Telling Your Sub To Keep Their Eyes Open While You Fuck Them Has Gotta Be The Hottest Thing Ever, Saying

Private Lessons Part 3: Gratitude

Kinks: Bondage, oral sex, kitty pet name, DDLG (NOT ageplay), D/s dynamic

Okay, guys. This was a lot of work and I am super proud of it. Holy cow. I about cried when I finished. I’m so invested in this story that I commissioned the wonderful Cosmicacorasa to make the cover. Her drawing, my coloring, and another friend’s handwriting because mine is truly heinous.

I’ll be honest, I am now fully in love with this story since the interest made me want to really put my heart in it. I can’t promise this officially but I want to release a new chapter every two weeks, with tiny “extras” in between. 

Please consider donating to Ko-Fi so I can continue to pay Cosmicamorosa for her awesome work and maybe get myself some Starbucks T^T

https://ko-fi.com/lemonlordleah

To look at Cosmic’s stuff or commission her, check out:

https://twitter.com/cosmicamorosa?s=09

@katsukisprincess​ @secondhand-trash​ @shinsouzone​ @dabis-azure-songbird​

@voidsorceress​

Private Lessons Part 3: Gratitude 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you repaid my generosity?” 

Aizawa’s fingers gingerly caressed your cheek, leaving little jolts of electricity zipping down your sides. The affectionate gesture melted you, eyelids fluttering as the pleasant tingles sent goosebumps flashing across your skin. You turned and kissed his palm, nudging against it before staring up at him through your lashes.

Keep reading

Where’s My Language App? [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: Where’s My Language App? [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: You don’t know who he is. You don’t even know what he’s saying.

Just a short lil thing inspired by some recent posts from @stupid-sloot-headcanons​ on a darling with a language barrier.

Word Count: 1722

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, English-speaking reader/language barrier

You don’t know who he is. You don’t know why he took you. You don’t even know what he’s saying. Not that he’s said all that much since you woke up in a dimly lit room, arms bound in front of you tightly with rope that has gone from itchy to uncomfortable and now bordering on painful as your circulation has waned.

It’s been… three days? Four? You’re not sure. There’s nothing to accurately measure time with. Only the comings and goings of the man who kidnapped you, which don’t seem marked by any particular time of day, give you any sense of time passing.

Keep reading

Yandere Mr Compress (Part 1?)

My first ever fanfiction, enjoy and please let me know if you want more! I may be continuing this.

TW Kidnapping

—————————————————————————————————-

It starts off very innocent. You’re walking back to your apartment after a long day at work and you find a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep. Puzzled, but somewhat excited, you pick them up and take them inside, setting them on your kitchen counter. You check the card “Your beauty is like the waves of the ocean, relentless, wondrous, and potentially disastrous to a poor, lost soul like mine.” It isn’t signed. You could, of course, take this note the wrong way, how could beauty be disastrous? But you figure it just came from an especially stricken admirer. You haven’t had an admirer since high school, how could you not find it sweet? Smiling, you set the card to the side and arrange the flowers on your dinner table. It’s a nice gesture, you assure yourself.

A few days pass and you’re unconcerned about this “admirer”. In fact, it puts a little pep in your step, so to speak. So far, you’ve received the flowers, a teddy bear, a box of chocolates, and of course the usual unsigned notes. Nothing too strange or alarming. But today was a little different. You come home to find a small red box waiting for you. You take it inside, eagerly rip it open, and find a gold necklace with a heart pendant. Your stomach drops a little. This is expensive. Not only that, but you were just eyeing it the other day, thinking about buying it for yourself for your birthday next week. But it’s not like anyone would have noticed that, right? Whoever the admirer is, he must have just seen it and figured it would be nice, right? You set it aside, pour yourself a glass of wine, and put it out of your mind.

The week passes without any more gifts. You’re a little disappointed, but also somewhat relieved. Maybe the admirer just lost interest. Anyway, it’s your birthday and you’re going out tonight, so you’re excited. You go on your usual lunch break to your usual coffee shop, order your usual cappuccino extra foam, and walk outside. You always take an alley back to work, it’s quick and it’s not even a dangerous area, there are heroes everywhere. You’re so absorbed in thinking about your work, the proposal is due today, you don’t even notice the man standing in the shadows with a Rorschach mask and yellow trench coat. But his voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re not wearing it.”

You stop in your tracks. “E-excuse me?” you ask, without turning around.

“The necklace.”

Your heart stops.

“You haven’t worn it at all. I thought you’d like it. I saw you looking at it and smiling.”

Run. You have to run. Or call for a hero, just DO something. You open your mouth, but by the time you even think to scream for help, you’re breathing in a chemical-soaked rag. And you’re out.

