NSFW Warning: 18+ PLEASE!!!, Daddy Pet Name, Sir Honorific, Video Audio Of Moaning + People Doing The

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

I'm like, always in an Enji mood so like lmao hi 🧍

I'm always in the mood for Enji too 🥴

18+ like ways

Just thinking about cockwarming him after a long day. He'd pull you down into his lap, whether he's on the couch or at his desk finishing paperwork, and tell you to you let him slip inside. How he just needs to feel you squeezing around him to relax a little, how irresistible you are, his perfect little Angel. He's always a tight fit. And with him not moving it was nothing but delicious preasure. The slight bump in your belly from Enji being buried so deep inside of you only causing your pleasure to grow.

"I never said you could cum," Enji growled when he felt you tighten around him and try to grind down, "be patient, let Daddy relax and I'll fuck brainless in a bit, Love".

My current kink is watching men unbuckle/take off their belt

i like my men long haired and deranged

Anniversary (Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem reader)

Art not mine, give the artist some love. Not affiliated with me uwu. 

INNOCENT BEANS EXIT TO THE LEFT, THIS IS SMUT.

Kinks: Public sex, teasing, toys, denial, dirty talk, name-calling

Preparations were all set for your big night out. You gave yourself one more quick spin, looking over your clothes in the full-length mirror. The restaurant you were heading too never had tables available and you’re thrilled to finally get the chance to check it out. It was you and Hitoshi Shinsou’s one-year anniversary, and his gift to was making the reservations months in advance, and in secret, to surprise you.

You gathered up your belongings and poised yourself to leave when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. A text from Hitoshi popped up in your notifications.

Keep reading

not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

Private Lessons: Part 2

Reader part 1 here! Dw, it follows without the buildup.

Here’s the spice! I prepped the first two chapters before I released it. I’m not a sadist, we all know we’re here for the dirty stuff. The first smut is a bit self-indulgent. I have a daddy kink, sue me. 

Kinks: Bondage, teasing, teacher x student (AGED UP), mild Daddy kink and DDLG terms (no ageplay in this house), oral sex. 

Art not mine meep.

“Well, here we are, Sensei!” you announced as you crossed the threshold into your small apartment, Aizawa close behind. The tired hero removed his shoes alongside you, lining them neatly against the wall before giving the room a quick scan. 

“Not bad. A minimalist. Just like me.” A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?” uncertainty was present in his voice as he quirked a brow skeptically and shrugged off his leather jacket. It was hard not to swoon. He somehow managed to move gracefully even during such mundane tasks. 

“Of course! it’s my fault we stayed so late anyway.“ 

"Well, more like Hizashi’s,”  he corrected you with a light chuckle, sliding one hand in his pocket and sending the other running through his silky black hair. A relieved sigh ghosted past his lips. It was strange, standing in the home of a former student, but your confidence was reassuring. "I have a feeling you wouldn’t have sang karaoke for so long if not for his insistence." 

"True, but I enjoyed it! I think I want something warm to drink." 

Aizawa watched you bound off to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but think you looked cute like that; standing on your tiptoes, quietly humming to yourself as you searched the cabinets for tea. 

"Would you like some, Mr.Aizawa?" 

He shrugged and nodded, shifting his weight to the other hip. "Sure, (Y/n)Thank you for asking… You’re very formal, you know.”

“Well, of course! I understand a few years have gone by, but I still respect you as my teacher.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind” You missed the smirk pulling at his mouth as he slumped into the dining room chair. From the corner of your eye, you noticed him rubbing his palms on his eyelids. 

Half a decade had passed since then, but you hadn’t forgotten the severe injury suffered by the hero during a villain attack on the USJ. The incident left his eyes even more sensitive than they were previously.

Your lip tilted in a slight frown and you quickly tried to shake off the thought, unable to handle the image of him wounded and, undoubtedly, scared.

“Do you need eye drops?” you offered, tone laced with genuine concern, “I actually bought some recently, they haven’t been opened yet.”

One tired, dark eye cracked opened as he turned to look at you. “My, my, aren’t you considerate?”

Something in the way he spoke the words made you squirm. You palmed the back of your neck sheepishly. The heat quickly rushing to your face. Positive he could see the tinting of your skin, you turn away in haste. 

“W-Well, I just know it doesn’t feel good to have… dry eyes.”

Shouta softened at your words. Shit, he couldn’t even mess with you when you were being so sweet; it was too fucking cute.

“No need to get all rosy-cheeked (Y/n), just stating the obvious. I have some on me, but thank you for the offer.”

Your tense muscles relaxed. Satisfied with his response, you continued the process of making tea. If you recalled correctly, his favorite flavor was spiced vanilla chai. You found the blend easily, tossing it in the pot and leaving it to steep. A pleasant, warm aroma filled the air and you inhaled deeply to savor it.

Aizawa used drops in each irritated eye and held them closed with a deep sigh. letting the soothing solution settle in. They would help the irritation, but damn did it sting when the drops first hit his eyes.

You thought now would be a good time to catch up on some phone notifications, only to be disappointed that nothing worthwhile had come through during your evening. Spam, spam, ‘10 Ways To Spice Up Your Hero Outfit,’ text I don’t want to read, ‘Notorious Villain Captured By Rookie Team Kiribaku. All junk. you continued mindlessly searching through the feed until you heard the water start to bubble.

“Anything interesting going on in the world?”

The unexpected baritone voice almost made you leap out of your skin, knocking over a teacup and sending it careening towards the floor. Shouta reached out, catching the dish moments before it hit the ground. 

Apparently, the seasoned hero’s reflexes were as sharp as ever. 

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, kid.”

You squinted at his tone; it was far from apologetic. If you didn’t know any better you might believe he did it on purpose just to get a rise out of you. 

"Jesus, you’re like a cat.” you hissed, still frazzled from the scare.

A satisfied smirk split his face, “I take that as the highest compliment,” Shouta hummed, replacing the cup before quirking a brow and leaning past your shoulder to examine the box of tea leaves resting behind you, "Is that vanilla spiced chai?”

“Yep!” you chirped, perking up at the recognition, “I remembered seeing you drink it a few times during my school years. Hopefully, it wasn’t just because you had no other options, heh.”

