Yandere Hizashi Yamada

i'm not just an "apologist" for that fictional character i'm his defence lawyer

Overstimulation with Vampire Gojo - Kinktober Day Nine

Satoru Gojo x Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: You stop by to pick Gojo up on your way to Shoko's Halloween party and, when the vampire invites you inside, things take an interesting turn. One you've been pretending for years that you never wanted. One he's been waiting years for.

Warnings: overstimulation, gojo being a total fuckin dominant asshole, teasing, dirty talk, gojo makes you beg...a lot, masturbation, fingering, mention of edging, "ice play" (except it's really just gojo's cold fingers & cock cause dude's a vampire), pussy slapping, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Vampire!Gojo felt more fitting for the Halloween vibes. I also had way more fun writing Gojo being an asshole than I expected. Anyways, Happy Kinktober, I hope y'all like the fic!

Since you’d met him, it’d been all fang talk. At first, you tuned it out. He wasn’t the first vampire you’d interacted with. And given his power status, giving him any satisfaction in having any reaction beyond disinterest was off the table. So you ignored him. You ignored the way those sharp fangs glinted in the moonlight as his mouth tipped into a mischievous smirk. Especially the way his eyes sparkled as he goated you, trying to pull even the tiniest reaction from you.

Because he knew, beneath the surface, behind the eye-rolls and annoyed scoffs, you were intrigued. It came in an accelerated heart rate. Increased breathing. Dilated pupils. The way your breath hitched when he got close. How clearly your mind would wander when he’d tell you he could make you feel things you could only ever imagine.

Pure euphoria.

“Pretty sure I’ve felt that before,” you’d responded as nonchalantly as possible. Gojo simply laughed.

You’d been bitten before; you knew one of the side effects. You’d felt it, and Gojo knew that.

“But not from me,” he whispered. “Not from the strongest.”

You’d waved your hand in the air and ignored him, just as always. Just as you always would.

But the bastard, the amused, smug bastard wore you down. He was biding his time, waiting with hidden patience until you snapped. Watching with those eyes that bottled the summer sky and endless stars as you waited outside his apartment in a vintage nightgown. White. Innocent. The feedee to the feeder. His idea. Then he could go to the costume party without having to disguise his fangs. It was the perfect plan. Until he opened the door dressed in a white shirt, half the buttons undone, chest exposed, and tight black pants that left nothing to the imagination. His head cocked to the side as your stare lingered, and he knew he had his claws in you.

And so did you.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“I thought it was humans who had to invite the vampires into their home?”

“It is.” He chuckled, standing aside, barely giving you enough room to enter. You had to brush against him in the process, bare skin on bare skin. He wasn’t nearly as cold as you expected him to be. His laugh deepened, and you involuntarily flushed.

The loose cotton garment sashayed around you as you stepped into Gojo’s apartment, turning to face him as soon as you were three steps inside. The door closed with a quiet click behind Gojo as he perused your body. His eyes roamed over you as if the nightgown had melted to your frame.

“So? What is it you wanted me to come in for?”

The vampire smirked as he sauntered over to his cellarette and pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. You crossed your arms. If you dilly-dallied, you’d never get to the party on time. That meant no wine.

Gojo seemed to read your expression.

“What? You worried about lowering your inhibitions around me?” He made a show of licking his fangs.

“I’m worried about being late to our friend’s party.”

Gojo dropped to his couch and poured one glass of wine. You followed suit. He shook the empty glass at you, and you simply held up your middle finger in response. A shrug later, and he had the bottle down on his coffee table next to the spare glass and lazily sipped the decadent drink. You frowned. You were going to be late.

“Really, Satoru, we’re going to be late.”

“Answer me one question.” He eyed his wine. “And then we’ll go.”

“What?”

“Why do you pretend to act so nonchalantly around me?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you realized Gojo had leaned towards you. You held your breath as he let the tips of his fangs poke out from his smile. You needed to put distance between you, but with the armrest behind you, you had nowhere to go. He dragged a single finger down your cheek, trailed it along your jaw, beneath your ear, all the way down until he reached your pulse point. Sharp nails dug into your thighs, and you realized they were your own.

“What do you mean?” Your voice was tighter than you’d hoped.

Gojo canted his head to the side, eyes fixed on your neck.

“Your heart is racing,” he whispered almost tenderly. “Are you nervous, (Y/N)?”

“No,” you answered too quickly.

“Do I scare you?”

Deep down, yeah, he scared you. He was an insanely powerful otherworldly being. On some level, of course he scared you. But your heart wasn’t hammering against your chest out of fear. Not even slightly. Or, at least, not fear of him. But the growing ache you were feeling for him? That was worrisome. Especially since that resolve you’d had for the last few years was finally starting to deteriorate.

“No.”