—————————————————————————————————-

When you wake up, you have a headache. You don’t really remember what happened, did you have a bad dream? Did you end up going out with your friends? You look around for some water, aspirin… your phone? Anything? Your mind finally clears and you realize, this is not your room. The bed is huge, probably a king. The sheets are regal, red satin with a maroon fleur de lis pattern. Where the fuck are you? You begin to panic and try to get up, before realizing you’ve been tied to the dark, oak bed frame. Shit.

The events of earlier today begin to return to you. The coffee, the alleyway, the man. He was the one. The admirer. He WAS watching you. You look around frantically, looking for anything to cut the restraints. The room offers no solution. No way out. You can feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes as the bedroom door opens.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn your head to meet the voice, a tall man wearing an orange button up shirt with a bolo tie, black vest, and black dress pants. Even after having the audacity to kidnap you, he still hides his face underneath a black balaclava mask.

“I do apologize for the restraints, but I’m afraid I just can not let you run off. Not when I’ve gone to all this trouble to acquire you.”

“Acquire me?” you spit. “What am I, a Picasso?”

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, like you’re on stage at open mic night. “A Picasso? Oh dear, no, you are so much more beautiful than that.”

You blush, despite yourself, but continue to glare at the man. Who does he think he is? You don’t expect a real answer, but you do ask him, “Who are you?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners?” He says with a smile. He flourishes his hand down into a deep bow, “Some call me Mr. Compress, but you, my dear, may call me Atsuhiro.”

im at my sexiest when im wearing all my rings & my multiple earrings clink together when i take a step

Folks announcing they're leaving Tumblr because they're unhappy with the Twitter clone dashboard on desktop. (I don't blame you, it's broken af.) Meanwhile, the day this hellsite finally does close, staff are going to have to pry me out of the air vents like a rabid raccoon that's adapted to survive on drinking air conditioning coolant and whatever trash is left lying around in the breakroom.

hi hello m also here to leave a smol hc for your event ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

nanami who frequents a specific bakery, tells everyone that it’s for this new stuffed pastry he likes when they ask, but little do they know that his favorite pastry is the new ‘n sweet little baker in town that he personally gets to stuff<33 - 🍡

nanamin's guilty pleasure

400 follower event entry #1

pairing: nanami kento x reader

genre: smut

warnings: f!reader. age gap. smut! semi-public (bakery backroom). sloppy quickie. creampie. slight!breeding kink. pet name (baby). slight!cumplay.

"hey, nanamin," gojo calls after his blonde colleague, eyes training on the latter as he sits behind a desk, "what do you like so much about that bakery?"

nanami's head lifts up, glancing at gojo who's so comfortably leaning against the doorframe, and he knows that his coworker can't see the irritation in his eyes behind his glasses, but he wishes he could.

"just curious," gojo chuckles, "i stopped by the other day, and it doesn't seem all that interesting to –"

"pastries," nanami replies, cutting the other male short, and the lie slips off his tongue so well, like he's practiced it a thousand times, "stuffed pastries are my… guilty pleasure."

stuffed pastries. sure. the pastries are good, great even – but the pastries are nothing compared to you, when you're bent over and dripping with his cum over in the bakery's back room.

he's got two fingers – index and middle – shoved into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue and vibrating as you mewl and groan with every delicious thrust of his hips into yours, every rut of his aching cock into your plush heat.

"feels so good for me," he praises you, and you try to smile around his fingers, blissed out and so grateful to be his fuck-toy, to help him through his daily frustrations. you're whining, tears streaming down your pretty face and dripping off your chin and onto his warm hand that holds your face in place.

"mmmh – 'namin, s'good!"

you're slurring his name, spewing absolute nonsense as you clench around his length and drip down into the dainty lace panties that dangle around your thighs, panties you bought to show off to him. he's sweating more than he sweats in battle as he fucks into you, groaning with every time your walls contract around him, and you whimper incoherently as he fucks you stupid. he can feel every flutter of your walls, every squeeze that means you're getting a little closer, and he ruts harder and harder against that good, sweet spot that makes you cry out and see stars.

"c'mon, baby," he urges you weakly, because he knows you're so, so close, and he knows he is, too, and he's praying you'll cum around his cock before he cums inside of you, "cum for me, know you want to, can feel it."

"w'nna cum, 'namin, w'nna cum s'bad – oh, fuck, please, please, please, lemme cum!"

you yelp, choking as his huge hand wraps around your throat, tugs you up higher and bullies his hard cock deeper into you, fucking you harder and faster, chasing the high that he can feel building up in his belly, and you're gasping and whimpering as your back hits his chest, head buried in his shoulder, and his heavy balls slap against your clit with every rut.

