretending not to be too interested, yet if someone pays close attention, they’ll notice the intensity in his gaze and the way his fingers tense with every twist in the story.

And although everyone sees him as the serious one, it’s not that he lacks a sense of humor. His humor is just more subtle, drier, more ironic. He won’t burst out laughing like Mikey or be as explosive as Raph, but if you’re close enough, if you’ve earned his trust, you’ll notice that there are moments when he quietly drops a joke in a neutral tone, waiting to see if you catch it. And when you do, when you respond with a retort just as sharp, the corner of his mouth barely curves, as if he’s quietly satisfied with the interaction.

But if there’s one thing that truly brings him peace, it’s tending to his bonsai trees. It’s a hobby that no one in the lair seems to fully understand. Mikey calls them boring, Raph jokes that they’re just “miniature trees,” and Donnie respects the practice but sees it more as an exercise in patience. For Leo, however, it’s more than that. It’s a reminder of balance. Of control. Of how even the smallest force, with the right guidance, can grow in the right way. And on nights when the pressure becomes too much, when he feels the weight of his role crushing him, he sits in silence before his little tree, allowing himself a moment to breathe, to reconnect with himself.

But love… love is different.

Leo doesn’t allow himself to fall in love easily. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because his mind simply doesn’t work that way. He needs to feel that his partner is more than just a fleeting attraction. He needs connection. Compatibility. A deep, unwavering understanding. And that isn’t built overnight.

That’s why, when he finally starts to realize that what he feels for you goes beyond friendship, the first emotion that floods him isn’t happiness.

It’s doubt.

And Leonardo shouldn’t doubt.

He always has answers. He always has a plan. But for the first time, he’s standing on ground where logic is useless, where he can’t break things down into a battle strategy. He can’t make a pros-and-cons list about his feelings. He can’t calculate every move the way he would in combat. And that frustrates him.

Because if he accepts it—if he acknowledges that his feelings are real—it means there’s something in his life that he can’t control.

And Leonardo hates not having control.

Leonardo isn’t someone who falls asleep easily.

Not because he doesn’t need to—his body demands rest just like anyone else’s—but because his mind never truly shuts off.

In the lair, when everyone else is asleep—when even Donnie has finally stepped away from his monitors, and Raph has stopped pounding the punching bag—Leo is still awake. Arms crossed, back stiff against the wall, gaze lost in the dim light of his room.

It’s in those moments of solitude that his mind betrays him.

When he tries to dissect what he feels, to categorize it, to put it into some kind of logical order. Because he’s always in control. Always.

And this… this shouldn’t be any different.

He’s not impulsive like Mikey, letting himself be carried away by every emotion without a second thought.

He’s not a ticking time bomb like Raph, ready to explode at the most unexpected moment.

He’s not even like Donnie, obsessively analyzing every variable to the point of overload.

He is Leonardo.

Leader. Warrior. Strategist.

And there is nothing he can’t control.

So if he has reached the conclusion that what he feels for you is real, then he will take the reins.

It won’t be difficult.

It shouldn’t be difficult.

He will force himself to keep everything in place, to act with precision. His glances will linger just a second longer—but not enough to be obvious. His words will be measured, carefully chosen, but still carrying his usual composed tone. He will make small, almost imperceptible changes.

Like making sure you walk on the safer side of the street.

Adjusting his stance subtly to block the wind when you’re on the rooftop.

Asking if you’ve eaten well—but casually, as if it’s not really important.

And the worst part? Unlike Donnie, who would give himself away with nervous fidgeting and stammered words, you will never notice.

Because Leonardo won’t allow you to notice.

All you’ll see is someone who has everything under control. Someone who watches you with the same intensity he reserves for his enemies on the battlefield, as if he’s calculating every single one of your movements.

But what he doesn’t want you to see is the opposite.

That inside, he’s nervous.

That his palms sweat when he touches you, when his fingers accidentally brush against yours.

That his pulse quickens when you get too close, and he has to remind himself to breathe normally.

That in every conversation, in every moment, there’s a small part of him afraid that one wrong step will ruin everything.

Because if there is one thing Leonardo could never forgive himself for, it’s losing what you’ve built together.

Not just losing you, but losing your trust.

And if that were to happen… how could he justify it?

How could he explain to himself that after a lifetime of making the best possible choices to protect those he cares about—this was the one he let slip through his fingers?

And when he finally allows himself to admit it—when he has broken through every mental barrier he imposed on himself, when he has analyzed every angle, when he has measured every consequence—Leonardo feels something inside him loosen.

For a moment, just a moment, it’s as if he has won the hardest battle of his life.

The weight on his shoulders dissolves, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he breathes deeply without the pressure in his chest tightening.

You are his.

Not in some shallow, possessive way, but in something deeper, more primal.

Like an instinct that has always been there, buried beneath layers of discipline and responsibility, waiting to be acknowledged.

And now that he has… there is no turning back.

But the peace doesn’t last.

Because almost immediately, another weight crashes down on him—heavier, inescapable.

Before, his burden was uncertainty.

Now, it is certainty.

Now that he has you, he must protect you.

With everything he has.

Not just from the dangers of the outside world—but from himself.

Because Leonardo cannot afford to fail.

And even though love is uncharted territory—a battlefield he has never stepped foot on—he demands perfection from himself.

To be the ideal partner.

To give you exactly what you need before you even ask.

To measure every word, every gesture, every decision.

To make sure you never have to question if he is enough for you.

Because he has to be.

He is Leonardo.

And Leonardo does not fail.

But there is a problem.

Because you don’t want the flawless strategist.

You don’t want the leader who is always in control.

You don’t want the polished, calculated version of him.

You just want Leo.

The Leo who watches sci-fi shows but would never admit to liking them.

The Leo who pretends he doesn’t enjoy messing around with his brothers, but secretly loves the rare moments when he catches Raph off guard or makes Donnie roll his eyes.

The Leo who tends to his bonsai trees with quiet devotion because, though he never says it out loud, they reflect his philosophy: patience, growth, balance.

And that is a terrifying concept for him.

Because showing you that side of himself means lowering his guard.

It means allowing you to see what’s underneath the armor.

The boy who gets frustrated.

Who sometimes doesn’t know what to do.

Who fears he won’t be enough.

That side of him—no one has truly seen it.

Not even his brothers.

But you… you want to see it.

And the road to him letting you in will be a long one.

Because accepting that you love him for who he is—not for what he represents, not for what he does, but for his very essence—is the hardest test Leonardo has ever faced.

Leonardo believes he has everything under control.

That he can handle his emotions the way he handles a katana: with precision, with discipline, with absolute mastery over every movement.

But you…

You are a challenge unlike any other.

Because while he struggles to keep his composure, while he measures every word and makes sure not to take a wrong step, you simply are.

You don’t need strategies or plans. You don’t analyze every interaction as if it were a life-or-death mission.

And that unsettles him.

Because deep down, Leonardo doesn’t know how to be loved.

He knows how to protect. He knows how to fight. He knows how to sacrifice himself for others.

But when it comes to receiving love… that’s where the conflict begins.

He appreciates that you’re not overly affectionate with him.

That you don’t suffocate him with displays of affection that would make him uncomfortable, that would force him to lower his guard all at once.