“Then what,” he murmured as he leaned in and you felt his breath tickle your neck, “has your heart beating so fast?”

You couldn’t stop the image of Gojo lying you back on his couch, body pinning yours against the couch cushions, and sinking his fangs into your neck. Just one of many fantasies that have played out consciously or subconsciously. Whether his hands roamed your body, his hips rolled between yours, there was always one thing in common: Gojo bit you.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t do the same thing you always did when you thought about that. You mentally cursed the cracks in your resolve as you lifted your hand to your mouth, gently touching your canines, wondering what Gojo’s felt like.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” His mouth grazed your ear, and you sucked in a harsh breath.

“We should get going, we’re going to be-”

“If you say late one more time, (Y/N), I swear I’m going to sink my fangs into you and suck you dry.”

Curse the image that his words made you think of. Curse the ache that it made you feel.

Curse the delay that it caused because Gojo jumped on it.

“Oh.” He sat his glass down and brought his other hand up to your jaw, leaning forward until his chest pressed against yours. “Is that something you’d like?”

“Gojo.” His name was a warning.

“Usually, you have some retort, some smart-ass remark.” He dropped his mouth to your neck and pressed a feather-light kiss to it. “But it appears you’ve gone tongue-tied.”

You wanted to pull away. You wanted to push him off, but in your attempt, all you managed to do was lift your hands. Because as soon as they touched him, as soon as you felt that solid chest beneath them, all you could do was ball that soft fabric up in your hands.

For the first time, you were utterly hopeless under Gojo’s touch, and he knew it.

“Admit it.” He only hesitated a moment before you felt the faint scrape of his fangs against your skin. “You’ve been wanting me to bite you since we’ve met.”

And, damn it, you shuddered. Of all things you could’ve done, your hands tightened, your breathing grew heavy, and you shuddered.

“Party,” you blurted out.

“(Y/N).”

If Gojo’s name was a warning, yours was a promise. A promise of what he’d been saying since you’d met. A promise of pure euphoria.

“Tell me what you want.” A hand dropped to your waist and jerked you forward. Your legs parted around him. “And I’ll give it to you. You just have to tell me.”

You groaned, more frustrated than anything else. You’d already embarrassed yourself. You’d let him get this far. Fuck. Purely out of spite, you said nothing. Gojo had already gained too much satisfaction from this. From you finally starting to lose yourself in him. You wished you hadn’t accepted Gojo’s invitation to enter his apartment. That you’d bullied him until he gave in, joined your side, and the two of you made your scheduled appearance at Shoko’s Halloween party. You would’ve greeted your friends, maybe given in and danced with Gojo, gotten a tad too handsy after having a shot or two, and then gone your separate ways.

Instead, you were clutching onto his shirt like your life depended on it, trying to ignore just how fast your heart was beating--trying to slow it down, knowing Gojo was aware of it too. You shouldn’t have sat on his couch in his too-cold apartment with the last sip of blood-red wine left in his glass. You shouldn’t have thrown away years of pretending because this was going to change everything. Not just you wanting him to bite you. Just giving away that you wanted him to. That was already an arsenal accidentally gifted to the vampire. And he was always going to use it.

You had to get it together.

“The last thing I want is for you to bite me,” you spat.

But you didn’t move.

In fact, you were pretty sure you sighed as Gojo shifted until his mouth hovered over yours. His mouth that looked so damn soft. So damn tempting. Like the forbidden fruit, the Devil whispering in your ear, telling you to just take a tiny little taste. No. To let him take a taste. Let him feast. Let him take.

But you’d never admit it. Not to him. You’d never do that. But you didn’t push him away when he hovered there. And you certainly didn’t fight nearly hard enough when you felt yourself pressing up until your lips met his. You felt weightless as your mouths met. The kiss was the closest to chaste you’d imagined Gojo could muster.

He sighed against you, mouth parting just enough to tease what was going to come. He was restraining himself, barely able to hold back his grin as you held him against you, surely wrinkling his shirt. Then, when his own resolve crumbled, and your mind had just begun to process soft, delicious, addicting, he smiled, and you felt his fangs prick your lips.

If you’d known this was how good it felt to kiss Gojo, you would’ve done it ages ago.

And that thought grew tenfold when he let his grip slip, and he became hungry. Dominant. Determined. His teeth captured your bottom lip, tongue soothing the sting, as he tipped your head back. The hunger, it was like he’d been wanting this just as long as you had. Like he’d been waiting--praying, if vampires did that--for you to finally give in. You were sure you could’ve cracked a Dracula joke there, but all you could hear was Nanami’s monologues about Nosferatu, cinematic Dracula, and novel Dracula.