Long arms folded over his chest as he gave you a quick once over. It struck him as… interesting that you’d remember such a mundane fact.

“No, I like it.” he assured you with a soft grin, “You really remembered that huh?“

"Y-yeah. Is… is that weird?” you shrank under his gaze, fearing you’d just outed yourself as a massive creep.

“A little,” the teacher chuckled, his reassuring smile going unnoticed as you couldn’t bring yourself to match his gaze. 

Your thoughtfulness was… endearing.

“Oh, s-sorry, well uh, heRE YOU GO!” hands trembled slightly as you passed the man before you a cup of the fragrant brew. He accepted gratefully with an appreciative hum before returning to the dining table.

A comfortable silence followed; the pair of you enjoying the comforting warmth of the tea. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that the sound of Aizawa’s fingers tapping rhythmically on the table broke through the quiet.  

“You know, normally people only remember tiny details like that when they have a crush.”

You choked on your drink. The sudden accusation had heat flooding to your cheeks and you starting sprinting down a path of panic and self-doubt, “WHAT!? Mr.Aizawa, please, don’t be ridiculous.”

His powerful shoulders shrugged casually as he took another lazy sip. 

“What’s All-Might’s favorite drink?” he interrogated, clearly amused and not interested in letting you escape the uncomfortable line of questioning.

You feverishly searched your memory. Dear God it was hard to even remember their faces right now, let alone their favorite drink.

“What about Midnight’s? Mic’s? Snipe’s? Any of your former classmates?” the pro hero’s tone was practically dripping with satisfaction. A smug grin creeping ever further up his cheek. Your reaction was almost too good. 

“I- I don’t know, and I bet you don’t either!” the words tumbled from you,  brows furrowed in concentration as you stared at the countertop. No way could you bring yourself to look at him right now.

“Nope, I sure don’t. But, then again,” your fingers dug into the wood, irritation creeping up your spine, “I don’t have a big. Fat. Crush on any of them." 

You slowly turned to glare at him, only to double over in laughter when greeted with his smug, toothy grin. 

”PFFFT! Okay, okay,“ giggles bubbled in your chest, forcing you to surrender, "yes, in high school, I had a crush on you. Most of the girls did, you know." 

He bobbed his head, lips held in a flat line giving him a serious expression. "This is true. I am devilishly handsome. It’s a curse, really." 

A pained groan escaped you as you rolled your eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help cracking a smile. His satirical narcissism always amused you.

"I think most female students find 'bad boy’ teachers attractive, Sensei.” You grabbed your tea and joined him at the table. A loud yawn shuddered through you when you settled into the chair opposite Shouta.

“Tired? It is pretty late. Perhaps you should sleep.” His own heavy lids drifted shut when he leaned into the chair back. 

You shook your head. "I’m alright. This will wake me up a bit. I know you stay up late most nights and I can’t have you rifling through my things.” He chuckled at your sly wink.

“Fair enough, I am the type.”

Another long silence followed until his voice once again cut through the air. 

“You know… there is a slight difference between you and the girls who normally swoon over me.”

“Oh?” You asked, taking another sip and preparing yourself for the 'you’re much more mature and less annoying,’ trope.

“I haven’t become attracted to any of them.”

Tea sputtered across the table as it rocketed from your lips. Shouta erupted into a rare and genuine fit of roaring laughter. He ran to your kitchen, pulling some paper towel’s from the counter before returning to help with the mess.

“Are we in a 1990’s sitcom?" 

Angrily, you snatched the towel from him, trying unsuccessfully to stop tea from trickling to the floor. 

"Why would you say something like that!? How embarrassing,”

Shouta crossed his arms and looked you over, watching your hands work frantically to clear the area of spilled liquid.  

“Because it’s true.”

The words shot jolts of electricity up your spine and you couldn’t help but stammer. “ I-I think you had too much to drink.“ 

"Nope,” he shook his head, grinning slightly, “Sober as a bird.”

Shit. 

Breathing became difficult as your throat constricted. Were you really hearing this? Shouta Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead, your former teacher, just confessed to you.  

“But hey,” he added casually, throwing his hands up. “if you’ve grown out of that crush I understand. No hard feelings.”

Your eyes lifted from the spill and slowly scanned his frame, paying special attention to the way his toned stomach remained visible through his tight-fitting black sweater. His body was relaxed yet alert, and that fucking hair of his. It rippled in loose waves around his shoulders and you couldn’t help imagining how it would feel tangled in your grip as you writhed in pleasure beneath him. The lewd thoughts sent your heart racing and your face filled with blood.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” he chuckled, noticing your dazed appearance. He scratched his head in thought, glancing to the side momentarily before setting his eyes on you again. “Well, if you wanted to test it out, I could always give you… a kiss?”

Oh fuck. 

“I never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, though. So if I’m being a creep, let me know. I’ll back right off.”

You knew he meant it, but with the way your mind was spinning and your eyes roved his solid frame, you knew there was no chance in hell you’d let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Jesus, you were practically drooling just admiring his fully clothed body.

“Y-Yeah, okay.” you barely managed to squeak out the words.

“'Yeah okay’ leave you alone? Or 'yeah okay, kiss me Sensei?’”

You shut your eyes tight and felt the tension rise in your neck and cheekbones, before mustering up the courage to answer.  

“Y-yes, you can kiss me… if you want.”

Gentle hands slipped around your waist, lifting you from the wooden chair. They pulled you closer, and he tilted your chin up to his soft gaze.

“You know,” came his silky voice, so low and soothing, “it might be nice if you looked at me, even if just for a second. Don’t you wanna make sure you’re kissing the right person?”

You chuckled at that, opening one eye dramatically for a quick peek. His handsome face beamed down at you and you can’t remember the last time you felt butterflies take off in your stomach. 

“Yep, that’s the right guy.”

His rugged features softened at your words. He was mesmerized by the innocence in your needy, lust blown eyes. Cool, nimble fingers brushed soft strands of hair from your face as the other came up to cup your cheek, almost protective in the way he cradled it in his palm.

“You’re beautiful…(Y/n).”

Your plush lips parted and his mouth pressed against yours in a slow, passionate kiss that had you leaning, no, melting into his touch as quiet moans of comfort reverberated between your lips. It was like a soothing melody; almost unheard and meant only for you. The gentle tickle of his tongue dancing with yours, the pauses, groans, and sighs, all worked together to put you in a blissful trance.