But at the same time, he dies when you take his face in your hands and kiss him.

At first, he goes completely still, trying to process it, trying not to lose control.

But the moment you feel his breath hitch, the moment you notice the way his fingers grip your waist tighter than he probably meant to—you know he’s falling.

And the worst part is that he hates it.

Because Leonardo shouldn’t let himself go.

He shouldn’t forget the weight on his shoulders or allow something as simple as a kiss to make him feel lighter—as if, for just a moment, the world didn’t depend on him.

But he does.

And it frustrates him.

Because he’s supposed to be the unshakable fortress.

He’s supposed to be untouchable.

And yet, here he is.

With his heart pounding too fast.

With his mind completely blank.

With you stealing his control with just a simple touch.

It sounds contradictory.

Because it is contradictory.

But Leo is a contradiction.

Because while he says attachment is a weakness, he holds you tighter when you try to pull away.

Because while he insists emotions cloud judgment, he stays awake until dawn thinking about what he feels for you.

Because while he tries to convince himself that his duty is more important than his happiness, he wonders if, just this once, he can have both.

And that is the real battle.

Not against an enemy.

Not against an external threat.

But against himself.

Because loving you means lowering his guard.

It means trusting that, even if he doesn’t have everything under control, you’ll still be there.

It means accepting that love isn’t a problem to solve, nor a responsibility to bear.

It’s just… love.

And no matter how hard he fights it, no matter how much he tries to convince himself he can keep his distance, there is one truth he cannot deny:

You are the only person in the world who can make Leonardo stop fighting.

Leonardo isn’t someone who takes intimacy lightly.

For him, physical touch isn’t just an act. It isn’t just a moment.

It’s an offering.

And he doesn’t give himself away so easily.

Not because he’s afraid—or at least, he’d never admit it.

But deep down, there’s an unease that eats away at him.

His size. His strength. His biology.

You’re human. Fragile in comparison.

And even though he knows you’re strong, that you wouldn’t do anything unless you were absolutely sure, his protective instincts won’t allow it.

It’s not just about protecting you.

It’s about himself.

His own control.

Because control is the one thing he’s always had.

Ever since he took on the role of leader, ever since he understood that his life wasn’t his own but belonged to those who depended on him, Leonardo learned to restrain himself.

To hold back.

To be the balance in the midst of chaos.

But you…

You make him lose that balance.

And if he allows himself to let go, if he allows that wall to crumble, he fears what might happen.

Because to Leonardo, intimacy isn’t just physical pleasure.

It’s a connection.

It’s binding his soul with yours.

It’s giving you a part of himself that no one has ever seen before.

And that is the real danger

Because if he gives you that—if he allows himself to feel you, to touch you, to love you on such a profound level—

Then there’s no going back.

He knows he could become addicted.

That the moment he lets go of the weight on his shoulders and focuses only on you—on your body beneath his, on your breath hitching, on the way you say his name—

Everything else will fade away.

And Leonardo cannot afford to forget his duty.

But… what if, just this once, he could?

What if, just this once, he could be Leo and not the leader?

If he could forget the world for a few hours—lose himself in you, in the warmth of your skin, in the way you look at him as if he’s more than just a warrior, more than just a responsibility, more than just a soldier trained to sacrifice everything.

If he could simply be yours.

That… that is what truly terrifies him.

Because if he tastes it once, he knows he’ll want it again.

And again.

Until there is nothing left of the fortress he has so carefully built.

Until there is nothing left of the perfect leader his brothers need.

Only him.

Only you.

Just two souls bound together—no rules, no duties, no limits.

And though he tries to convince himself he can resist…

He knows that, eventually, he will fall.

But Leonardo knows he’s not ready.

That he can’t let it all go—not yet.

Because if he does, who will bear the weight of the world in his place?

If he falls, his brothers fall. If he allows himself to be selfish, even for a moment, everything he has built could collapse.

So he waits.

He waits for you to understand.

To understand that there are things he still cannot give you, no matter how much he desires them.

But that doesn’t mean he gives you nothing.

Something just as intimate, just as addictive.

Vulnerability.

Not with his body, but with his soul.

So when night falls, when the world goes quiet and there is no one but the two of you, he lets you see beyond the barrier.

He lets you step into his sanctuary.

He pulls out the blankets he keeps tucked away in the back of his closet, the ones with the worn-out Rebel Alliance logo, and hands them to you without a word.

He lets you see the space-themed pillowcase he would never admit he still uses.

And then, in the dim glow of his room, when there are no more distractions, no more responsibilities, you talk.

Not about strategies. Not about training. Not about what is expected of him.

You talk about everything and nothing all at once.

About stars and distant galaxies.

About the Star Wars episodes he never gets tired of watching.

About the times he wondered if his destiny was already written or if he could take a detour.

And it’s there, in those organic conversations—unplanned, uncalculated, imperfect—that you witness something few have ever seen:

Not the leader.

Not the eldest brother.

Just Leo.

And then, when sleep finally claims you, you curl up against his chest—no fear, no hesitation.

Your breathing slows, steady and peaceful.

Your warmth seeps into his skin.

And Leonardo, the one who never lets his guard down, the one who is always on alert, stays still.

Feeling.

Listening.

Your heartbeat, syncing with his.

Nothing separates you but a thin layer of skin.

And for the first time in a long time, he forgets.

Forgets duty, weight, sacrifice.

Forgets that he must be strong, that he must be everyone’s shield.

Because in this moment, there is only you.

#Dude #Duuude #DUUUUUUUUDE #THIS #this is beautiful #I like went through an entire myriad of emotions at reading this. My eyebrows were going up in down in both surprise and thought #Like wheeeeeeeew this #this is something to chew on #Nay not even chew #this is something that’s gonna take a week #maybe two #heck even a month to naw on #character analysis my beloved #i feel these sentiments so strongly because I really REALLY dislike Bayverse Leo #like at his worst moments he’s everything I despise about men and myself #Very much a Mr. Darcy to my Lizzie let me tell ya. Except I have to bite back the urge to hit him with my sandal. Repeatedly.#I guess after further self reflection however I realize that’s why Leo just really does need a stubborn kind of love?#Because even though I don’t like him #I understand him? I understand the exhaustion #And then I just feel sad because I know how lonely it can be. How heavy that weight is.#And now I just wanna wrap Leo up in a blanket and hold him tight. Tell him he IS loved and doing a good job #So thanks OP for making me feel things in the club tonight #just being jayus #pretty random turtle thunks #serendipity247

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luvcaleb · 3 months ago

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SHH... WE CAN'T GET CAUGHT.

nsfw (18+). includes fingering, breast play, dirty talk, huge cock, unprotected sex, creampie, fwb relationship (it's pretty obvious you like each other tho), mentions of your first time experience with caleb (and other times after that), having sex when another person is just a few rooms away, too much cum, slight praise kink. filthy, filthy, filthy smut from top to bottom. likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

“Shh... you don't want Gran hearing us, do you?”

You're covering your mouth to stifle your whimpers, but there's no hiding the wet squelches beneath the blanket. You wrap your hand around Caleb's flicking wrist, his fingers buried deep inside your cunt. When he adds another digit, a loud cry of his name is pulled out of you.