Gojo adjusted, tugging you onto his lap, legs splaying around him. Your head fell back as he kissed down your jaw, teasing your throat and lingering there, making your blood boil in all the best ways, and slowly undoing the tie of your nightgown. His slender fingers worked slowly, and you weren’t sure if it was to give you time to back out--which you knew was the smart decision, but since you were already in uncharted territory, you figured why not--or to drive you absolutely insane.

Most likely the latter.

His fingers grazed your chest, and you were thankful you’d decided to wear a bra. If you hadn’t, your chest would’ve given away just how needy you were. Although with all of Gojo’s keen senses and extraordinary abilities, the way he snickered as he kissed your neck told you that he was entirely clued in to how badly you wanted him.

“Let me touch you.” He toyed with the straps of your bra and pressed his hips up. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on for years.”

You, despite your common sense screaming at you to get up, nodded.

The groan of satisfaction and vindication that left the vampire grated on your ears, your nerves, your entire being. It was like you were drunk on him, and he hadn’t even done anything. You blamed the costume. Bastard donning some high-end version of a knock-off Dracula costume. Showed a little skin, wore some tight pants, flashed those fangs. You weren’t supposed to be this easy; you weren’t supposed to be like every other person who fawned over him.

But you hesitated. It was like you’d practically tilted your head to the side, brushed your hair away, and exposed your neck to the prick like a curious, aching dumbass you were. And he jumped on it. Pounced. You accidentally gave him an inch, and he was going to take all the miles he could. Run you ragged.

“Turn around.” You could feel his grin against your mouth and, just to spite him, you took your sweet time listening. Making sure to drag yourself over his lap in the process, rolling your hips to adjust, satisfied at the low grumble that escaped him.

But that only seemed to piss him off.

As soon as you situated yourself, his knees found themselves between yours, and he jerked your legs open. When your costume stopped him short, there was zero hesitation as he grabbed the thin fabric and tore a slit down the side. You blushed inadvertently at the action, cool air rushing your bare skin, and Gojo chuckled in your ear.

He kept your legs hooked open, holding you against him with an arm around your waist. His mouth danced over your neck, teeth caught your ear lobe, as his other hand fell between your legs. But there was no contact. He just hovered it there, the tips occasionally ticking your inner thigh. He hummed when he glanced over, eyeing your white lace underwear like you were a present waiting to be unwrapped.

“You wear those just for me?” He traced the delicate pattern of the lace, and you held your breath, trying to ignore how even just the faint touch ignited you.

“They were all I could wear with how thin the fucking costume is.”

“It’s funny,” he whispered. “They always have the maiden wear white in the movies. To symbolize innocence. Virginity of sorts before they’re bitten.”

You would’ve glared at him if you could’ve. But his fingers traded the feather-light touch that made heat pool between your legs for a pointed, purposeful one. Up and down over your cunt, sighing as he felt just how soaked you were. Your head fell back against his shoulder; each graze of your clit was agony. The momentary touch relieved the pressure only to double it when his fingers dipped lower once more. You tried to move your hips against him, chasing what he wasn’t giving you. And what was worse, you weren’t even aware that you were trying to do it until his hold tightened and he held you in place.

“Yet here you are, the image of pure desperation and need.” He slapped your cunt and you jumped. “Fucking soaked from all talk. I can only imagine how badly you want to relieve that almost painful ache.”

You thought about wrenching yourself from Gojo’s grasp, but you’d taken the first drag of that cigarette. Your entire body was shaking with need.

“Touch yourself.”

It was a command. One that was spoken in a tone as cool as his skin. Yet it made the flames erupting over your body rise.

“Give me a show, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

You bit your cheek as you moved. Your hand trembled as you draped it between your legs. When you didn’t move immediately, Gojo placed his hand over yours and guided two fingers over your clit. You gasped when he drew your fingers in tight circles over your clit, chin resting on your shoulder, gaze hot.

“What?” He withdrew his hand, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, making sure you didn’t move. “You needed someone to show you how? C’mon, (Y/N), I know you’ve touched yourself while thinking about me. No need to be shy.”

Each wave of pleasure you brought yourself seemed to rock your body. Gojo’s eyes on you egged you on just as much as it made your nerves spike. You couldn’t find a pace; you couldn’t get your hand to stop shaking. You tried to grind against yourself, chasing the pleasure you desperately craved, but Gojo’s arm around your waist still kept you pinned. Whenever you’d find the spot that made your eyes roll, Gojo would pull your hand away, fingers digging into your veins, no doubt getting high off of how fast your heart was racing.

You had to quiet your mind each time it wandered to what you were doing, especially who you were doing it in front of, and just how intensely he was watching you.

“Tell me,” he murmured as he pulled your hand away from your cunt for what you counted as the sixth time. “Admit that you’ve thought about me while fucking yourself.”

Never. Not in a million years.