A small whine left you as he pulled away.

“So,” he sighed, forehead resting against yours affectionately, “still have a thing for your grouchy homeroom teacher?" 

His half-lidded eyes searched your face, brows furrowed in focus as he sought out any signs of discomfort or trepidation.

If you didn’t before, you sure as shit would after that. 

"Mhm,” is all you could manage through your almost painful grin, pleasant warmth bloomed in your chest and spread throughout your limbs. You buried your face in his strong chest, earning an ‘aww’ from the rugged man above you. He laughed gently as he stroked your hair, enjoying the way you sought comfort in his arms. 

Shouta couldn’t help noticing something different in the way you now clung to him. 

“My goodness,” he spoke slowly, the bass in his voice vibrating your shoulder, giving you a pleasant shiver. A nervous knot formed in your stomach when he suddenly pulled back to examine you, “my dear student, your face is quite red… you seem to have gotten a bit warmer as well." 

Amusement and arousal welled in him when you squirmed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. "Could it be that someone’s a little… excited?”

Your knees grew weak and you let out a needy, shuddering whine. It wasn’t until then that you noticed how wet you’d become from the kiss. 

“Hmmm… I thought so.” he clicked his tongue, “Flushed cheeks, warm skin, thighs squeezing together for just a hint of friction. All the signs are there."  Thick ribbons of raven hair rustled elegantly as he shook his head with a hopeless sigh.

"Yeah… so what if I am?” you giggled, somehow completely unashamed, burying your face in the safety of his chest once more. He pulled you closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“If you’d like, I can offer you some… relief.”

The words ignited you, legs trembling and muscles going weak in his embrace. It didn’t go unnoticed and Aizawa nipped your earlobe with a devilish grin. He gripped your chin, turning you towards the dining room. “You have a really nice table over there, why don’t you go lay on it for me?”

You peered back at him, mind swirling with all the possibilities; all of which ended with you screaming his name for everyone in the building to hear. Reluctantly, you pulled away, legs barely supporting you as you drifted to the table where you sat, legs crossed and dangling over the edge. 

Aizawa approached you, confident now that you wanted this just as badly as he did. Your bare knee grazed his thighs as his long, thin fingers slipped up your exposed calves, sending a light shiver up your sides. His mouth hovered close to yours, warm breath breezing over your plush, parted lips, thrilling you with the possibility of another mind-blowing kiss. 

Fuck, you wanted him. You needed him. 

“Yeah,” he growled, looking down at your closely folded legs, “that’s not gonna work for me." 

Faster than you could react, his irises flashed red as he bound you with his capture weapon, spreading your legs for better access. You squeaked pitifully in surprise, much to his satisfaction.

"Gotcha,” he chuckled, hands holding the fabric out to either side of you. He groaned at the sight. You chest heaving with need, eyes wide, legs spread open like a book before him. It sent a rush of adrenaline flooding through his veins. 

Oh, the things he wanted to do to you. 

“You really are considerate,” he purred, quirking a brow to look up at you, “Did you wear a skirt hoping I’d do this?“

You knew he didn’t need an answer. He was getting off on watching you writhe beneath him, and you loved every second of it. You’d half expected him to chide you for wearing something so unsuitable in cold weather, but thankfully he seemed to be thinking with his other head for the time being. 

He pushed down hard on your shoulder, urging you to lay flat on your back, your legs still held open wide by the strong fabric. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he relished in your helpless appearance.

"This is just how I imagined you. Aching, on display, and ready for me to inspect.” He clicked his tongue, pondering over his options. “I think since you’re so partial to formality, you should continue calling me, 'Mr. Aizawa, 'Sensei,’ and, 'Sir.’ Do you understand,(Y/n)?”

You’re so high on adrenaline and dopamine all you can focus on is your unending need to be fucked senseless. You nodded, but he shook his head. “That’s not an answer, princess.”

“Y-yes Mr. Aizawai, Sir.”

"There you go.” he groaned, blood rushing to his already stiffening cock, “You always were a fast learner.”

“W-wait,” you tried to protest as he wrapped one end of the scarf around his own shoulder, freeing his left hand to toy with your dripping folds.

“Shhh… Let your teacher get a good look at you.” A violent blush claimed your cheeks and you squirmed against the restraints. Fuck, he was so close, staring right at your quivering pussy with darkened eyes. “Be bashful all you want, I see everything just fine.”

Steady fingers reached forward, confident as they pulled your panties to the side to reveal your puffy pink lips. You tensed up at the sudden vulnerability, exposed for his viewing pleasure and powerless to close your legs and hide it.

His lips pursed to form a low whistle.

“Damn… to think you were hiding something so perfect from me this whole time. What a pretty little pussy you have… You tense up when I look at it,” he groaned, tilting his head slightly, “the way it squeezes around nothing… so eager. it makes me want to sink my cock into you.”

Your hands flew to your face in a failed attempt to shield your embarrassment and stifle the shameless moan that ripped through your body. It felt like a fire was sparking to life between your legs with every second you withered under his lustful gaze.

His thumb grazed your opening, collecting just enough dew to prime your clit for him to rub.

"Ahhh, M-Mister Aizawa, pleeease.”

He gently stroked the swollen bud, steadily tapping and flicking, watching your hips buck to the rhythm as you twitched with every jolt emanating from the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Just making sure it’s nice and ready for me.” His palm turned upward and he took the time to drink in your lewd expression before sliding a middle and ring finger inside your aching walls, curling them into the soft flesh that made you squeal. He cursed when he felt your walls cling to him, coating his fingers in your juices.

“S-Sensei, Ahh.”

“Mmm. That’s it. Melt around my fingers, kitten.”

The pet name brought you higher than you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back and your ass arched off the table. You needed him deeper and your greedy cunt was begging for more.

“Yeah… that’s a good girl.” He was intoxicated by the image of you mewling and begging while he twisted his skilled fingers, thrusting them into you over, and over again. Your cries become more desperate as he quickened the pace, fuelled by the high pitched sounds tumbling from your throat.

“Please, Sirrr” you pleaded breathlessly. 

"Please what,(Y/n)?”