"so good for me," nanami whispers, words of praise sending waves of pleasure all the way through your slicked-up cunt that squelches with every thrust, the sounds and smells of sex occupying each and every one of your senses, "gonna fill you up as a reward, baby, nice and full of my cum."

the waves are crashing harder, the pleasure hitting you over and over, taking over your vision and sending your eyes rolling back into your head, and you squeal –

"ooh, f-fuck, 'namin –"

and then the bough breaks, your two-man ship colliding with the shore and shattering on impact, and you're gaping like a fish out of water, mouth open in a silent scream – and as you cum, cunt fluttering around him and milking him for all he's worth, so does he; spurts of pearly white cum shooting into your pussy and dripping, lewd squelching sounds filling the room, as he thrusts into you, fucking you through your orgasm and gently pressing you down on the break table before you, drowning in your whines.

"f-fuck," you whimper out, and nanami chuckles as he waits for your cunt to stop clenching around him, waits for you to breathe evenly, before he slowly pulls his cock out of your cunt – and then he stares.

the sight is enough to make him hard all over again, watching your cunt flutter, dripping his cum so lewdly, and he can't help running a finger down your slit, collecting the cum and using a single digit to push the sticky mess back into you.

"n-no, 's sore, 'namin –"

"i know, baby, i know," he chuckles, leaning down to tug your panties back up your thighs, "can't help it, 's so cute, hmm?"

you chuckle at the sweetness of his tone, glance up weakly to see him staring down at you the same way as he adjusts his pants, buckles his belt, and he smiles softly, whispers hoarsely, "need a coffee?"

"that would be nice, yeah," you say meekly, and he nods. "coffee machine's –"

"in the front, i know," nanami chuckles, reaching for his glasses that he keeps in his blazer pocket, "not our first rodeo."

you giggle at that, thank him quietly as he helps you stand up straight, kisses your forehead, and gently sits you down on a chair. you watch him leave the backroom with his shirt untucked, looking oh-so untidy, and you smile tenderly.

nanami, however, enters the front room and stills as he stands behind the counter. his mouth goes dry, and he frowns.

"stuffed pastries," gojo, leaning against the counter with a wide, devilish grin on his face, "i get it now."

bunny's taglist: @bihwhatever2 @mssuguru @feral-creep @thechroniclesofawriter @xsmilesx @amethyst-bunny @kageyama-i-want-tobiors

hi i live for your writings and ily <33 anyways can you please write something about hard!dom geto? this man has been living in my head for months and i ca't get enough of him. thanks!!

this geto is very mean i apologise

reblogs and comments are much appreciated / my jjk masterlist

running your mouth - geto x fem!reader (3.2k)

you violate the terms of the agreement you and geto have during a meeting, and that means that he gets to punish you.

warnings: not sfw. afab reader, fem pronouns. dom/sub relationship, degradation, spanking, impact play, pussy spanking, blowjobs, light choking, use of words like ‘whore’ and ‘slut’, power imbalance, no aftercare. 

It’s easy to slip up when somebody is watching you and waiting for it to happen.

For you, it’s a small mistake – you’re never supposed to interrupt Geto, but he’d thrown out somebody’s name in one of the meetings between his commanders and himself and gotten it wrong, and you’d gently corrected it. Geto’s eyes had flown over to you, dark and sharp – and he’d closed them, tipped his head to the side, and said;

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you!” A smile on his face. It hadn’t alerted anybody else in the room to how he was feeling, but you’d felt it travel down your spine like a cool fingertip. That smile, that light lilt in his dark voice – those were promises for later on tonight, and you squeeze your thighs together under the table as you think about how he’ll punish you this time.

Because the truth is that both you and Suguru Geto know that it’s not important if he remembers the names of unimportant monkeys. Both you and Suguru Geto know that your arrangement means you stick to the rules that he gives you, and if you don’t stick to them, he gets to punish you any way that he sees fit. Both you and Suguru Geto, then, know that you slipped up on purpose because you wanted him to punish you.

That makes you a brat.

And if there’s one thing Geto enjoys, it’s taming unwieldy little brats exactly like you and reminding you exactly who your master is.

He leaves you waiting in his bedroom for half an hour longer than he said he would, until you can feel anticipation fizzing in every inch of you, your legs bouncing on the floor where you’re sat on the chair by his desk. The sound of the door handle being turned makes heat spark low in your stomach, your heart skip a beat – and there he is, as handsome and unruffled as ever as he walks into the room and simply looks at you for a moment.

There’s disappointment on his face, his mouth pulled into a sneer as he heaves a dark sigh that seems to rattle through your bones.

“Oh, darling,” he says, pulling the word out slow and drawling. “What am I supposed to do with you? You know the rules. I know you know them.”

You blink innocently up at him, your heart pounding. He raises one thin eyebrow before he points at the floor in front of him.

“Clothes off,” he demands. “On your knees. You should already be there, really, begging for my forgiveness-- but you like being punished, don’t you?” He tuts, sighs, shakes his head. “Insatiable little slut. Come on. Hurry up.”