“Do it, and I’ll reward you by making you cum until you physically can’t anymore.” He let his fingers intertwine with yours, and only his freezing skin gave away his touch mixed in with yours. “It’s easy; it’s just a few words. Here, I’ll show you.”

He licked a long stripe up your neck until his mouth brushed your ear.

“I’ve thought about you while getting off.” The arm around your waist loosened, and his hand came up to your chest. “Thinking about these tits bouncing as you ride my cock. Taking me like the good girl I know you are. Begging for me to give you more. Begging for me to bite you.”

For the first time since he’d sat you on his lap, you turned to try and see him, but a hand on your chin kept you facing forward. He’d thought about you? Like that? You thought your heart was going to explode from your chest.

“Well,” you croaked out. “Fantasies tend to be about what you can’t have.”

He barked out a laugh, dipping his hand beneath your gown, your bra, until his fingers skimmed a nipple. You didn’t need to see them to know they were hard. You arched your back as he ran slow circles around it, matching the speed he’d set between your legs. He’d retreated a tad there, however, making sure it was only you who was touching you. Free of his iron hold, you rolled your hips and unapologetically ground against yourself. Bits of cold hit you, and you chased after those. You chased after him.

“(Y/N).” He pinched your nipple. “Look down at yourself. Grinding against your hand like a fucking lust-drugged bitch. Don’t think I won’t tie you up and go to the party myself, leaving you in the agony you created for yourself. Soaked. Aching. Too proud to ask me to touch you.”

“If we’re talking about pride-”

“I’ve already admitted it, baby,” he said, voice as sharp as his fangs. “I want to see that pretty pussy take my cock, feel it squeeze around my fingers as you cum. I want to hear every sound you make when I pull another orgasm from you, even after you tell me you can’t give me another one.”

You clamped your eyes shut and groaned, your entire body shaking as you fought the internal battle. It was all pointed spears and splintered shields. You lost. You won. You spat out the words with bitter anticipation.

“I have.” But you didn’t think it was enough. The half a second pause where Gojo didn’t move solidified that. “Multiple times.”

His mouth, pressed beneath your ear, curled into what you knew was a sickening smile.

“Good girl.”

He treated the top of your costume with the same attitude as the bottom, the sound of the fabric tearing almost as jarring as his cold touch. The cups of your bra were pushed down as his hand groped and teased. His other threw your hand aside, cast away to grab onto his thigh as he snaked it beneath your underwear. You sucked in a harsh breath as his fingers grazed your swollen clit. It felt like he held an ice cube against you, and you tried to jerk away.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsked and shook his head. “Stay put.”

A throated whine left you as he pinched your nipples, going out of his way to run his fingers between your folds so every inch felt the freezing temperature before he ran tight, harsh circles over your clit. You would’ve fallen from his lap had his legs not hooked over you and held you in place. It felt incredible. It felt like too much. He already had you on edge. The last six almosts had brought you close enough, but it was embarrassing how he already had you dancing like a puppet on his strings along the crumbling edge.

“Ask for it. If you want anything tonight, you have to ask for it.” His fingers ran tighter circles, and whatever smart response you had turned into a groan.

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

You wanted to kill him.

“Can I cum?”

“Did I hear a please?”

You cursed under your breath. You weren’t sure why you were trying to hold off your high as Gojo’s fingers worked that merciless pace, not seeming to care that you were moments away from coming undone. But you wanted to please him. The thought made your blood boil.

“Can I please cum?”

He hummed in contemplation and you wanted to scream.

“Go ahead.” He cocked his head to the side, and you felt his eyes roam over your body. The feeling tipped you over the edge. You refused to cry out his name as you came harder than you’d ever cum before, body buzzing, head light and floaty, muscles tense and sore.

Before you’d even finished, your walls still clenching at nothing as the stars you saw still sparkled in your vision, he slipped two fingers into your cunt. Your legs kicked out as they scissored and curled and stretched you. Slender, sure, but they were long. He hit places you couldn’t without a toy, and Gojo fucking knew it too. Your toes curled, and you tried to hide your face in his neck. It made him snicker.

“We’re not done yet.” His thumb swept over your clit. “Not nearly.”

You felt too hot as his too-cold fingers fucked you. You felt yourself squeeze around him, and the swiftness of your second orgasm approaching nearly threw you. The bastard really knew how to get people off. No. He knew how to get you off. The way his fingers slid into a specific rhythm. This was just for you. A personal torture he’d give just to you.

“C-Can I?” You hated that you asked him without much thought.

“Oh, already?” As if he didn’t know. “I don’t know, you got there pretty quick. You sure you want to cum again already? I don’t plan on stopping after this. You’re cumming until I get every last drop outta you, (Y/N).”

“Please,” you screamed. You couldn’t stave it off anymore. And you hated how your body tingled with excitement at what Gojo would do as punishment if you came without permission.