“Don’t stop -ah- it feels so good~”

His lips curled as he left you empty, nearly causing you to cry at the loss of contact.

“Sorry kid, but I’m a bit selfish.” Aizawa tied the ends of his scarf to the table legs, restraining your entire lower body, then pulled up a chair to position himself in front of your wide-open legs.

“That’s better,” he grumbled, pleased with his new position, “now I can get a good look at you.”

“That’s so embarrassing, stoppp” It was no use. You couldn’t move your legs against his capture weapon and the loss of control only worked to further soak your eager cunt.

“Sorry, no can do. My little girl’s pussy is way too cute not to look at.

“His” little girl?

Your heart leaped in your chest but you didn’t have time to revel in the moment.  His head dipped and he tore a small hole in your panties with his canine before ripping them from you.

"What are you doing?!”

“They were in my way. I couldn’t risk letting you escape by untying you first.” a mischevious grin split his face and it had your hair standing on end. Fuck, he was such a tease. “It was the only logical option." 

He pulled the tattered fabric to one side, leaving you completely bare. Blood rushed to his cock and a carnal growl rolled from him as his hungry eyes consumed the quivering pink flesh between your folds.

"You see,” -he propped his elbow on the table, resting his cheek lazily in one hand, starting to work against your silky walls with the other- “when I make you cum, I think I deserve to see every little shudder and throb this pretty cunt makes. Don’t you agree?”

Again you try the restraints against your thighs. 

“Tsk, tsk. See? I knew you couldn’t be trusted. Can’t have you being bashful and interrupting my show.”

You’re filled in an instant when he plunged his skilled fingers deep and your back arched off the table, head tossed back in an unrestrained moan. You were helpless against the skilled digits, grunting and whimpering as he worked you up to a peak. 

“I think this puffy clit needs some attention…” He leaned forward, pressing his tongue to the neglected bud. You moan loudly as he licks in rhythm with his beckoning fingers. Lips wrapped around the swollen bundle of nerves and he groaned against it, eyes closed as his mind swam in a lustful haze.

“Fuuuuck yes Mr. Aizawa.”

“My, my, such foul language from such a good girl. Are you maybe a little naughtier than you let on?”

You trembled as his fingers dove deeper, rubbing firmly on your g-spot. Wet, warm walls squeezed hard around the invading digits. Your hips rolled and you chanted his name like a mantra. Scruffy lips vibrated against your clit as he moaned into your pussy, your mewls of pleasure and the sweet taste of your arousal going straight to his aching cock. He pulled back briefly to notice your tensing and quivering muscles.

“Ohh… you’re getting close.” He licks your clit again, pinching it briefly between his teeth.

“P-Please don’t stop… Daddy!” 

Oh fuck, you didn’t mean to say it. But it just came out.  

His head snapped up at the name.

“Oh shit. Daddy? FUCK,” his movements began again with renewed purpose and he was about to lose his damned mind, “fuck yeah babygirl cum on my tongue.”

He wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves once more, pairing his sucking with skilled flicks of his tongue. He committed fully to pushing you over the edge and you lost yourself in the sensation. You cried out his name, jerking your hips as much as you’re able with them bound. His free hand reached up to play with your over-sensitive nipples at just the right time and you exploded around him. Your moans were shameless as you flooded his tongue and palm with your juices. His pace slowed and he rode out your orgasm, relishing in every last throb before withdrawing his hand in favor of smoothing his hands up your trembling thighs as he left one more appreciative kiss on your pussy.  

You lay spent and satisfied, panting heavily.

“Well well, someone’s happy.” He said with a grin,. “What do you say?”

“Thank you s-sir,"  you barely managed to choke out the phrase. 

"Mmm, that’s it. Come here.” He walks to where your head lays at the edge of the table and brushes his fingers on your lips.

“Clean them off for me.”

Your heart jumped and goosebumps spread over your skin, but you happily obeyed, lavishing your tongue over the digits. His breath hitched when your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at him through your lashes. 

“Good girl. Fuck, (y,n) you looked so beautiful like that.” 

You softened under him, melting at the adoring look in his eyes. His nose nuzzled against yours briefly before he pecked you softly on the lips, silky tresses of his messy hair tickling over your cheek. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, still in a stupor from the intensity of your release. 

“Good.” 

A calloused thumb stroked your cheek. Shouta leaned down to your ear, letting warm breath breeze over your skin.

“I liked that little pet name…” 

Aizawa hummed, positioning himself so that his crotch was level with your head. Dark eyes gazed down at you with that strict, all-too-familiar expression he wore as your teacher all those years ago. 

“Then wouldn’t it be polite to repay my generosity?“

Fervency

Non-Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: After falling into mysterious spores in the Underdark, you start to experience some... strange side effects. Astarion is more than happy to assist.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac/glorified sex pollen, established relationship, discussions of consent, fingering, oral sex (both giving and receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms. Takes place post-game and includes mild spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

There’s not much that surprises you anymore.

It’s true - being kidnapped by illithids, having a tadpole implanted behind your eyes, facing the gods themselves - all of that does make it difficult for mundane life to come anywhere close enough to truly shock you. Your days aren’t necessarily peaceful, but they never seem quite as exciting as that blind haze of companionship in the aftermath of the nautiloid, trekking through the wilderness and shadow-cursed lands and the city, finding yourself in the company of strangers but soon-to-be family.

Still, these days, there’s something every now and then that catches you off guard. The trouble is, you’re never quite left in a space to know how to handle it. Unlike your earlier adventures, things are rarely solved with a dagger in your hand or a dash of flattery in your words. No, the burdens of day-to-day life are much more complicated than that.

Falling into a patch of mysterious spores, for one.

The Underdark is full of various mushrooms. Poisonous. Explosive. Befuddling. You could go on and on. You’ve had your number of close calls with them, but the sensation coursing over your skin feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced - and it doesn’t help that you’ve never seen spores like this.

Hells. Of course this is where your day would end up. 

Just a little stroll, you’d told yourself. It’ll be harmless. And it had been, for the most part. There’s an unearthly beauty to the Underdark that you’ve never encountered anywhere else, one you’ve come to appreciate just as much as the upper surface. But halfway through your usual route, your feet had snagged on a branch and you’d gone tumbling, and now - now you’re in a patch of glowing, red spores, feeling like…

Gods, what do you feel? 