You stand up, quickly, your fingers trembling as you go to pull off your clothing. Through your clumsy movements, Geto’s mouth remains set in a straight line, his eyes half-lidded. He’s thrown off the robes that he wears whilst playing his part – now, he’s in comfortable dark sweatpants and a shirt that clings tightly to a surprisingly muscled abdomen. You try not to stare, though you always want to when he’s like this. Unguarded. Comfortable. Utterly in control--

“If you don’t get here soon,” he says, a warning tone to his voice, “I’ll add ten strikes to your punishment.”

Your underwear goes last, your fingers inexpertly pulling down straps and unclipping the hooks and eyes so that you can finally get on the floor. The floorboards are hard and uncomfortable beneath your bare knees, but you don’t complain as you put your hands on top of your thighs and look up at him, awaiting his next order.

Geto leaves the threat of what he’s going to ask next hanging in the air for a few moments as he enjoys the sight of you, helpless and docile at his feet. A hand reaches down and gently strokes over your cheek, thumb brushing your lip – and then, he hooks his thumb between your lips and forces your mouth open.

“That position suits you better than one at my side,” he sighs. “And if you hadn’t forced my hand, perhaps I’d have just used your mouth . . . well. There’s no point dwelling on the past.”

He steps away, leaving you mouth open and naked on the floor. He hums under his breath as he opens a drawer by his bed, as he pulls out – you feel your face go hot.

“Don’t move,” he says, without turning around. “Not a muscle.”

He considers the belt for a moment, and then the paddle, and finally the flogger, laying them out on his bed, tipping his head to the side once more as he decides between them. You can feel slickness pooling between your thighs, but you tense your muscles not to move no matter how much you want to squeeze them together and seek the friction you’re desperate for.

“No,” he says, in the end. “I think I’ll use my hand. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror for the next few days and see handprints shaped like mine and remember exactly what I can do to you.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and crosses his knees, elegant and at home with the situation.

He crooks a finger towards you, giving you one simple command;

“Crawl.”

You swallow as you lean forward on your hands and knees, moving towards him agonisingly slowly. You know he’ll notice if you move in a way that purposely lets your thighs rub together, and you know you’ll be punished for it – but with Geto watching your every move with those sharp, dark eyes, you can’t resist. He lets out an impatient sigh.

“Five extra,” he says. “Don’t be a greedy whore.”

The way he says it makes you whine, and he shakes his head as you finally reach him again. You don’t move, yet. Geto taps his knee.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” He asks, off-handedly. “I’ve done this to you enough times. You just keep making me correct you.” A sigh as you settle yourself over his lap on the bed, your stomach pressing against an obvious stiffness in Geto’s pants. He doesn’t react to it. He’s a master of his own control.

One of his big hands takes a generous squeeze of the softness of your ass, clicking his tongue.

“Pity,” he says. “You’d been doing so well. I hope this will teach you a lesson.”

And he hits you for the first time. You didn’t even hear the displacement of air as he drew back, and you jolt at the red-hot shocks of pain that radiate from where his palm has slapped against you.

“Count,” he growls, low. “And remember to be polite.”

“Y-yes!” You babble, your head already full of cotton wool. “O-one! Thank you, Master--”

(Geto likes ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’. In punishments, he prefers the latter, and you can never get over the sound of it issuing forth from your mouth. It feels so good. So right, to be beneath and below him like this. To have dedicated every moment to what Geto wants from you.)

He lets out a little, amused noise, but does not call you anything so louche as a ‘good pet’. He’s always rough with you. Praise is few and far between, and when it does come out of his mouth it’s only after he’s fucked you so hard you can no longer even gather the strength to stand.

The second slap, on the other cheek, stings worse than the first – Geto’s strength is occasionally astounding, his palm flat and hard against your softness.

“T-two! Thank you, Master--”

You do your best to keep track of the thick and fast spanks, though Geto leaves you bare moments in between them, and your mind feels fuzzy with how hot your ass is under the rough treatment. After the twelfth spank, two of his fingers delve between your thighs, pulling open the lips of your cunt so he can look at it. You receive a sigh.

“You’re dripping,” he says. “You’re a shame to yourself. You can’t even take a punishment without needing to be fucked, darling?”

“P-please,” you whimper, bucking backwards and hoping that he’ll give you some relief from the tight ball of tension that you feel like you have trapped between your legs. “N-need--”

“I know exactly what you need,” he says. “Now. Come on. You earned twenty five strikes, and I’m not even halfway through – grit your teeth and take your punishment. I’d tell you to be good, but . . .” Another open-palmed spank, harder than the others, and your count and thanks come out a garbled mess. “Both of us know that’s out of the question, don’t we?”

You earn another five strikes for losing track at twenty three, until your entire ass feels like it’s on fire and you have to press your forehead to the cool bed-covers beneath them and try and control your breathing. You’re a mess – trembling thighs, your slick all over your legs and definitely running down to stain the fabric of what Geto’s wearing. You’re absolutely aching to have something inside of you. You feel so empty that you feel like if Geto doesn’t fuck you, you’ll die.