“If you’re that desperate.” He scoffed and slowed his fingers. “Then take it from what I give you.”

You did. You weren’t sure if he was trying to ruin the orgasm or delay it or knew exactly what his slow curls would do. But he strung you out, hard. Never, not once had your second orgasm been better than the first. Not fucking once. Yet the bastard had your head thrown back, toes curling, riding wave after slow wave as he seemed to wrap the puppet strings around your limbs and pull. You nearly bit your tongue as you ground your teeth together, unable to do anything else as you came around his fingers.

You huffed. You weren’t sure you could give him any more, and he’d only made you cum twice. But his fingers only paused for half a beat before starting up again. You let out a strangled no as his hand on your chest went to your clit. It was too much. You squirmed, and he laughed. Laughed. Then pressed on harder, faster. Tears slipped down your cheeks, nails dug into his thighs, teeth captured your bottom lip to stop the sobs.

“P-Please.” Your third orgasm was knocking on the door, waiting to enter. Or leave. It was all too much. You weren’t sure if you were begging for him to stop or to keep going.

“Ask.”

You hoped the one word would be enough of a response.

“Cum?”

Gojo’s body shook with laugher. It wasn’t.

“Full sentences, (Y/N).” He pinched your clit.

“Gojo.”

He slapped your cunt.

“Full sentences.”

“Can I cum again, please?”

“Yes.”

He rode you through your high. It almost hurt, his fingers fucking your cunt and rubbing your clit. Your throat felt raw by the end, and you weren’t sure if you’d screamed or if it was an accumulation from the last two orgasms as well. His fingers stopped and you thought you were free. Until he lifted you, angled you up on your shaky legs, and you felt him undo the button of his pants.

“Do you want it?” He pulled the crotch of your underwear to the side, pressing his tip against your dripping folds.

You hated that you nodded.

“That’s my girl,” he said, and you burned as he spread your folds. He lingered there a moment, surely watching as you dripped onto his lap, before he lined himself up. His fingers dug into your hips as he guided you down, groaning as you stretched around him. He fucking filled you. But your gasp wasn’t just from how fucking huge he was. You’d thought his fingers were impossible to handle with the cold. His cock was like when you’d left your dildo in the freezer before fucking yourself on it.

Even when he was sheathed entirely inside you, he didn’t move. He found your clit--puffy, swollen, sore--and his thumb ran over it with lazy strokes.

Three times. He made you cum around his cock three times without even moving his hips. You were jelly in his arms, soaked in your own cum, tears, and sweat. And the rare glimpses he gave you of his face told you he was obsessed with this version of you. You couldn’t give him anymore. You’d said that the last two times, but you were wrung dry. You were sure if he moved his hips, you’d combust like a vampire from Buffy with a stake in its heart.

But you wanted him to fuck you. So badly. With every fiber of your being you wanted him to fuck you. You just couldn’t lift yourself up to be able to fall back down onto his cock.

And then his fangs scraped your skin for the hundredth time that night.

“Bite me,” you blurted out. You hadn’t meant to. You’d been trying to ask him to fuck you. A Freudian slip.

He stopped over your pulse point and pressed his fangs against you. Just enough to let you feel the sharp prick.

“Beg for it.”

“Please.” It hurt your throat to talk. Your voice crackled with each word. “Please bite me. Please, Satoru.”

“You can do better than that. C’mon. Beg.”

“Fuck.” You clamped your eyes shut. “Please, I need you to. I need to feel it. That damned ‘pure euphoria.’ It’s all I think about whenever you flash your fangs at me. Please, I need it. I need to know.”

He pressed his fangs harder against you. Scraped them against your skin until you felt a satisfying burn.

“I’m so tempted--so fucking tempted--to leave you like this. A teary mess, begging for something I won’t give you.” Dread coursed through you at the thought. Silently, you willed him to keep speaking. “But I know whether I bite you or not, you’ll be back for more.”

He bucked his hips.

“Because nobody will fuck you like I will.”

He bucked again as you cried out as an almost painful wave of pleasure crashed into you.

“Nobody will get you off as good as me.”

Then he bit you. A searing hot pain, like a cold brand, focused at your neck. You sobbed, but you weren’t sure if that was from the bite or the way Gojo looped an arm around you and slammed his hips against you mercilessly. You’d been bitten before, but just as soon as you tried to recall the memories, you were hit with something you'd never gotten from other vampires. It felt like a wall of liquid pleasure. Or, in Gojo’s wording, euphoria.

It was like he’d injected it directly into your veins, and you laughed. You choked on the sound as another sob followed it, but it felt so impossibly good. Like you were floating on a cloud. Like you were stuck in a permanent state of almost that just kept getting better and better. Like you were dancing on the edge that never crumbled, leading you to a plummet that, as you eyed it, was waiting for you with billowing snow to cushion the fall.