Caleb presses a soft kiss against your nape. You're both turned on your sides, your back against his solid chest. “As much as I like hearing you say my name, it'd be a problem if someone came to interrupt us. Remember the last time?”

The last time he's referring to is your risky tryst from a few days back; Caleb joined you in your bath, claiming he wants to “wash your back” for you. As expected, 20% of your time was spent in a relaxing soak where he massaged your shoulders and washed your hair, and the remaining 80% was spent with his head between your legs, coaxing out wave after wave of cum with his fingers and tongue.

The tip of his cock was already inside you when a knock on your door interrupted you, your grandmother asking if you knew where Caleb went because he wasn't in his room. Needless to say, you had to stop what you were doing and Caleb had a difficult time sneaking out of the bathroom.

“That... mmph... and this... is all your fault...” you struggle to say while biting back your moans as he grinds his fingers against a good spot, his thumb flicking at your clit. Caleb has always been too good with his hands. “You always—ah!—do this even when there are other people around...!”

“You wanna know why?” Chuckling, Caleb leans closer to whisper to your ear, lips brushing over your soft skin. “You squeeze me so fucking tight when we're about to get caught.”

You gush around his fingers as he mouths on the shell of your ear, moaning into the palm of your hand. He hums in satisfaction, pulling out his hand from your panties to admire the stringy release between his fingers. “You always cum too fast, pipsqueak. You pent up these days?”

How on earth could you possibly be pent up when you've been fucking Caleb at every opportunity? Every time you're left alone at the house, he fucks you against any flat surface he can find—the door when he's too impatient to go to your room, the bathroom sink because he likes making you watch yourself in the mirror when he's fucking you stupid, and even ate you out on the kitchen countertop at some point.

But the thing is, Caleb is undaunted by the possibility of being caught. So even when your Gran is around, he sneaks into your bedroom to fool around, just like what he's doing now under the pretense of “we watched a horror movie today, aren't you scared to sleep alone?”

Evidently, Caleb has no intention of letting you sleep tonight. He fondles your tits beneath your shirt, the tent in his sweatpants grinding against your clothed ass. “Don't pretend like you're innocent,” he mutters, making you yelp when he pinches your nipple. “You strutted around all day wearing my shirt without a bra, bending down in front of me on purpose... Did you know how hard it was to hold back from fucking you on the spot?”

“T-that was...!” Your cheeks flush with warmth. Sure, you were kind of riling him up on purpose, but that was under the assumption you'd be alone tonight.

“This ass...” he rubs you above your shorts, groaning as he palms at the soft flesh. “...was in my mind the entire fucking day. I held myself back until now, but I can't hold back anymore, fuck.”

He strips you off of your clothes, only leaving his shirt scrunched up above your breasts. He pulls down his sweatpants, and you feel his huge cock slap against your lower back, his pre-cum smearing across your skin. He holds the back of your knee to raise your leg, positioning his cock to your soaked pussy.

“Been waiting for this for so fucking long... Oh, shiiit,” he moans, long and drawn out and dirty as he slides right home, the tip of his dick pounding at your cervix. You squeal into your hand, your cunt clamping down on his cock so tightly but it doesn't deter his fast pace at all.

He reaches so deep like this, hitting spots he normally couldn't when you're in missionary. His huge cock feels like it's carving its own space into your body, coring you out from the inside, and it feels so good that you can't hold back your voice at all.

“Nn... Don't do that,” Caleb pulls away your hand from your mouth when he notices you biting down on your skin to hide your moans. He replaces it by putting his fingers in your mouth, cooing softly to your ear, “Suck. You're going to hurt yourself.”

You suck on his fingers, eyes rolling back to your head as he continues to pound you, fucking your pussy so good. Only Caleb knows how to make you feel so much pleasure to the point you can't think properly anymore. Your fingers could never hope to reach the places his cock touches.

It's how this twisted relationship started in the first place, Caleb catching you touching yourself when you forgot to lock your door. He taught you how to make yourself cum because you didn't know anything, until all you knew was him and his cock. But he was too big the first time you took him in that he had to fuck you loose with four fingers, sucking and licking at your pussy to make you wet enough to accept his thick girth and length. Now, he could slide inside you easily, your body having taken his shape.

Caleb stares at your messy face, utterly endeared. “Fuck, you're so fucking cute...” He takes out his fingers from your mouth, using them to tilt your jaw to meet his lips. He kisses you sloppy, no finesse as you slide your tongue against his, moaning into each other's mouths. “Mm... open your mouth more... yeah, that's it, baby... good fucking girl...”

“Ah, fuck, Caleb!” you sob, desperately rocking against his cock. “I'm gonna cum, cumming, I can't anymore...!”

“You're gonna cum?” Caleb stops thrusting, making you whine and attempt to move yourself, but he holds onto your hips and pushes you into the mattress, laying you flat on the sheets on your front. He settles behind you, using his weight to pound you to the mattress harder. “Then fucking cum.”

You moan uncontrollably into the pillows, completely forgetting you're meant to stay quiet. Caleb fucks his cock harder, faster, deeper, failing to hold back his own grunts as you tighten up around him, wet heat melting around his dick. “Shit, I'm gonna cum too... I'm gonna cum hard in your slutty fucking pussy... fuck, I'm cumming!”

You squirt around his cock as he fills you up with cum, your fluids making a mess between your bodies and the sheets. You don't realize you're crying out up until Caleb grabs your chin and kisses you once more, muffling the lewd moans you're letting out while he's still cumming inside you, hot and thick. He gives you tiny, slowing thrusts, cock still spurting out semen. “Oh, baby, you did so good...” he sucks on your bottom lip, staring intently at your orgasm face. “Such a good fucking girl for me...”

“So... full...” is the only thing you can say, feeling the sheer volume of one load of his cum in your pussy, warming you from the inside.

“Not full enough, baby.” Caleb peppers your face with kisses. It is then that you realize—with no small amount of fear and arousal—his cock hasn't softened at all. “I still have a lot to give you.”

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace x reader smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader smut #caleb x reader #lads smut #lads x reader #lads x reader smut

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tojbnuy · 5 months ago

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boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know why but he feels this weird jealousy everytime he sees you meet your friends and greet them all with a big hug. you never did that with him. you relationship was still fairly new to the both of you, but you kissed you fucked you even held hands sometimes when walking around. but, what toji was now realizing, was that he wanted a hug. well, he wanted a hug from You. not a casual little hug, a hug. holding each other. he didn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding needy and like the complete opposite of how he usually acts. he had never cared about this kinda stuff with other people, he’d never experienced it growing up and he thought he could live without it. until you. until you showed him that wanting to be held was normal. he’d been thinking about it for a while until one night, as the two of you got ready for bed it simply slipped out.

‘how come you don’t hug me?’

immediately you stopped plaiting your hair and turned to him with a shocked look.

‘what?’

‘how come you don’t hug me? like when you see your friends or you say bye you hug them. you don’t hug me.’

as soon as he said it he felt stupid. a grown man like him, older than you and he was sat here asking for a fucking hug. what if you turned the question around and said ‘well you don’t hug me’ what would he say? that i’ve never done that before sorry i don’t know how? his thoughts came to a stop when he felt a small hand grab his own larger one.

‘i- toji im so sorry. i’m sorry i didn’t think that was something you wanted.’

fuck now he’s made you feel bad.