“Master,” you whimper, as you’re permitted to dismount his lap, and you’re deposited on your knees with Geto back above you. He raises his eyebrows, running a hand through his silky dark hair as he regards you – the pout on your face, the tear-trails that have stained your cheeks from his rough spanking. “Please--”

You rub your cheek against his knee, still looking up at him. His lips turn up at the corners, a wicked glint in his eye that makes you squirm – and then, regret squirming for how the heels of your feet dig into your poor tender flesh.

“You’re being inarticulate,” he tells you, with a small smirk. Your chin is once again jerked, Geto leaning his elbows on his knees so his face is closer to yours but still above you. “Tell me exactly what you want, if you can get your pretty little head to think for once in your life.”

You swallow. His eyes, trained on you, are so intense. Everything about the way he sits and handles you whispers that he’s in control, that he knows what he’s doing, that you’re the unimportant person in the room and you ought to know your place. You get a mean little jerk as your mouth falls open.

“Well?” Geto’s voice is a purr. “Come on. Your head can’t be as empty as all that, surely?”

Empty.

“Please—” you say, again. “Please, it hurts, I wanna--”

That’s right. The ache between your thighs, where nothing is buried and you would really like Geto’s cock. You look up at him imploringly. He sticks his lower lip out in a mocking pout.

“Oh?” He asks. “You think you deserve to be fucked after the way you acted out there? Correcting me, interrupting me, in front of everyone? Like you know anything?”

“Please,” you repeat, again. You can feel the throb between your legs in time with your heartbeat. “Sorry, ‘m sorry, Master—”

He sighs.

“Sorry’s not good enough.” He tells you. He lets go of your chin, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants to push the fabric down along with the underwear he’s wearing, until he’s in front of you with his cock unmistakably hard. “Show me you mean it, if you want me to fuck you.”

You nod feverishly, already leaning forward and opening your mouth. You envelope the head of his cock with your lips, your tongue brushing the slit and greedily lapping at the glistening beads of pre-come that have gathered on his tip. Geto doesn’t so much as sigh – instead, one of his hands fastens around the back of your head as a warning that he could just start fucking your face whenever he wants to.

And you know from experience that he will, if he thinks you’re doing a bad job – and then, you’ll be being punished for two transgressions, and he’ll never give you what you want. You redouble your efforts. Tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft that always makes his grip tighten, just a little, imperceptible. Hollowing your cheeks and taking him further down your throat than you’d ordinarily be comfortable with, just so he knows how hard you’re trying to please him.

When you look up at him with your lashes coated in little trembling diamonds, you see that his eyes are half-lidded and he’s looking at you.

“What are you looking at?” He murmurs, softly. “Aren’t you trying your hardest?”

You immediately make a noise to protest that, returning to sucking his cock with earnest. Geto continues to talk, his voice all deep and lovely, a baritone that makes you squirm like nothing else.

“See? It’s so much better when your mouth is occupied, isn’t it? I should have you like this in meetings, instead. Nobody needs to know the thoughts and opinions of a needy little slut like you when your mouth was made for sucking cock, do they?” He keeps his voice polite, despite the sharp barbs that come spilling forth every time his lips open. He’s well-mannered and cool in his temperament when he’s doing this to you. One could be forgiven for thinking from his tone that he was cooing something sweet--

“Harder.” Your head is pulled forward, practically choking you on his length until your eyes water and you feel drool drip down your chin. “Don’t dawdle. Suck it like you mean it.”

You close your eyes, trying to concentrate on nothing but the taste of Geto in your mouth and the way you have to stretch your lips around him, bobbing your head. You don’t want him to punish you again. You need him to fuck you. You practically choke on his cock with each desperate dip, the head of it hitting your throat – and then, you’re being dragged off, before he’s come.

Your entire body seizes up in excitement. If he hasn’t come down your throat and he’s still that hard, that means he has plans to come somewhere else, and you hope that it’s buried inside of you so deep that you can feel his heartbeat. He sees the hopeful look in your eyes and snorts in derision.

“Desperate,” he says to you. “You’re pathetic. You’re lucky that I prefer your tight little cunt to anything else. Maybe having to hold my come in your mouth for an hour or so would make you think before you went around opening it, hmm?”

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you say, in a rush. “I won’t do it again, please fuck me--”

“There it is again,” He sighs, hands falling behind him onto the bed. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

You clamp your lips shut, suddenly aware that your little outburst was not in the spirit of what Geto is trying to teach you. He stands, rolling his eyes.

“Get on the bed, then,” he says. “Legs spread wide.”

The position will hurt, even if the bedsheets are nicer than the floorboards on your poor, sore ass. But what it promises when you’re done is too much of a siren’s call for you to do anything but obey, your back hitting the mattress with a soft ‘whumph’ of air. You brace your feet on the edge of the bed, knees up, and display your sex for Geto. You can feel that you’re such a mess that you’re dripping, already making the bedsheets below you damp and sticky.