Hot. You feel very, very hot. Sweat trickles down your back. Warmth blooms like poppies in a number of strange places - your cheeks, your lips, your neck. The feeling is spreading fast, bleeding through your ribs as you get to your feet.

Alright, you think to yourself, ignoring the sharp, bleeding panic in your throat that’s threatening to take over. Situations like this call for a sense of rationality. You’re going to get out. 

It takes much longer than it should for you to slowly stumble back to familiar ground. Your movements are jerky, as if you’re being puppeted around, and it’s getting harder to think straight when you’re feeling as if - whatever this is - is slowly consuming you. The heat is in your lungs, coursing fire near your pounding heart, raging with every inhale. 

You need to get this off of you, and as quickly as possible. After that, maybe it will fade and maybe it won’t. You’ll… you’ll figure it out. 

By the time you make it to the river, your knees are trembling so much that you nearly fall in. The water barely scratches the surface of the fire when you splash it over your skin, but the coolness of it is euphoric. You go as quickly as you can, covering area by area - your clothing, your arms, your face and neck - until most of the spores are off, but the feeling pulses and throbs in you all the same. Whatever it is, it isn’t killing you, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. 

You could tell Astarion. He’d tease you a little, but he’d also be certain to search endlessly to find something to stop your discomfort. And you ache for him. His touch, his voice, the fondness in his eyes when he looks at you. 

Had it really been just this morning when you’d last seen him? It seems like lifetimes away - lost to a very, very different type of ache in your veins that won’t seem to fade. You’ve just made up your mind to go find him, rising to your feet again, when the heat rushes to a very specific place between your legs and all thoughts of looking for Astarion are instantly cast out.

Oh, you think, somewhere between dizzy, needy, and utterly humiliated. So that’s what this is.

You’ve read about things like this - plants, pollen, potions -  but most of them had been in bad romance novels, and none of them had ever come with any mention of an antidote. And, needless to say, you won’t be making your way to the Myconid Sovereign to learn more. It’ll have to be handled on your own. 

You could risk going home and pretending to be ill, but Astarion is far too perceptive for that. He’d see through your ruse immediately. Which leaves the only option: hiding in a cave and waiting this out, praying he won’t notice you’re gone and come searching for you before you’re back.

And really, how bad can it be?

Bad. It can be very, very bad. 

You’ve been sitting in this cave for who knows how long, and your sanity is fading more and more by the minute.

It had been manageable at first. The heat spread through you like warm cider on a cold night - a slow, steady increase, the way a candle gradually burns down to the wick. You’d thought it would stop at a certain point (it had to, didn’t it?), but no. It just… kept going. 

Now, every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire, and it’s not slow, or steady, or even remotely bearable. It’s a strange, pleasurable flame, but a flame nonetheless. You can’t even decide whether touching yourself would even help at this point. Even just grazing your hand along the length of your thigh sends the fire rising, and you’re not keen on experimenting at the moment.

Your hands have gone stiff from balling your fists. Your mouth keeps switching between being as dry as sand and overly salivating. Each breath ignites more warmth, and you’ve been trembling for so long that you don’t remember how it feels to be still.

Gods. If you trusted yourself to get to your feet, you’d go see the Sovereign - a lifetime’s worth of humiliation or not. You don’t have any clue what time it is. There’s no sun or moon down here to guide you, no mechanism to spell out the hour. Has Astarion noticed your absence? How long until he’s concerned?

You know enough to know that you should have been back by now - that it’ll be unusual for you to have been gone so long. At least this spot you’ve found for yourself is relatively private. A dark, dry little place with a stone floor; fluorescent ivy in shades of lavender and coral; remote enough that, if your willpower fails and you end up making some noise, no one will be around to hear. 

You attempt to swallow, but the action dies on your tongue. You attempt to breathe, but you can’t seem to suck in any air. You’re just thinking you really might die in this painful, mortified state when the pad of footsteps on stone hits your ears, and your whole body pulls as taut as a rope. 

Oh, gods. Please not him. Anyone else. The Sovereign. The Society of Brilliance. Anyone.

But it’s him, because of course it is. He slowly makes his way inside, pressing through the narrow entrance and around the corner, and when he sees you curled against the cave wall, his brows rise - alarm.

“Wait,” you blurt out, determined to speak before he can. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”

Astarion stays where he is, but his eyes start instinctively scanning you over, searching for ailment or injury. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, even though you’re anything but. You want to say more, but your thoughts trail off as another wave of heat flares inside of you. You’ve started trembling again. Your fingers accidentally graze against your thigh, and you let out a small, involuntary noise.

Astarion hesitates, then takes a step closer. “Darling,” he starts, raising a brow, “you make a terrible liar.”

Of course you can’t fool him. Not even a little. You let out a laugh, but the sound hitches into a strange, choked sob. You pull your knees to your chest and let out a long, shaking breath, trying to get a grip. “I know,” you say softly. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

He takes another step closer, and concern writes itself into his expression. “Gods below,” he exclaims. “Er - my sweet, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look...”

“Horrible?” you finish for him. “I know.” 

“I… was going to say ill, actually,” Astarion replies, laughing a little. “This dark cave lighting looks beautiful on you, my dear.”

You can’t resist another laugh. It’s less burdened this time, but it fades away as you hesitate, very pointedly gazing down at your fingernails instead of meeting his eyes. “I may or may not have fallen into a patch of mysterious spores.”

“And?” Astarion says, lifting a hand into the air and giving a small, contemplative gesture. “Go on, darling. Seeing as you aren’t dead - I’m assuming they weren’t poisonous?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. How the hells are you going to phrase this? “No,” you answer. “I just feel… hot. Not like the explosive ones, just… hot.”

“Well,” Astarion says, “That’s… interesting. Alright - let me take a look at you.”

Half of you wants to protest, but what’s the point? He’ll find out the truth sooner or later. So, instead, you nod.

He steps closer, kneeling down at your side, and you have to ball your fists to keep from doing something stupid. You’re expecting more flame at his touch - a painful flare, like when you’d grazed your thigh - but when the back of his hand meets your forehead, his touch is like a salve. Soothing, cool, sweet. It mellows out the fire, makes you feel sane again.