‘nah doll you don’t have to say sorry, its nothing let’s just go to bed’

‘no toji please. let’s talk about it.’

you lifted the blanket and made your way over to his side of the bed so you could sit face to face. everything about you was so soft, so kind. such a complete contrast to himself. he was panicking, he didn’t do stuff like this, never talked about stuff like this.

‘honestly toji, i really just thought you weren’t a touchy person. i’m sorry for just assuming especially considering everything you’ve been through,’

‘no please doll. i wasn’t trying to blame you for anything. i just’

his palms were actually sweating, but your face. god your darling sweet face, looking at him like he hung up the stars in sky. like every word out of his mouth meant the world to you. you would wait for him to get the words out no matter how long he took.

‘i don’t know to be honest. you’re right i’m not a touchy person i’ve never really hugged anyone. but i want that. with you. and im sorry, i should be the one to initiate it i just didn’t really know how doll.’ his voice was so quiet, just a rough whisper.

he looked up to stare into your glassy eyes when you leaned in and kissed him. a small whisper of a kiss.

‘can i hug you?’ you said with your lips pressed against his.

he knew you knew he would prefer not to dwell on it.

and then he wrapped his arms around your back so tightly like he was showing the universe just how bad he needed you. he pulled you into his lap and let his cheek fall to your shoulder. he felt your arms wrap around his neck and you fingers stroking the hairs at his nape.

neither of you spoke, you simply sat and held each other and made a silent promise to maintain the closeness from today onwards.

‘thank you for telling me toji. you big baby.’

‘yeah that’s enough. time for bed.’

your giggle was music to his ears.

11K notes · View notes

ruesol · 7 months ago

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Boxer!Sukuna annoying you while you pamper him.

Masterlist

If the world knew what Sukuna was up to now, he’d be eaten alive. Emasculated and ridiculed by thousands of his fans that consisted of teenage boys, martial artists and “alpha” podcast bros.

Here he was, sitting in your pink room, wrapped in a fluffy Hello Kitty blanket as you did his skincare. The best sight of all was him (reluctantly) wearing a bunny ear headband to keep his unruly hair out of his face.

“How much more?” the boxer groaned as you poured a hydrating toner in your palm. “This is literally the first product, you giant baby. I’m so glad I noticed your huge pores. I feel I’ve scrubbed off a whole layer of your face with the amount of dead skin that came off after that mask.”

He rolled his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I gotta fight all the time and most of my sparring mates don’t really wash their hands before punching me in the face, ya know?”

“Well, I wish they did,” you say as you massage a vitamin serum in his face. “It’s cold and slimy. I don’t like it.”

“Shut up and let me do my job.”

“I deserve compensation.”

“Pizza’s on the way.”

“Monetary compensation sounds better.”

“I’m already using my expensive ass skincare on you. You’ve sucked me dry of my money.” He chuckled after you said that. You knew what was coming after this. “Sukuna, don’t you dare-“

“Maybe you could suck me dry instead.” He wiggled his eyebrows. You couldn’t believe that the dumbass you’re dating is one of the most feared men in the ring.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re so lucky we’re past the first three months of our relationship or I would’ve ghosted you after tonight.”

“Hey!”

#sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk sukuna #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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sai-int · 3 months ago

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TICKET TO PLAY | john price

Sheriff Price has a habit of pulling you over, and you have a habit of seeing how far you can push him. It’s a game you've been playing for years—a harmless one, until he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

⤿ based on this | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, fem!reader, small town vibes, porn with minimal plot, smut, oral (m receiving), dom!john (back and forth between hard and soft), bratty—sort of pathetic reader, fingering, squirting, public sex, smidge of voyeurism, size kink if you really read the fine print, implied slight age gap [ 6.6k words ]

You weren’t going that fast.

Maybe nudging 35 in a 25, but the road was empty—just you and the soft, golden light of a July evening slipping into dusk. The cicadas hummed their lazy symphony, crickets chirping in harmony, while the air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer warmth. It was the kind of night that wrapped around you like a blanket, slow and sweet, the kind that made you want to roll the windows down and let the world drift by.

But then the sirens sliced through the calm, sharp and jarring, shattering the stillness. Red and blue lights flashed in your rearview, splashing the road ahead in a chaotic swirl of color. Your hands tightened on the wheel, that familiar knot twisting in your gut. You didn’t even need to check the mirror to know who it was.

Sheriff John Price.

The small-town Sheriff (asshole) that had a sixth sense for catching you when you weren’t even doing anything wrong. The guy who’d written you up for a rolling stop at an empty intersection, or a right on red at 2 a.m. when the streets were dead silent. Sure, maybe you were five over on a straight stretch of road, but come on—did he really have nothing better to do than hassle you over that? It was starting to feel like he was just looking for excuses to pull you over.

At this point, you figured you were practically on a first-name basis. Hell, you were probably the most frequent flyer on his ticket roster. But that was the trade-off for living in a town where the sheriff knew everyone’s business—and apparently, yours most of all.

You eased the rickety old Nissan Skyline to a crawl, tires screeching softly as you pulled onto the shoulder and shifted into park. Your fingers moved on autopilot, fishing the registration out of the center console before he even asked. If John Price had one talent, it was knowing where you were before you did—and you’d learned the hard way to keep things within arm’s reach.

The music blared for a second longer before you killed the volume, the sudden silence pressing down on the summer night like a weight. You rolled down the window, letting the warm, sticky air flood the cabin, thick with the scent of grass and distant rain. Leaning back in your seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, you waited. Same old song and dance.

First came the slam of his cruiser door, sharp and final, like he was already annoyed at the prospect of dealing with you. Then the crunch of his boots on the asphalt—slow, deliberate, each step dragging out the inevitable. It was almost comical, the way he took his time, like he wasn’t the one who’d flipped on the lights and sirens.

The window hissed as it rolled down, the sound jarring in the quiet, and before you could stop yourself, a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. You didn’t bother hiding it this time. If you were walking away thirty dollars lighter, you might as well make it entertaining.

"Evenin’, John," you drawl, letting the words hang in the air with a playful edge that makes his jaw tighten.

He leans in, his arms braced against the window frame like he owns the whole damn road. His face is all sharp lines and shadows in the fading light, the faint scent of cigarettes and worn leather wrapping around you, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night.

“Don’t call me John,” he grumbles, his voice rougher than usual, like gravel under tires.

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a grin. “Why not?” you tease, letting your fingers trail lazily along the steering wheel. “Thought we were friends, John.” You bat your lashes, adding a pout for good measure, laying it on thick just to see how far you can push him this time

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he leans in closer, his presence crowding you. “We aren’t ‘friends,’” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know why I pulled you over?”

It’s not really a question—it’s a challenge, and you can’t help but rise to it. You tilt your head, letting your gaze linger on him, your smirk widening. “Hmm… maybe ‘cause you’re a sucker for a pretty car?” you suggest, your tone dripping with sarcasm, sweet enough to sting.

John’s lips press into a thin line, but the subtle shift in his posture tells you everything you need to know. His gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain. Internally, he’s fighting not to laugh—you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, like he’s holding back a cackle.

“If this—” he steps back, his eyes sweeping over the exterior of your car with deliberate slowness before landing back on you, “—is your idea of a ‘pretty car,’ I might have to issue you a ticket for driving without glasses.”