“C-Can I cum? Please, Gojo, can I cum?”

Your voice sounded unfamiliar as you spoke. You weren’t even entirely sure that you had until Gojo responded a few moments later, his thrusts rough.

“Yes.” It was an order.

And you followed it.

You heard your scream leave you as if it weren’t your own. It was like two hands shoved you off the edge as you plummeted down towards the snow. It swallowed you; claimed you like a riptide does an inexperienced swimmer. Those puppet strings that had bound themselves to you earlier tightened and pulled like a torture device. Delicious, rapturous torture. Then they snapped. Like stray worn threads.

You came around his cock for the fourth time that night.

You didn’t even realize he came until you felt his cum leak out of you as you blinked up at the ceiling, coming to.

Gojo gave you a moment to catch your breath before he pulled out, licking over the two puncture wounds on your neck as he righted your underwear, either not caring that his cum was leaking out of you or extremely aware. Most likely the latter.

He laid you on your side as he got up and righted himself, his costume, his hair. He smirked down at you, eyeing your torn costume, tear-stained cheeks, and tangled hair. He knelt beside his couch and scoffed.

“C’mon, (Y/N), we’re going to be late to Shoko’s party.”

I dunno if it's stated anywhere in canon material since I've only read bnha fics for the longest time, but do mic even sleep?? like, he got three jobs that probably takes up the majority of his day (teacher in the morning, hero late afternoon to night time, radio host at like 1 fucking am).... like, maybe his show is only on certain days every week and he starts his hero work in the late afternoon or something but then that still doesn't leave him with much time to spend with his darlings :((

i believe canon has stated that his radio show is only on either fridays or saturdays, and it runs from 1am to 4am (which actually blows because if UA is like other japanese schools they run for 6 days a week with only Sunday off)

but yeah, we’ve got these depictions of Aizawa being extremely lazy and sleepy, meanwhile we’ve got Mic who at any given time is running on 4 hours of sleep, coffee, and an unholy amount of energy drinks. i bet he would die to just fall asleep with his head in his darling’s lap. or soft booty. or some nice titties if ya got em

What is Aizawa taking to his grave? Thank you!

Ah yes, the character I originally made the TTTG post for in hopes of luring in one of you unsuspecting Aizawa fucking FOOLS

He’s got a real nasty daddy kink and a penchant for taking ex-students out for drinks 🤫

It’s always surprising what a difference just a few years can make. Even more surprising is how little he cares about the student-teacher relationship that existed prior to meeting again as adults. He’s always had a soft spot for the quiet ones, the ones desperate for praise and in obvious need of a father figure despite how hard they try to hide it. 

The transition from reminiscing over drinks to getting you back to his apartment takes time. He takes things slow, throws out feelers to see how you react and maintains control over the conversation. He’ll order your drinks for you and take your glass from your hand when he thinks you’ve had enough. He makes you feel like a student again, only ever responding professionally and brushing off jokes at his expense in favor of telling his own. Teasing you with stories about how clingy you used to be in hopes of getting you to own up to a crush that may or may not be resurfacing with every reassuring pat to your fidgeting hands. 

It’s only when you’re drunk that he starts pressing. You look tired. How’s patrolling been for you? You look like you could use a break. How’s your family? If you ever need someone to talk to, he’s here for you. It’s easy to get distracted by well-spoken people. You hardly notice his hand resting on your thigh or how he’s taken up calling you kitten in between calling you sweet pea and baby, but nothing goes unnoticed by him. Your nervous laughter after accidentally calling him Aizawa-sensei and the subsequent blush that dusts your cheeks tells him everything he needs to know.

You leave together. He makes you hold his hand whenever you cross the street. He gets the door for you when you arrive at his apartment, and scolds you for trying to get the next one. He’s not forceful by any means, but by the time you’ve gotten comfortable he’s already thinking about how you’d look crawling into his bed at night just looking to get your pussy played with before you go to sleep. 

He’s only got one thing in mind for you and that’s to see you in your most vulnerable state, crying out for daddy to taste you or love you or fill you with whatever makes that empty feeling go away. He’s so kind too, really knows how to treat his princess without spoiling or smothering her. Aizawa gives you everything you never had and then some and in return you pretend not to notice when he doesn’t correct anybody that tells him he has such a beautiful daughter.

He’s in love with the power imbalance. You’ll always think he’s smarter than you, that you need him more than he needs you, that you deserve to be punished for hours on end when you mouth off to him because you owe it to your daddy to always be his submissive little girl.  

Giggly sex where you say “you’re so good to me” as you laugh and it makes your partner growl and nip at your lip and when they pull back they say “let me show you how good”

Nsfw profesor college Silco ?