You’re expecting him to fuck into you, take hold of your legs and bend them against your chest and ram you until you can’t remember your own name, with that perfectly serene expression on his face. He’s done it enough times before.

You’re not expecting him to sink onto his own knees in order to bring his face closer to your dripping sex. You’re not expecting the way his eyes drink you in, not passing comment – you feel your hole flutter and clench in a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the inspection.

You dare to think, for one moment, that he might use his mouth on you – but in the end, he simply sighs, shaking his head.

“Disgraceful,” he tells you. “Do you think nice, well-behaved girls get wet when they’re spanked? Do you think their holes are this needy whilst they’re being punished?” He slides a finger through the slit, gathering the mess on the pad of his digit. He shows you the way it glimmers in the light to shame you, before he wrinkles his nose as he wipes it on your thigh. “You never learn your lesson, do you?”

“I do, I do, please--” Your voice is breathy and whiny.

“Five of them,” Geto says, mildly – and then he’s pulled his hand back and he’s given your exposed core a harsh slap.

Your hips rock backwards at the impact. It’s a mix between pleasure and pain – his hands finally touching where you’re needy and burning, but abusing how sensitive you are to any graze of his fingers. You whine into the ceiling, half-pain, half-enjoyment.

“That’s more like it,” Geto murmurs. “That sorry look. Cry for me.”

The second slap. This one is harder, and the noise makes you cringe – but it makes your hole clench, your heart skip a beat. You’re panting.

Third. Fourth. You’re crying as he pulls back for the fifth, your poor sensitive cunt unused to being treated so roughly – sure, Geto fucks into you like you’re nothing more than a sleeve for his cock, but he’s never done this before. The new sensation has you reeling.

Five. His palm is soaking wet with your own arousal, your chest heaving. He gets back onto his feet, wiping his slick hand on your bare skin once more. It’s embarrassing, how saturated the palm of his hand is with your slick. You feel so sore – you’re shivering, shaking, your mind hazy with the pain.

Geto’s fingers scoop you by the hips, nails digging into the earlier places he’d spanked on your ass so hard that you feel tears well in your eyes. Those bruises are still red-hot, and the feel of him has just reminded you of their pain. Your entire bottom half feels like it’s on fire.

Geto’s hard cock nudges the cleft between your lips, where the dull throb of pain hasn’t ceased.

He thrusts into you in one long, hard motion – his balls slapping against your ass with a noise that echoes in the room along with your cry. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts--

“What’s the matter?” He asks you, as he quickly slides into a punishing rhythm, letting the sharp jut of his hipbones add another layer of pain to the experience.  His fingers continue to flex, digging into the rapidly bruising area of his spanks with every slick glide of his cock. “I thought you wanted me inside of you?”

There was a mouse in the house

Haarlep x Female Tav and Raphael x Female Tav (kind of) | NSFW

Warnings: cunniligus, p in v sex, voyeurism kind of? So I have not been able to play this game yet but this man has possessed me and something happened and yeah. I am going purely off a couple of youtube videos, vibes and horniness. It all started when Haarlep said that the host of they body they use feels everything they are doing which obviously means Raphael was well aware of what was going on in the boudoir.

He felt it the moment she set foot into the House of Hope. His fist tightened around the glass of wine he was holding and his artfully designed smile turned brittle at the edges as he felt the not unremarkable wards around his sanctuary open for an unauthorised portal. The potential client he was currently entertaining was none the wiser to his sudden inattention but he had hardly been paying attention to their prattling to begin with. His little mouse had decided to bite the hand that would have so willingly fed it, if she had only agreed to his generous offer. He hated to admit it even now but her continued refusal to work with him, even when he had already offered her so much had stung. He had allowed his ill advised affection for this particular client to cloud his typically impeccable judgement and as he should have foreseen, it was now being thrown back in his face. 

There was only one thing she could possibly be after, that which he would have freely given, well not freely but for such a reasonable price. But his house was not so hospitable to intruders. There was time yet to finish his business here. It may not be the soul he wanted but it was a soul nonetheless. He refocuses his attention on the task at hand, carefully choosing his words as he weaves his web around the man sitting before him. It’s easy work so he has to try that little bit harder to temper the simmering rage that is growing inside him. But then it is done, business concluded and he can see to his little thieving mouse.

As he is preparing to travel he feels the first shiver run down his spine. Surely Haarlep was not entertaining when there was a little thief on the loose and yet there was no mistaking that feeling. He pauses in the doorway of his rented room, uncharacteristically affected by his Incubus’ antics but something tells him to wait. There were only a few plausible possibilities for who could be the target of his servants attentions but before he can squash it his traitorous mind informs him exactly who he wants it to be. As soon as her name flits across his mind his body begins to betray him. 