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest, your mouth hanging open in mock offense. Just because Fergie was old didn’t mean she was ugly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?”

He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s weighing how much more of this he’s willing to put up with. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice dry as dust. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Touché.”

You two had been here before. Over and over again. Ever since you’d come back home from college, he’d been hot on your trail—always showing up at the worst possible moments, right when you thought you might’ve gotten away with it.

This was your town. You’d grown up here, knew every road, every corner, every face. It was small, sure, but it was yours. And then John Price showed up. Sparkling, brand new hot-shot sheriff, fresh off the Mayflower. Sworn in by all the touch-starved wives and swooned over by every teenage girl in a fifty-mile radius. Ever since he’d arrived, it was like Elvis all over again

You figured he didn’t have the right to boss the locals around like he owned the place. No shiny badge or gun on his hip was going to earn him any respect from you. This wasn’t some big city where the badge meant everything. Out here? You could be just as stubborn as he was.

Still, he had a knack for showing up when you least expected it, always lurking in the background, keeping an eye on you for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out. No one could explain it, but there he was, always hovering like you were some kind of problem. But you never did anything wrong. Not really.

“I bet you 50 bucks there’s about five disgruntled teens smoking pot under the high school bleachers as we speak,” you say, leaning back in your seat with a grin tugging at your lips. “Surely, they deserve your devotion and attention more than little ol’ me.”

He pauses, clearly weighing your words, and you can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t want your money,” he mutters, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement—and something else you can’t quite place. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got 50 dollars to spare, considering how often you’re in the precinct paying off tickets.” He leans in just a little, his gaze sharp, like he’s daring you to argue.

You shrug, playing the part, even though you know he’s right. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m practically a model citizen. Those kids under the bleachers, though? They could be causing all kinds of trouble.”

You give him a sidelong glance, letting the playful challenge hang in the air between you. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Sheriff.”

Your tone is sweet—too sweet—and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out whether you’re messing with him or just being your usual self.

He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. His hand pinches the bridge of his nose before he exhales, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Big help, givin’ me that advice.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “What can I say, Sheriff? Someone’s gotta make your job worthwhile.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. The air grows heavy, charged with something you can’t quite name, and the silence stretches taut between you. But then the faint hum of a car engine cuts through the stillness, tires rolling past on the asphalt—a sharp reminder that you’re not alone out here.

“Step out of the car.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a flicker of something darker beneath the surface, a low undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and sudden in your chest. He’s never asked you to step out of the car before, and the demand catches you off guard. You can’t afford to be arrested—not with a shift at the diner at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, not with the way your life is already balanced on a knife’s edge. The thought of cuffs, of being hauled into the precinct, makes your stomach churn.

But you don’t move. Not yet. Instead, you meet his gaze, your own sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff.

You don’t say a word, just reach down to unclick your seatbelt with an indignant sigh, movements slow—like dragging out the inevitable might change the outcome. The latch pops, the sound too loud in the quiet, and you open the door, letting the evening air rush in, cool against the heat prickling at your skin.

You step out, tugging your shorts down where they’ve ridden up, keeping your gaze on the ground, on the cracks in the pavement, anywhere but at him. You try to keep your breathing steady, try to act like this is just another bullshit stop, just another way for him to waste your time and break your wallet. But your heart’s already racing, faster than you want it to.

Then his hand is on your hip.

Firm. Unmoving. Not quite guiding, not quite restraining. Just there. A weight that lingers, like a silent reminder that he’s the one in control here, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

For a second, you freeze.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You swallow, still refusing to look at him. “Gonna write me a bullshit ticket, John?” Your voice is casual, flippant—too much so. You know it, and so does he.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes it worse.

Because the truth is, you’d rather he just do it. Write the damn ticket, hand you the fine, and send you on your merry way. That would be easy. It’d be normal.

But nothing about him has ever been easy. And this? Whatever this is? It sure as hell isn’t normal.

His fingers tighten—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to catch it, that flicker of something dark and barely restrained. His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, and you realize he’s at his limit.

Like he’s weighing his options. Like he’s wondering if he should just give you the damn ticket and walk away.

You tilt your chin up, finally meeting his gaze, like a challenge. Would he?

His voice is tight when he finally speaks, low and strained, every word biting through the air.

"You think this is a game?"

You pause, letting the question linger as you ponder. Is it a game? Is that what this has always been? This back-and-forth, this constant chase—where you go about your life, minding your business, and he shows up, lurking, watching, like he’s got nothing better to do than make you his personal problem.

Would he really arrest you? Pin you against his cruiser and throw you in the back? Take you downtown like you’re some criminal? The thought sends a slow, involuntary shiver down your spine, but the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. If he was going to do it, it would’ve happened already.

He’s just a big softie. A stubborn, gruff, self-righteous pain in the ass who acts like he’s got the whole town in a chokehold but has spent too many years shadowing you for it to be a coincidence.

And deep down, you reckon he must have some sick, weird crush if the only way he can muster up the courage to see you is by stuffing a white slip of paper under your windshield wiper, like he can’t even be bothered to have a conversation without the safety of bureaucracy to hide behind.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore.

This is a game.

You keep your gaze steady, watching him. Watching the way he’s fighting to maintain that authority, to keep control. And through the harsh headlights from his car, it’s almost cute—the way his jaw tightens, the way his nostrils flare ever so slightly, the way his fingers twitch against your hip like he’s waging a war with himself. Like he thinks he can win.

But he can’t.

Not really.

His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper, slipping beneath soft flesh to squeeze the bone. Like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he thinks if he just holds on tight enough, he can remind himself who’s in charge here.

But you see it—the shift in his expression, the cracks forming right in front of you. His eyes are darker now, narrowed with something he’s still pretending isn’t there, and his teeth grit like it physically pains him to keep standing here.

You just can’t resist.

You lean in just enough, close enough that your breath tickles his cheek, and with a slow, knowing smirk, you whisper, “You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, haven’t you, John?”

The words hang between you, sharp and saccharine, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath.

His eyes go dark, that flicker of anger flashing through them like a warning. But it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else, something raw. For a split second, you’re certain he’s off the deep end.

Before you can even blink, his hand moves. It’s fast, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the arm, yanking you toward him with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Get over here,” he growls.

The words are rough, guttural, scraping against his throat like he’s been holding them back for too long.

The next thing you know, he’s dragging you to the hood of his cruiser, his grip tight and bruising as his fingers wrap around your wrist, effortlessly dwarfing it. The cold metal of the hood bites against your skin as he shoves you down, bending you over the car.

And then he’s on you.

His chest is solid heat against your back, his weight pressing you into the hood like he’s making sure you stay there. Your breath catches, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements as you try to process just how quickly the shift between you has turned into this.

“Talk so fuckin’ much,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice a growl of frustration and something deeper, something rougher. His breath fans against your ear, hot and unsteady, sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand clamps over your wrists, holding them firm against the small of your back, while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.

The grip is possessive. Unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

“You think you can just keep pushing me? Keep fuckin’ with me like this, hmm?”

A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. His hand pulls on your hair, making your neck arch back, and the sharp tug sends a jolt straight to your cunt. You try to choke back the reaction, but it’s impossible—the way he’s holding you, the way he’s pressing into you with every word, every move.