You shut your eyes in relief, staying as still as you can, and when you open them, you find him giving you a look you know all too well. Smug. Affectionate. A glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“My, my,” he purrs. “Darling, I’m no healer, but… a racing pulse, dilated pupils, feverish to the touch? That, I know.” He leans in, his voice low in your ear. “And I can smell how much you want me.”

A shudder runs down your back, betraying you. Astarion leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours - soft and gentle and perfect - and it takes everything in you to pull away.

“Wait,” you protest. 

He instantly halts, pulling away from you and scanning over your expression. “What is it?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” you say quickly. “But you don’t… I mean - I can manage this on my own, you know.”

His brows rise. “My dear, you do realize I am very capable of helping you in this situation?”

“Gods, Astarion,” you say, biting back a delirious sort of laughter. “Believe me, I’m well aware. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I can manage this.”

A fondness enters his expression - the rare kind, reserved for the most meaningful of moments. He leans closer, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I know,” he says softly, the words tender and delicate. “Trust me. I want to do this.” He trails a finger along your thigh, and you shiver again. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. “And, unless I’m wrong, you’ve missed me, too.”

After searching his gaze and finding him entirely present, you let yourself relax into his touch. “I’ve missed you more than anything.”

“Good,” he says. “I was almost worried.”

He skims his knuckles over your jaw, leaning in to kiss you once more, and the flame in you seems to bend to his touch. It rages in you like a furnace, bellowing and cruel, but with every frigid brush of his fingers, the feeling subsides. Even the feel of his lips on yours seeps away the discomfort.

He’s slow with his actions, but he doesn’t tease, even though you can see the amusement in his eyes when he pulls away to look at you. He’s enjoying this, and if you’re honest with yourself, you are, too. If only it didn’t come at the price of your dignity - but if it’s going to fall away in front of anyone, it might as well be him. 

His hands slide down to your thighs, and your whole body pulls tight, torn between wanting him to touch you now and not wanting him to stop what he’s doing.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against your ear. “I’ve got you, darling.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to coax your body into cooperating, shutting your eyes and letting the feel of him drown out the path of your thoughts. The sensation of his mouth, trailing down your neck, ranging between feather-light kisses and the barely-there sting of his teeth against the skin, making every inch of you melt into his touch like clay. His hands, sliding to the front of your top, deftly unlacing it and pulling it away from your skin.

Thank the gods no one is anywhere around this area - if anyone were to interrupt you, you’re sure you’d die right here and now. The simmering need that lies under your skin is bordering on painful, a white-hot delirium of impatience that will not be ignored any longer.

Astarion’s fingers skim across your sternum, further soothing the burning inside your chest, and his lips soon follow downward. You let out a soft noise from the back of your throat, something choked and desperate, and he hums against your skin in response.

When your eyes flutter open again, you find that he’s staring up at you as he kisses down your abdomen, eyes dark and hands curled lightly around your ribs, ardor and affection both palpable in the heat of his gaze.

Your instinct is to shut your eyes again - to shut out the intimacy and vulnerability that comes from holding his stare - but you don’t. Instead, you move the stiff muscle of your arm and coax your hand into working again, gently tangling your fingers into the silky-smooth, silvery curls in your lap.

He gives you a roguish grin, tugging on your bottoms until they finally, mercifully, pull away from your skin, leaving you in nothing but your smallclothes.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words dark and heavy on his tongue, but they feel more for him than for you. His brows crease together and his actions turn sure and firm and quickened - as if he can’t wait to have his mouth on you.

Beautiful. It’s the second time he’s called you that word tonight, but it doesn’t stop the heat from rising back into your cheeks, and that feeling of the warmth seems to spark a chain reaction. 

It’s as if his voice is stoking the fire - more heat, all rushing to the very place his lips are heading to now, only to be soothed by his touch. He gently pulls at your thighs, coaxing you to lay on your back, and you’re so desperate that you nearly knock your head against the hard floor laid out beneath you in your effort to obey.

Your mind isn’t processing things the way it usually does: in an even, progressing line of events, every moment spread out from one to the next. Rather, everything comes in bursts of feeling, flashing between being a thousand miles away and all too close, all too present. You barely feel the graze of fabric when he removes your smallclothes and leaves you entirely bare, but the gentle, wet press of his tongue against you feels amplified a thousand times over.

“Astarion,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair. 

He hums again, and the feeling of it has you shivering, muscles going slack in pleasure. Short, soft flicks of his tongue over your clit and you’re left a shuddering mess, not thinking to try to be quiet - not really thinking at all, anymore. He grips at one of your thighs, looping it over his shoulder as he pulls away for a moment, nipping at the tender flesh there. Soothing it with a gentle kiss, then returning to his work.

You’re a walking - or perhaps laying - contradiction. Your arousal is lava hot, but your pleasure is cold as ice. You can’t decide if you’re cold or hot or both or neither. You’re not in a place to think, not as blinding bursts of pleasure course up your spine, rendering you a lump of skin and bones and not much more. His mouth is nothing if not fervent.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts - your hand in his hair, his mouth against you, writhing in dizzying pleasure against the hard, stone floor and barely feeling the discomfort. It might not be very long at all - but it feels like hours before his fingers enter you.

You’re soaking wet. If you weren’t so focused on, well, everything else, it’d be humiliating. Still, when two fingers slip into you and meet no resistance whatsoever, Astarion groans. The pace he’s setting with both hand and tongue is torturous, slow and even, and it takes everything in you not to beg him for more. 

But when he goes a little faster, a moan pulls from your throat, and you look down to find him grinning as he pulls away, fingers still at work. “Look at you,” he says, praise lilting the words as he curls his fingers - sending your hips rolling. “You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling?”

And as if he’s flicked a switch in your mind, you’re coming around his fingers, gasping and shuddering and clenching. Electricity seems to coarse through your veins, hot and sharp, flaming and radiant, and when it’s gone, there’s only the slickness between your thighs, a slight breathless laughter that escapes from you without a thought, and the fading warmth of the spores.

For a moment, it seems as though there might be relief. Your thoughts clear and the heat wanes, but after a sparse second or two of relief, it comes back as strong as ever. 