His desperation for her to sign his contract, become one of his souls, well deep down he had been aware that this masked a much deeper, more primal want. How he wanted to own her body and mind as much as he craved ownership of her soul. Better not to dwell on those things, he had told himself, over and over. His needs were simple and really he could only rely on himself so why even risk letting anyone else close. But as he succumbs to the ghostly feeling of his body being touched by another he knows he is at the brink of his undoing. 

With a snap of his fingers his clothes are gone and as he falls back onto the suddenly convenient bed in his rented rooms, he concentrates on the vague tingling caresses in a way he hasn’t indulged in such a long time, until they begin to feel almost tangible. It seems his incubus is taking his time with this one, feeling and tasting as much as he can. He feels soft warm skin against his tongue, the taste unfortunately alluding him but he can almost imagine it as he recalls the spicy earthy scent that lingers around her every time they meet. In his hand he feels a soft breast cupped in his palm, a pebbled nipple circled by the pad of his thumb. He yearns to pinch it between his fingers, pull and twist it until she was gasping her pleasure into his mouth but he is restricted by whatever it is Haarlep choses to do next and when he feels her other perfect nipple against his tongue he can’t suppress a groan.

The floodgates were opened as his phantom teeth nibbled at her, every thought he had buried about her ample bosom, always so perfectly displayed in her coquettishly revealing armour, situated just so to tease and tantalise. He had never allowed the thought to linger previously, as well as any potential attraction she may have had towards him but now, knowing that she had requested Haarlep to take his form was confirmation enough. He could picture her as easily as he could feel her, she would be completely nude, the incubus would have insisted, spread out against his crimson sheets, her skin glowing in a beautiful contrast. He would find every mark and blemish on her left by any other inferior being and cover them with his own, made by his claws or his teeth until there was no doubt who she belonged to. He only hoped that Haarlep mapped her body as carefully as he needed so he could explore them all at his leisure. The smooth expanses of skin passing over his hands and lips filled him with hope that that was exactly what was happening at his house. 

He was more aroused then he could remember but he needed more even as he was hesitant to take things further himself. His cock even in his human shell stood erect between his legs, untouched though it was, and he had to fist his hands into the coarse sheets below him to avoid ending this encounter before it had truly begun. He felt his tongue trace what he only could guess was her belly button and his heart began to race at the destination the incubus was journeying towards. He settles back against the pillows as he imagined himself settling between her legs, his fingers spreading open her sweet cunt which would be already glistening with the slick evidence of her arousal just tempting him to taste. He feels her folds against the flat of his tongue, his own watering mouth simulating her wetness for him. He doesn’t need to but he finds himself simulating the movements he can feel, rolling his tongue against thin air as he would if he had her there to feast on himself.  

His hands must leave her thighs because he is all of a sudden blindsided by the vice like heat around his fingers. How excited she must be for the incubus’ thick fingers to sink into her with so little resistance although her cunt doesn’t seem to want to relinquish them as she clenches tight around them as they slide out of her. So close, she must be so close to cuming for him and he writhes, desperate to hear the sounds she would make as he pushed her to the point of oblivion. How her laboured breathing might feel against his heated skin, how she might moan or gasp or scream his name in her ecstasy. The feel of her around his fingers and tongue is suddenly gone, ripping him gasping from his fantasy and he feels bereft, sucking in heaving breaths as he remembers where he is but he is not left adrift for long, his hands finding contact with her soft skin once again. The feel of her grounds him even as the real sensation belongs to his incubus. In his fevered arousal he struggles to catch up with the pair of them, heated hands grasping at his shoulders, frantic lips biting at his own, a strong leg hooking over his hip pulling him in as close as he can get.   

It’s only when he feels the head of his cock lining up to her entrance that everything comes back into focus. He knows Haarlep and he knows exactly how he will tease her now he has her exactly where he wants her. He feels the drag of her folds over the head of his cock coating himself in her slick and stroking against her clit. He hopes she is begging now, begging to be filled by him. He would keep her waiting too, until there were tears falling down her cheeks and she could do nothing but whimper his name. He feels the tip breach her and then stop. He can’t bring himself to move as he waits with bated breath for her to be forced to take him fully and he waits and waits. He feels the spasms in his abdomen as everything is pulled taught and he spares a thought as he often does for his incubus’ impossible will power as he resists the temptation of her clenching hole. 

He begins to move so slowly, easing his thick cock into her inch by inch. Every time he thrusts he pushes a little deeper. She opens up for him so beautifully and he yearns to feel how wet she is for himself. He can’t help thrusting in time with Haarlep as he imagines her there with him now, riding his needy cock and having to work her way down his length until she could take all of him. He is straining against his horribly empty bed when his cock is finally sheathed in her soft wet heat and even the ghost of the sensation is enough to finish him. His climax hits him like a wall, muscles clenching as the pleasure shudders through his body. He arches off the bed as he spills his seed across his own chest, too high on his pleasure to even begin to feel shame at finishing untouched.  