Improve

Tags: vibrators, dom/sub, voyeurism, praise, slight degradation

He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing and he’d been smug the entire time. He stood in front of everyone with the remote tucked away in the palm of his hand, perfectly shielded away from everyone from many times of practice. Every time he switched the setting he found an excuse to look your way.

You had to shift, bite your lip, and hold your tongue, in order to not make a sound because if you did, it’d all be over. There was so much trouble to be made if people found out, so many things that could happen and that’s what made this fun, interesting, was the risk. One wrong move from either of you and this could be over.

People slowly exited the class, the last of the day, and he, of course, asked you to stay behind under the pretense of talking about grades when you both knew it was a lie. The door closed shut with a bang and the voices of others began to drift down the hall.

Silco walked from out behind his desk, hand trailing across the edge until he got to you. He brushed your hair out of your face as he approached you.

“You did so good today,” he said as he used the hand that cradled your jaw to move your head.

“Yeah?” you breathed in question.

“Oh, yes,” he said as he began to press your skin with quick kisses.

His fingers made slow work of the buttons of your shirt. He took his time, slow and considerate. He kissed down your neck with each button that popped undone. He mouthed at your pulse. He gave the faintest brush to the skin hidden beneath your shirt.

“But were you good enough to earn a reward?” he asked as he untucked your shirt from your pants.

“Yes,” you told him.

“Oh, really? I’m not convinced,” he said. “I do recall hearing some noise from you today.”

You grabbed his hands in the lightest but most desperate hold, “I can make up for it.”

He loomed over you, leaning close to your face. “What do you say?”

“Please.” He raised an unamused eyebrow. “Please, professor, let me make up for it.”

He pulled away from your touch and turned away from you. He picked up the remote to the vibrator still lodged inside you, held in place inside your wet, loose walls by your surely stained underwear as it pressed against your clit.

He weighed the vibrator in his hand. “Prove it,” he said as he turned it to its highest setting, nearly making your knees buckle underneath you as you struggled to bite back the hitched noise your body wanted to make.

He placed the remote on his desk as he moved his attention to his belt. “I have a meeting with Sylvika in an hour.” He turned towards you as he pulled his pants down just enough to get himself out. “Prove to me you deserve to cum by then and maybe you can.”

You nodded. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, professor,” you said as you dropped to your knees in front of him, causing more friction to be put on your clit.

You took his half hard form in your hands and began to stroke at it. Slowly you tried to coax it into hardness.

“Let me hear you,” he said, “but don’t let them.”

His gaze and yours turned to the wide window on the door, uncovered by the curtain. If someone looked in they could see you. Perhaps they couldn’t see what you were doing fully, being partially hidden by the desk, but it wouldn’t be hard to assume.

The thought of being walked in on caused both fear and arousal to spike within you. They’d see you, on the floor, like the slut you are sucking off your professor. You moaned slightly just at the thought.

“Fuck,” you said with a whining tone in your voice. “I want them to hear.”

“I know,” he said as he began to thread his fingers in your hair. “I do too but we can’t let them know. Not now but as soon as you graduate I’ll take you right here and you can be as loud as you want, I promise. You just have to wait. Can you do that?” You nodded. “Good. Now, let me feel that pretty mouth of yours.”

You leaned forward and the dial on the remote was turned down so the vibrations weren’t so intense. Still, you moaned as you ran your tongue up and down his length. Your eyes rolled back when you let him stretch your mouth.

It felt good, right to have him inside you. It didn’t matter what way. The stretch was perfect, just teetering the line between pleasure and painful. You knew when you pulled off him your mouth would be sore but you looked forward to the lingering presence, the reminder that it was real.

You dragged your tongue along the underside of him. He sighed and his head tilted back as his fingers twitched in your hair.

He lightly pulled on it. You followed his instruction and moved your head back before you went back down.

“Good, so good,” he praised.

You moved the tip of your tongue around his head. His nails scratched your scalp and he bucked forward in your mouth, nearly choking you. You drew back and did it again. Only this time when his hips moved forward, so did you head. He moved down your throat, a welcome invader. You forced yourself to relax enough so that when you did choke, you stayed in place. You steadied your breathing, you relaxed your throat, you moaned around him.

“That’s it,” he said as he petted your head. “Just like that, so good for me, darling.”

You stayed like that for a moment before you pulled back and teased his tip and shaft with a combination of tongue and teeth. You could feel him twitch inside your mouth and you moaned at the slightly bitter taste that came with it.

He pulled out of your mouth and switched off the vibrator. He pulled his pants further down as he sat in his chair.

“Take off your pants and come here,” he said.

You obliged, looking at him— fully clothed save for his cock which was out and standing tall with the slightest curved to it— as you did so.

When you stood halfway nude in front of him with merely an unbuttoned shirt for decency, he reached down and pulled the vibrator from you. It left you slowly and wanting, causing you to moan.