You’d be disappointed at its reappearance, but then Astarion is crawling over you, using his knee to coax your legs apart for him, so how could you ever be disappointed? Everything else slips away except for him. His eyes, dark with want, his lips, molding against yours, his tongue, gently pressing into your mouth as he buries a hand in your hair.

He’s hard for you. You can feel it, and that realization has you grinding against him. He groans, cursing under his breath, then reaches down to undo his trousers. “Are you ready for me, love?” he asks, his voice half-broken with want.

You laugh, still trembling from your climax. “You know I am.”

“Mm,” he hums, his eyes glimmering in the dark. “But maybe I wanted to hear you say it for me, darling.”

Gods. He’s beautiful - always so beautiful - even here, in this dark, cold cave you’ve found. A work of art down to the dark circles under his eyes, the crow’s feet around his eyes, his smile lines. 

You could spend a thousand years studying the art of him and never, ever get bored; not of his voice, and the way his confidence sometimes, ever so rarely, breaks into something real and raw. Not of his hands: nimble fingers and the calluses from his blade and soft skin - and not of his eyes, which seem both dark and light depending on his mood, and which can seem so sharp and severe at times, but sometimes soften into something soft and round. Sometimes. When they’re looking at you.

You could spend a thousand years admiring him and never, ever get tired of him, and never, ever deserve him. And he’d never believe it.

He’s noticed you staring, because of course he has, and he tilts his head. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?”

You can only smile, deliriously happy and wanting and both hot and cold - hot where the warmth burns uncontained, and cold everywhere his skin meets yours. “I love you.”

Your words must catch him by surprise, because it’s shock that meets his expression first. It fades away into affection, placing itself on his lips in a soft smile. “I - I love you too,” he answers, brushing a stray strand of your hair out of your face. “More than anything.” 

He clears his throat and shifts, and as you feel his erection brush against you, only then do you remember the conversation you two had been having. Him between your legs. You, still needing him inside of you.

“I’m ready for you,” you breathe. “Please. I want you.”

“How could I say no?” he asks, leaning in and biting at the lobe of your ear.

He presses into you slowly, even though you don’t need it - not after the effects of the spores and your first climax still evident on your thighs. Only when he once again begins a slow, torturous pace do you realize that he’s doing it to tease you, and when you look up and find a certain amount of devious intent in his eyes, a shudder runs down your back.

He’s always seemed to enjoy watching you fall apart. How many times have you looked up in the middle of one of your late-night trysts to find his eyes on you, the darkened ruby gaze that seems as starved for you as his hunger for blood? 

How many times has he eased your arm away from your face when you felt the need to hide yourself, and how many times has he gently pulled your hand away from your mouth so he could hear the noises you made for him? 

There’s never really been a question about it; Astarion gets off on your pleasure, and the feeling is very, very mutual. Vulnerability aside, it does something beyond words to you to know how much he enjoys giving you pleasure. And, sure as the hells, you like to give it right back to him. So, keeping your gaze locked on his, you grind your hips down to meet him and let out a moan.

His jaw clenches and he swallows hard, his thrusts deepening as he props himself over you. You watch the lovely path of the action over the bob of his Adam’s apple, then flit your eyes back to his, letting out another noise.

“Gods,” he says, and his pace quickens. His hands wrap around your shoulders and he groans, panting as he rocks into you, his grip turning into something almost bruising. 

Part of you desperately wants him to keep going - but the other part of you wants to give him something, and now seems the proper time for it. So you tilt your head to give him access to your neck and murmur a few, soft words, and he slowly comes to a halt: breathing heavily, nails digging into your skin as he tries to regain some semblance of composure.

He kisses down your jaw, slowly drags his teeth along the skin, then sinks his fangs into your neck. You’re used to the sharp pain of his bite, but it’s different today. Intensified. It’s as if his mouth on your skin, the barely-there pain, is salving through that fire and every single limb of yours goes slack with…

What is it? Pleasure? Affection? Relief? It’s something in between, something warm but not scorching, something sweet but not overly-saccharine. He starts moving his hips again and you’re instantly on the edge, planting your hands on his lower back underneath his scars and resisting the urge to dig your nails into the skin.

He’s drunk from you enough times since you met to know where the limit lies, even on the cusp of his climax. He drains you until you’re sufficiently lightheaded, but not enough to harm you, then pulls away, planting a messy kiss on your mouth. 

Messy. It’s how you know he’s close. His actions are usually so graceful, his movements lithe and calculated. Only on the edge of orgasm do the pretenses fall away - his shaking thighs, soft moans into your lips, panting, blood smeared across his lips and almost certainly yours. 

There’s a blinding moment of pleasure as he thrusts harder, deeper, neither of you caring about the level of noise you’re making, and your nails dig into his back. He lets out a groan of approval, then - gods, you’re climaxing again, your whole body trembling with the waves of pleasure that crash over you. Overwhelming at first, then receding into the brief moment of clarity that lasts a minute or two this time. 

Then the spores start their work again.

The heat isn’t nearly as intense this time, but it’s still there. Part of you wonders if it’ll ever really fade. You lay still, gasping, as Astarion slowly pulls out of you. Then he brushes the damp hair out of your face and kisses you again. 

“Darling,” he starts breathlessly, flashing a mischievous grin at you, “if this is where we’ll end up, you should fall into mysterious spores more often.”

You laugh, sending a playful, light hit toward his shoulder. He catches your hand mid-action, pressing a kiss to your palm, holding your gaze the entire time. “You’re not the one who feels like they’re on fire, Astarion.”

He hums, kissing back down your neck, cleaning up the remnants of blood from his bite. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says, his voice gravelly with want. 

That gives you pause. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says with some effort, propping himself above you, “whatever those spores were - they seem to have entered your bloodstream, my dear. It’s - an interesting sensation, I’ll admit.”

You’re searching his face for a tell that he’s not being serious, but instead you find wide, blown out pupils, flushed cheeks, and nothing beside his usual mischievousness. Any blood left in your face quickly exits. “Gods, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you see a small smear of your blood on his lips. When you lick your lips, you can taste the iron of it on your tongue.

Astarion is watching you. His gaze darkens, and he lets out another thin, broken groan. “Darling. At this rate, we’ll be going the whole night.”

And, honestly? With the rate the heat is returning - you don’t doubt it. 

Still, you gently ease him off of you to sit up, then make your way into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. 