His body presses into yours, the intensity of it all making your pulse race. Despite everything, despite the situation, a shiver runs down your spine. You can tell he’s holding back by the way his teeth grit, the sharpness in his voice.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze from the side. “By the way John Jr’s more sprung than a rainy day in April, I’d say you like it,” he groans and you chuckle, “You do like it, don’t you, John?”

The words slip from your lips, taunting him, and you can feel the shift in his posture before he even moves. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling you back further, forcing you to arch your neck more as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, each exhale brushing over you like a warning.

“Think you’ve got me figured out?” he growls, teeth grazing the curve of your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once. “Since you’re so fuckin’ knowledgeable, tell me something…”

Your pulse quickens, the anticipation like the loaded gun in his waistband. “Tell you what?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless, but your eyes never leave his.

“Tell me what I do t’dumb girls that don’t know how t’speak only when spoken to,” he murmurs, his grip shifting, pulling you in closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants.

You can feel his cock twitch with interest in his jeans, and instinctively, you roll your hips back into his. The firm bulge presses against your pulsating cunt, offering just the smallest bit of reprieve from the ache in your clit and you can’t help but whimper. “You give them a ticket and send them on their way?”

“Nice try, love,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment, like he’s genuinely let down by your guess.

Before you can even react, his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the cold click of the cuffs snapping around your wrists.

You jerk against the restraint, but it’s useless. You turn to look up at him, but the look on his face—hands on his hips, blue eyes locked on you—makes you stop.

No smirk, no joke. Just intensity.

“Get on your knees,” he says, voice low, rough, without hesitation.

You bite your lip, the urge to snap back hitting you. But instead, you swallow it down and push yourself up, kneeling before him on the pavement. The roughness of it bites into your skin, the cuffs digging into your wrists, each pull reminding you of just how much control he has in this situation.

His boot taps lightly against your thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet air, a silent demand for your attention. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, as if he can see right through you, into everything you’re trying to shovel deep..

“Sit,” he commands, the word simple, authoritative.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but when his boot nudges against your clothed cunt, you get it.

You lift your hips slow, like you’re not sure but can’t help it, settling atop his boot. The sensation makes a shiver run up your spine. His fingers find your hair again, firm, enough to tilt your head back and make you look up at him.

“This’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, dove?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, like he’s savoring the sight of you—knees to the ground, wrists bound, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He can’t help but palm himself at the sight.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, heat simmering in your cheeks with anticipation. “I’m not gonna beg,” you sneer, defiant like your cunt isn’t already drooling for him. The lie sits thick on your tongue, heavy enough to choke on.

He smirks—slow like he’s amused, but there’s something else there, like he’s already decided how he’ll play with you.

“That’s cute,” his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just a little further. Your lips part on instinct, a quiet, pained mewl slipping out before you can stop it.

“but you will,” he hums with a smile so saccharine, it makes you want to smack it off his face. His free hand reaches for his belt, fumbling with the leather as he pulls it out of the buckle. You can feel your body buzzing with anticipation, the tension building in every nerve of your body. Everything in your mind is screaming at you, telling you how wrong this is, how this can’t happen. But deep down, you know he’s right. This has been a long time coming.

But fuck, he’s a literal cop, the Sheriff. This has to fall under some public indecency law.

But despite everything, despite all the warnings your mind throws at you, the pull is stronger, too real to ignore. And you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

He peels down the zipper of his blue slacks and the sound echoes in your ears. You’re on your knees on the shoulder of a road, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and God help you, your mouth waters when you see the outline of his solid cock through his boxers.

He doesn't break eye contact, his other hand still tight in your hair, daring you to even try to look away. The recklessness, the sheer audacity of him whipping out his cock in the middle of a traffic stop. It’s all so palpable, like a stack of weights on your chest. He tugs down his boxers in one fluid movement, his cock springing free, and you can’t help but try to back away at the sight.

He's massive in every sense of the word. Dark curls trail from his navel to the base of him, thick but neatly kept. His cock hangs low and heavy between his legs, thick and long with a few veins and just the softest blush of pink at his tip. There’s no way you can take him all, let alone in your mouth.

He could see the shift in your eyes, the sudden apprehension in your demeanor, and the hand in your hair loosened. He trailed his fingers from your scalp to your cheek, his thumb wandering to the plump flesh of your parted lips.

“You can say no, dove. I won’t hold it against you,” he says softly, giving you an out. His blue eyes soften as they meet yours, and you know he wouldn’t force you. But the way the hard leather of his boot presses through your shorts, firm against your clit, has you fighting the urge to grind against him. You want—No, need him. Badly.

You bow your head to meet his cock, tongue darting out, hungrily swiping up the drop of precum dangling from his tip. He automatically groans and his hands find their way back to your scalp, feeding his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around him immediately, suckling as he presses in and stretches you out.

“Fuck— that’s it, love, so fuckin’ tight,” he babbles as he watches his length disappear in your mouth over and over. His eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back—he knew if he looked at you any longer he’d blow his load too soon. Your tongue is just so hot. He hadn’t expected it to be ice, but God you were sweltering. He nestled himself in the back of your throat so nicely, tickling and toying with your gag reflex each time you bobbed your head. You coat his length with slick spit, the sounds of your gags subconsciously making him push your head down even further.

You focus on steady breaths through your nose as his grip tightens. Your hands strain against the cuffs, aching to touch, to feel, to at least stroke where your mouth can’t reach. So pretty like this, he thinks. The way you look up at him, defiant yet desperate. The way your breath catches and your throat flutters around his mushroomed tip.

It drives him crazy—how much he wants to break that control, to make you lose it completely. His groans only spur you on further, your tongue moving with purpose, tracing the prominent vein along his underside.

Your hips jerk against his boot as spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, knees grinding into the asphalt, but you barely notice the sting. All you can think about is the way it makes heat pool in your cunt—sends sparks up your spine.

You can’t help it—your hips keep moving, grinding against his boot, the rough leather driving you wild, and you’re sure you’re leaving a wet spot. The friction is delicious, and you’re so lost in it that you almost miss when he speaks.

“Look at you,” he says, smirking despite how badly he needs to cum. “Can’t even help yourself, can you? Just a needy little mutt, humpin’ my boot.”

His hand tugs your strands, not rough but firm, just enough to make you gasp. “Just need your pretty pussy touched, that right?” he tuts softly, pulling you off him, a thin strand of saliva connecting your glistening lips to the tip of his cock. “On your feet, come on.” He guides you up, your legs shaky and chest heaving but his grip steadies you. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The sky’s a deep blue now, the sun long gone, the cruiser’s headlights casting faint shadows. He shoves you back against the hood, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. His hands are on you immediately, rough and demanding, squeezing your thighs, your tits, like he’s marking his territory.

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into your flesh, and your hips jerk instinctively, craving more. “So quiet now, hm?” he hums, his face centimeters from yours. “What happened to that smart little mouth of yours?”

The way he switches from caring to being so dominant, it makes your head spin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t care. His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, fingers dancing over your soaked panties, and you can’t stop the way your hips roll into his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give. “All this for me, sweet girl?” he mutters, middle finger slowly circling your sensitive clit, “All wound up, yeah? Need me to set you straight?”