“What do you want?” he asked as he brought the vibrator to his lips to be licked clean.

“You, I want you,” you told him.

“Mmm? How?”

“Inside me.”

“Beg for me.”

“Please, professor, please. I want you so bad. You’ve teased me all day and I’ve tried to be so good for you, so so good. I want you inside me, fill me up. Fuck me like a whore, please, professor, please.”

He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. “That’s enough,” he told you.

He moved you so you could straddle him as he slowly guided himself inside you. You closed your eyes with pleasure as he filled you the way a toy simply couldn’t. He was warm inside you. You clenched without meaning to and he let out a pleased sigh.

He thrust up into you and you lost your breath. He did it again and again and again, finding a pace rather quickly. What started out slow quickly became the opposite. He was hard and fast as he thrust inside you.

“You make such pretty noises,” he said as his hand went to find your clit. “I wish others could hear them.”

You wanted to scream out when his fingers started moving in tandem with his thrusts but you but your lip and settled on a whine as you clenched around him.

“You feel so good, Professor,” you told him. “Like you were made to fill me up. No one’s ever been so good to me.”

He groaned as he buried his head in the crook of your neck and picked you up to lay you across his desk. He bit at your neck as his hands sped up on your clit and his thrusts quickened.

“Cum for me, darling,” he commanded. “Cum for me.”

And you did. You clenched around him and your legs wrapped around his back to pull him further inside. Your eyes squeezed shut as he bit hard enough at your jaw to bruise.

His hand left your cough and instead he pinned your arms above your head with one hand as the other held you in place. He thrust inside you at a ruthless pace that made you continue to see stars for several moments after you came down from your peak.

Eventually he stalled and orgasmed inside you. You could feel him twitch and his seed spill. You moaned as you were filled even further and his grip on you tightened.

He stayed on top of you for several moments, simply breathing. Then he stood and pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He dug through his drawer for a cloth he used to wipe himself clean.

He hesitated for a moment, debating before he tossed the cloth back into the drawer and picked up the vibrator again. He pushed it inside you, plugging his release inside you as well. He bent down and licked at the seed which spilled out.

He then kissed you, letting you taste him while he buttoned up your shirt. When he was finished he tucked himself back in his pants and helped steady you on your feet. He pressed another kiss to your temple as he handed you your underwear and pants.

“I do believe that concludes our discussion,” he said as he began to fix the papers that had been made askew, effectively dismissing you in the process. “Ms. Selvika should be here at any moment, I suggest you leave soon.”

Your head still reeled but nonetheless you managed to say, “Yes, professor.”

“Good.”

You out on your clothes and had just begun walking towards the door when it opened and Selvika came in.

“I do hope to see you improve,” Silco said as she walked past you. “You have such potential, I’d truly hate to see it wasted.”

Just then the vibrator turned in again and you barely succeeded in concealing a squeak due to overstimulation.

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.

all you had to do was ask

-Present Mic x f!reader-

small smut drabble

Closing your eyes, you relaxed and listened to the video, stroking yourself.

“Aren’t you too sweet-”

You slammed the laptop closed and squeezed your legs together.

“-getting yourself all ready for me.” Hizashi flung his jacket to the side. “What were you lookin’ at, hmmm?” He grinned, looking your body up and down while slowly undoing his belt.

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um men who are bigger than you and tower over you in every way possible but he's obsessed with the overwhelming intimacy of missionary sex. his whole entire body covers yours, and he loves the way it's almost like he's shielding you from the world, that the wanton expressions you're making and the way your body reacts is all for his eyes only. he can control how deep he fucks into you, can carefully watch the faces you make to see if he's hitting all the right spots. loves the way he can hold your hand as he thrusts into you; especially loves the feeling of every cell in his body going weak from how overwhelmed with his love for you he gets. the eye contact is the best and worst part for him; best because he loves looking at you, to know you feel the same, but worst because you always make him go weak in the knees. his arms can barely keep him upright, and he has to bury his face into the hollow of your neck and shoulder and-

Indulgence (Sir Nighteye X Reader)

Summary: “Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits start to flow. 

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist. 

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…”

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mirai Sasaki (Sir Nighteye) X fem!reader Word Count: ~7.7K Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, public sex, BDSM themes, voyeurism, exhibitionism, sounding (not super explicit), overstimulation, light bondage, fingering, cunnilingus, surprisingly no ‘P’ in ‘V’ intercourse. 

A/N: My piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​‘s Citrus Dome collaboration, so be sure to check out the other pieces! The warnings make this sound kind of wild, and while it’s definitely filthy, it’s not as bad as it looks. If you want to get in the proper mood, you should listen to A Perfect Circle while reading this because it was my soundtrack while writing. Hope y’all enjoy!

~

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