He should move, he knows this but his limbs feel heavy and light simultaneously and he wishes to bask in this feeling for a moment longer. It is as he catches his breath he realises that the portal his little thief had used to breach his walls has closed. How curious. He acknowledged that he had lain here perhaps a little too long but surely not long enough for them to fight their way through the house and claim their stolen prize. Perhaps this little adventure of hers needn’t be the end of their game. He sits up preparing to rebuild his composure and return to assess the damage her and her party of misfits had left in their wake but he can’t keep the smile from his face. ‘Oh little mouse, you know not what you have started.’

Yooooo that dark Mic anon might be onto smthn...u just know he’d get off to the thought of flipping up his favorite student’s skirt and bending her over his desk while she calls him Mr Yamada

The Mr. Yamada tho ♡♡♡♡

That makes my coochie flutter so much ♡♡♡♡♡

Hold on just a second. Just one itty bitty second. I just- I need to-

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He thinks about it more often than he should.

He likes to think that you think about it, too.

His favorite little student- so easily flustered and so very sweet, so eager for praise and such a good little girl that gives it all for her beloved teacher. You’re so fuckin’ cute- a real sweetheart- and, god, Yamada loves sweethearts- you’re his true weakness with your innocent face and shy smiles, your soft giggles and sparkling eyes. He loves you and he loves how good you look in your uniform. He loves how soft your thighs look and how hard you work to please him, how you savor his compliments with an eagerness that can’t be faked.

Such a good girl. So genuine. So pure.

He’d love to see the faces you make while grinding on his cock. He’d love to see how sweet you’d look with teary eyes dazed with pleasure and your lips trembling with anxious desire.

He’d love to bend you over his desk and flip your pleated skirt up, get a real good glimpse of your cotton panties.

You’d like it, he knows- you’d like the attention from your sensei and you’d like him teasing you over your wet little pussy and your soft, whiny gasps of “Mr. Yamada!” You’d like him eating your tiny little cunt and you’d like him stuffing you with his cock, making you cum and filling it up and fixing your pretty little panties. You’d like having to sit in your own come for the rest of the school day and you’d like whimpering and rubbing your thighs together, trying not to pant as you wait out the time until you can suck his cock like a good little student and let him fuck and fill you all over again.

A grunt leaves Yamada and he arches up into his fist, bites back a groan as he fucks his hand to the thought of his most favorite little student.

He gets so close to cumming thinking about your tight little peach of a cunt and he gets so close to getting off to your sweet whimpers and mewls as the thought of turning you into his darling little slut.

He gets so close but then-

The bell.

A snarl of a sigh leaves Yamada and he huffs to himself, stuffs his cock back into his pants and wipes his hand down his jacket. He pouts as students begin to file back into the classroom, but a small smile melts it away when he alights his eyes on you.

Yamada licks his lips as he watches you sit down, as he catches a flash of striped panties as you cross your legs.

Maybe he’ll keep you after class today...he knows you wouldn’t mind some one on one time with Mister Yamada.

Lips twitching with a smirk, Yamada picks up and his chalk and begins to teach.

Am I the only one obsessed with daddy yanderes having a darling who turns into a total subby good boy/girl when their yandere starts to praise them? Like not even with sex per say, just with things in general.

Tw: heavy dubcon, dd/lg like dynamics

Like Daddy Aizawa trying you get you to drink some water for him. He knows you’re just trying to be defiant out an crankiness which he is sure will eventually go away, so he is patient with you. 

He pulls you onto his lap, easily able to keep you there with just one arm wrapped around your waist. Putting an glass up to your lips, he tells you, “be good for me and take a drink.”

You scoff and jerk your head away, crossing your arms with an pout which only makes Aizawa gush inside from how adorable you are. Of course, he doesn’t let you know this (you might think it’s okay to be a brat if he did), so he sets the glass down on the coffee table while letting out an sigh before putting all his attention onto you.

“Don’t you wanna be good for daddy?” He purrs into your ear, gently running his hand up and down your thigh in a comforting manner. “I know you hate it, but you have to drink it. I can’t let my kitten get sick because I’m neglecting their needs.”

You start to squirm, his soft and deep voice lulling you into a state of security, but you keep up the act. Which only makes him lay the sweet affection on thick. He tilts your head up to capture your lips in a kiss and forces a hand between your thighs to cup your sex. You whimper and try prying his hand away yet you find yourself kissing back back, conflicted with everything due to you wanting to run while at the same time wanting to be touched.

Just when your walls have broken apart and you’re humping his hand like a needy slut, he pulls away. Keeping an arm around your shoulders and leaning over to grab the glass once more, bringing it up to your panting mouth.

“Drink.” You grab ahold of the glass with shaky hands, taking a few sips just like he asked. “There you go, I’m so proud of my good kitten, doing exactly what I asked you to do. Such a pretty baby for daddy. Now can you drink a little more for me? I want to see at least half gone, okay?”