“Fuck—,” you whine, your hips bucking into his hand, you can feel his breath against your lips as he chuckles. He deftly pulls your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers slide through your folds. His lips find your neck and he mouths at the sensitive patch of skin above your pulse, sucking a dark, red splotch into your skin as if you’re his.

You instinctively toss your head back, letting him lick hot, wet stripes from your clavicle to your jaw. He slips a single finger into you and your cunt squelches embarrassingly.

“Feels so good, John—,” you whine into the evening breeze as he pumps his finger in you, curling to hit your g-spot with precision you’ve never experienced. He smiles against your skin before enveloping your lips with his.

It’s hungry, messy, and desperate. His tongue crowds your mouth trying to drink you whole, like he’s been parched, waiting for you to quench his thirst since he first met you. He swallows your whines and pleas for more as he works you open, grinning when he slips in his ring finger alongside the middle and you gasp.

It’s a pathetic attempt, really, to kiss him back—to try to match his fervor. He has you at his mercy and you’re near collapsing into him as he finger fucks you, low heat pooling in your belly as the coil tightens, as you claw at the hood of the car, wishing the cuffs weren’t there—wishing you could claw at him instead.

“Feel you gettin’ all tight ‘round me, dove. Gonna cum? Gonna soak my fingers, doll?” He questions against your lips. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, sucking him in and keeping them there. So greedy, he thinks.

You nod vehemently, biting your lip so you don’t scream—or sob, you aren’t sure how to feel—into the air. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and that’s all you need to finally break. You near black out when you cum, sparks shooting up your spine and making your vision go black for a moment, his fingers lazily working you through your orgasm as your legs shake and your walls damn near break his fingers.

“That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” he hums against your temple, wiping away tears you hadn’t known fallen.

You hadn’t cum that hard in your life. Not by yourself, and most certainly not by any of the lame frat boys you fucked in your college days.

But John isn’t in a frat.

And he certainly isn’t just a boy.

He gently slips his hand out of your pants, bringing his fingers up to his lips before popping them into his mouth. The way his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows pulling together softly as he groans at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all fucking sinful. You watch him, mesmerized as he pulls the glistening digits out of his mouth with a pop.

He dips his head to yours, kissing you again, but much softer this time, less hungry, more savoring. You can taste the subtle tang of your own juices on his tongue, and you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t turn you on further.

John subtly tugs your shorts and panties down, the fabric whispering against your skin. He fishes for a small key in his pocket, before using them on the cuffs. They open, releasing your raw wrists with a near-silent snick. You feel the moment the cuffs fall away, and your hands move as if drawn by an invisible force, reaching for him, clutching at his jaw, pulling him closer with urgency. Your fingers roam his shoulders, his neck, tracing the hard lines of his body as he spreads your legs, tossing your discarded shorts aside. He settles between them, lazily pumping his cock with his free hand.

“You want this, love?” he whispers against your lips.

You nod almost imperceptibly before crashing your lips back to his, like you just can’t get enough.

He kisses you back like a magnet, but just as quickly, he pulls away again.

“Words,” he says sternly.

You huff, ever the impatient brat. “Put your fucking cock in me or I swear to God, I'll get in my car and drive right out of here.”

“That right?” he scoffs, "You gonna drive off?" He brings his angry red tip to your sodden folds, teasing your sensitive clit with each brush, making you jolt, “You want t’act like a brat,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Then we can do this the hard way.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “Unless,” he murmurs, ghosting the head of his cock into your hole, “you'd like to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip as you watch him tease you, fighting a groan at the way your cunt squelches and stretches around just his tip.

“She’s so greedy, already tryin’ to suck me in,” he coos, “don’t want to deprive her, now do we?”

You whine as he notches just the head in. He pauses, waiting for you to speak before he moves any further. You open your mouth and your voice just breaks as you leak and drip around him and onto the hood of the car.

“Please, John, Please, I need you—Please, I’ll be so good,” You break and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to pull him closer to you, to have you flush against him, chest to chest and full of his cock.

“See how gorgeous you sound when you’re nice? See where that gets you, love?” He coos as he inches his cock into you. Your walls are already fluttering, still all worked up from your last orgasm. He has to fight the urge to cum right then and there, gritting his teeth as his grip tightens on your thighs, fingers dimpling the fat as he spears you open.

You’re slack jawed, eyes glassy as he bottoms out. You’ve never been so full and stretched in your life. You can feel him in every orifice of your body, you feel him in the pits of your stomach, in the hollows of your lungs, in the cavern of your throat. His tip nudges against your cervix and all you can manage is a strangled sob.

“Oh none of that, lovie, none of that,” he hums, pecking your lips and wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

“Gonna fuck you real nice,” the thumb he used to wipe your tears away travels south, finding your clit and drawing soft, slow circles that have you gushing and relaxing around him, “Just be a good pet and take it.”

You nod as he cradles your head in his hand. He gently moves his hips, inching his cock out of your cunt before sliding back in, squeezing the air out of you like a fucking balloon.

Gasps fall from your lips with each stroke, not entirely from discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of the feeling. He repeats the motion, a slow, deliberate push and pull that sends shivers down your spine. He keeps his thumb on your clit steady, making your legs shake, a burning heat already blossoming low in your belly. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his clothed frame as you try to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He continues, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Each thrust is deeper, faster, steady plaps from where his hips repeatedly meet yours. He knocks the breath out of you, each stroke forcing a soft mewl from your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. The world narrows, focusing on the rhythmic movements of his hips, the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with his.

He leans, his lips brushing against your own. “That's it, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all.”

His words ignite a fire within you, a raw, primal need that surges through your veins. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprises even yourself. His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, and you know he’s getting close. The burning in your abdomen intensifies, spreading outwards, and throughout your body.

His name falls from your lips in a litany—John, John, John, john—a prayer, both a plea and a demand as his cock plows into you with staggering precision. Your cunt clenches around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from each stroke. He groans, cursing as his grip tightens on your hips, until you wail, toes curling and clawing at his back, your voice hoarse as you squirt all over him. He continues to move, his rhythm relentless, until he too reaches his peak, groaning as his body shudders, as he spurts hot ropes of cum deep inside your cunt.

You’re breathless, spent, your limbs heavy and relaxed. The dampness of sweat cooled on your skin, a pleasant contrast to the lingering heat between your legs. The world slowly comes back into focus and a soft smile plays on your lips as you trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“That was…” you murmur, your voice still rough.

He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “A lot,” he finishes for you, his voice low.

You hum in agreement, tightening your grip on his jaw just slightly. You don't need to say more. The silence that settles between you is comfortable. He shifts slightly, and it reminds you he's still there, sheathed inside you.

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting heat that seeps into your skin. Every nerve ending still fires, buzzing with aftershocks.

Slowly, he inches out of you. It feels weird to not be full of him, a sudden emptiness that makes you instinctively clench. He's out, and the cool air against your skin is a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. Of the fact that you’re literally on the side of the road. John reaches for your discarded clothes, picking them up with a casualness that borders on audacious.

He starts with your panties, briefly bending down in front of you as you step into them. He pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your hip. “Sheriff’s discretion,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement as he fastens your shorts too. “Wouldn't want you getting a ticket for indecent exposure.” Fucking knew it.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “You were just as indecent as I was, if I recall.”

He shrugs as he tugs up his own pants, a picture of nonchalant authority. “Evidence suggests otherwise, doll,” he counters, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “I'm the one writing the tickets.” He finishes buttoning your shorts, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The world sways for a moment, your legs still a little shaky. He steadies you, his arm around your waist. He walks you back to your car, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He stops just short of the driver's side door, his hand resting comfortably on your back.

“Drive safe,” he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. You stand on your tip toes and kiss him, a soft, lingering peck on his lips that’s got him feeling like a teenager again.. He responds in kind, other hand moving to cup your cheek. Judging by how he holds you close, he’s reluctant to pull away.

But he does, and he turns and walks back to his cruiser. Eventually, You watch his car fade away, a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Then, with a deep breath, you turn and get into your car. The door shuts and you just exhale, replaying everything that just happened.

You reach to crank the keys sitting in the ignition and your eyes fall on a small white rectangle tucked under the windshield wiper. You get back out of the car and pull it free.

It's a ticket. For speeding.

Asshole.

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kurooh · 11 months ago

Text

HORNY BRAINROT.

☆ includes: aged up! various characters from bnha

☆ warnings: 18+ content, reader is gn or fem depending on the scenario, drug use (weed & alcohol), somnophilia (consent given prior!!), nsfw. not proofread

thinking of izuku coming back home after a long day at the agency; he bends you over the kitchen table you were both about to eat on, and he skips dinner and goes in for dessert between your thighs.

sucking on eijirou’s cock desperately while he pushes your head down and tells you to take it. when he gets close, he yanks your head off him and you switch to jerking him off, your eyes closing as his cum sprays on your face. he groans loudly when you sweep your fingers across your wet skin and then suck on them, looking up at him innocently.

always a lover of public sex, dabi fucks you in alleyways, on rooftops, behind cars at night, and all across the city. he especially enjoys taking you from behind, your back pressed against his chest and his hand wrapped around your throat — he often fucks you like this in sight of the sky during the #2 hero’s patrols.

sometimes hitoshi can’t sleep, so he gently pulls the blankets away from your sleeping figure, admiring you in the dark. he’ll kiss your tummy, hips, and pelvis, then peel away your underwear, his tongue rushing to taste the sweetness between your folds. when you cum, you moan as though you’re in a dream, rarely waking up — occasionally he’ll make you cum so hard you wake up gasping his name.

keigo finds himself feeling overwhelmed when you ride him, his eyes rolling back and his entire body shaking each time he sees your greedy pussy swallow the whole length of his cock. as he unravels more and more, his wings represent how he feels with their wild movements. when he cums loudly, his wings rush in, wrapping around the both of you, pulling you close to him.

despite his shy demeanor, tamaki is a FREAK. he’ll have you sit in a chair, blindfolded, limbs tied to the back and the legs. then, he’ll tease you with kisses and touches, lightly slapping your thighs if you try to pull free to touch him. after a long while, he’ll spread your pussy open and spit onto your clit, then tease you further.

speaking of spitting, katsuki enjoys spitting into your pussy as well, or making you spit onto his cock to lube it up for sex or jerking him off.

i offer u: denki + hanta tag team. hanta’s on his back, your back is on his chest, his cock is stretching out your ass. while he’s thrusting up into your ass and holding you close, denki’s fucking in and out of your pussy with his overstimulated cock. his cum drips from your cunt and trickles down hanta’s cock, adding more lubrication. a threesome with these two would be insane because they would try out every position and cum once from it before stopping.

despite hating it when you edge him, shoto loves it. he’ll sigh shakily, hissing out, “ah— god, make me cum already, stop fucking with me!” but when you let him get real close, he begs you to stop and edge him. it’s confusing but ultimately he enjoys it, and always cries when he cums after edging.

drinking with katsuki always gets rowdy; he’ll show you off, get jealous more easily, and fuck you harder. after a night at the bar and way too many shots, he hops into an uber with you and heads to an expensive hotel instead of your home. katsuki books a big room, the one with the best view of the city and streets (it’s also 2-4 stories up from the lobby). when you get into the room, he practically rips your clothes off, pushing you against the big window overseeing the people and cars beneath. then, he fucks you right against the window, your tits pressed against the glass.

dry humping with eijirou in his agency office with an unlocked door, his hard cock rubbing against your pussy through layers and layers of clothing. when his precum is dripping through his underwear, and your panties are soaked with your slick, he removes whatever’s in the way, besides your underwear. when you start to get loud as his clothed cock creates more friction against you, he pulls off your wet underwear and stuffs them into your mouth, saying, “shh, baby. you have to be quiet, okay? don’t want any of the staff coming in, right?”

sharing a joint with keigo on the balcony of your shared apartment, plumes of smoke swirling around you as he spreads your legs. he always enjoys making out with your pussy before he eats you out, taking your folds and clit between his lips as he drags his tongue against you. he stares up at you with reddened eyes, desperate for your approving moans and facial expressions.

being fucked doggy style by izuku, either in your pussy or ass, as he praises you and your beautiful reflection in the mirror. “oh, you’re so gorgeous.. make me feel so damn lucky every time i look at you.” if you refuse to look, he leans over you, his pecs pressing into your upper back as he tugs your chin. he demands, “watch yourself cum” or “if you look away, i’ll stop pounding you”

shoto always cums within a few minutes of 69ing with you.. the way you desperately hump at his face and gobble down his cock always proves to be too damn much for him. he used to feel embarrassed, but now he just pushes through the overstimulation and adjusts you how he likes, slurping at your pussy loudly as you moan on his cock.

sexting with denki during his work hours, and sending him sneaky photos of your tits/ass/pussy when you know he’s busy. he’s always so quick to read your messages, and he rushes to the bathroom to hide his boner in a stall. he texts you to tell you what he’s gonna do to you, how desperate he is, or he’ll send mirror selfies, his hard cock visible through his pants.

phone sex with dabi, who easily makes you torture yourself. and god, does he sound good — he tells you what to do, rewarding you with his moans/groans or pictures. he’ll talk you through your orgasm, demanding that you keep fingering yourself or stop to ruin it. if you sob over his instructions, he’ll briefly reassure you, and then tell you to shut up and do what he says (he reminds you to be a good girl/slut or threatens to not fuck you).

god.. hitoshi loves filming you going dumb on his cock. most of the videos in his ‘us vids’ folder start off with him praising you as he moves the camera around your body, capturing every inch of you. “so pretty, god damn.” as the video progresses from gentle to rougher, his hand is wrapped around your neck, squeezing enough for you to gasp often. you’re a mess, babbling pleas as you cry his name, eyes rolling back and drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. by the time he’s cumming, you’re begging for him to fill you up, not a single other thought in your head. later, still filming, he thumbs away the saliva at the corner of your mouth; he kisses you and asks if you’re okay.

food play with tamaki, who eagerly gobbles strawberries off your tits, or the whipped cream designs all over your pelvis. even after your skin is free from all the sweetness or its residue, he licks you hungrily, then starts to bite hickeys into your skin. he blushes when you pinch one of his sensitive ears between your fingers and give it a tug — “tamaki, put your tongue to good use and eat me out.”

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