There’s something addictive about Astarion - there always has been. From the moment he’d had you against the dirt, a dagger to your neck, he’s been your fix.  

In those first days when you’d had to hide your want for him - not even lust or sheer desire, but want; the ache to run your finger through silver curls, the warmth in your cheeks when he held your gaze just a moment too long, and the rare moments of vulnerability that came more and more as you’d gotten to know him - it had been torture. 

And then he’d propositioned you. And all at once, you’d found yourself in a clearing under silver moonlight, alone with him, long before you ever knew the extent of what had been done to him - and after all this time, the craving for him, the need to lay beside him in the long nights and find him there come morning, has only ever gotten so much stronger.

The heat is somewhat bearable now. Enough to take a moment to admire him, head tilted as he gazes up at you, pure need simmering in his eyes. Dark, glinting rubies. His fangs, barely visible under parted lips. Flushed cheeks. That will fade before long; the rosiness of drinking never lasts more than a few minutes, but you admire it all the same. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words are hushed. You hadn’t even meant to speak them, but your mind isn’t really yours at the moment, not wholly, not as firm as it should be. You feel half-drunk, half-needy. 

The corners of his lips flick into a smile, and he raises a brow. “Oh?” he asks, clearly stealing for more flattery. “Do you think so?”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know I do.” 

You gather a single, loose curl in your fingertips and gently roll it between your thumb and index finger, admiring the softness of it. You could use the same soaps, wash your hair with the same things he uses a thousand times over, and it’d never matter. It’d never be as soft as his.

“Anything in particular?” he asks. His voice is particularly airy; he’s battling between begging you for what he needs, and the compliments he likes so much.

You think back to when you’d first described him - that night beneath the stars, when he’d tossed the mirror aside and asked how you viewed him. Words hadn’t been enough then, and they still aren’t, but you’ll try.

“Your eyes,” you start, running your finger over his crow’s feet. “They change color in the light. Right now, they’re dark. Hungry. I can tell you want me, and I like that.”

His hands, which have strayed to the back of your thighs, tighten against your skin. “And? What else?”

The heat’s strength is back, clawing its way up your abdomen. “The way your hair curls around your ears,” you murmur.

He frowns, and you know you’ve gone too poetic. To distract him, you lean in and nip at the lobe of one, and any of his upset disintegrates. 

“Gods,” he murmurs, bringing his hands up to your waist. “Darling, I can’t wait much longer-”

You’ve trailed down to his jaw, alternating between kisses and sharp little nips just like the ones he likes to give you, and the words die in his mouth in favor of a sharp inhale. 

You won’t keep him waiting much longer. In fact, you have a plan. A plan that’d hatched from the moment you’d realized that the spores were in his system, too. Since you’d seen the hungry look in his eyes - every inch a predator circling around its prey.

Only, you’re not content to be the prey. You want to disarm him, and if any of the time you’ve spent together means anything, you’ve gotten very, very good at that.

His shirt is still on, so your hands are quick to remove it, tugging it away from cooling porcelain skin, silky under your fingers as you drag them down his sternum. He shudders, and you remember how it’d felt when he’d first touched you. If it’s anything like that, he’s probably dying to beg you for more.

Your lips soon follow the path your hands are sitting, taking your time with the softness of his abdomen before you pull his trousers away. He’s panting now, and a frenzied sort of desperation lies in his gaze when you look up at him.

And he’s hard again. Leaking.

You lightly trace your nails down his thighs, silently relishing in the way his breath hitches - the way his hips unconsciously buck toward you. 

“Gods,” he says again, and though it isn’t a direct request, with the broken way it falls off his tongue, this time it is every bit a plea. 

And you’re in a mood to please.

You take his cock in hand, swiping your thumb over the head, where precum is slowly leaking, and he lets out a long, breathy noise. You hum in response, taking his length between your lips, and the sound becomes strained, more needy. His hand gently makes its way into your hair, very lightly guiding you where he wants, but not forcefully.

You alternate between things: long, even movements of your mouth as you drag your tongue down the shaft, swirling your tongue around the head, then sucking him hard and slow. Eventually, simply following the guidance of his hand. His grip tightens in your hair - not painful, just encouraging - and his noises become more drawn out, less coherent.

When you pull away for a moment, using your hand to continue what your mouth had just been doing, you find him dangerously close. You press a kiss to the head and take him in again, increasing pace, accommodating him as you take him in as far as you possibly can, and he starts whimpering. 

“Please,” he says, and if that isn’t a rare word to hear from him. 

On another day, you might tease him, but you don’t want to. Not now, while he’s begging to have you. Instead, you take him as deep as you can again and suck harder. Astarion tugs at your hair and his thighs shudder and you know he’s close.

“Please,” he says again. “Gods, don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t dream of it. What you can’t take into your mouth, you use your hand to stroke, and that’s it. He’s coming.

There’s something artful about it - the tremor that runs through him, the salty taste of him in your mouth, and those seeking, breathless sounds that come out of him as he spills onto your tongue. A long, shaky inhale as he pumps his hips, still chasing out his pleasure, then the trembling exhale as his mind starts to come back to him.

He doesn’t soften, and you don’t take your mouth off him. Not yet.

Usually, Astarion can be counted on for two orgasms, but if those spores are doing anything remotely like what they were doing to you, there’s certain to be much, much more than that.

“By the hells,” he murmurs airily, running a hand down your back. “You’re going to kill me, darling.”

You pull away for a moment, kissing at his abdomen, keeping his eyes locked on his as you do. “Does that mean you want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, trailing your nails along the skin of his thigh.

He swallows hard. “Gods, don’t,” he pleads.

And you don’t.

Flirtation Dictation (Professor Aizawa x Fem College Student)

This is my  1000 follower celebration fic! Anons frequently tell me they are reading my fics during class, and well, I don’t think Professor Aizawa would appreciate that. ;) 

Parts of this were a bit awkward to write considering my style, but I’m pretty happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you all so, so much for your support. (Also just a side note Aizawa-sensei would never break the code of ethics *is yanked away by my friends*)

Warning: Professor x Student, spanking, humiliation kink, semi-public sex, unprotected sex. Milk is cum like once. Listen I tried to get all the Aizawa tropes.

Shouta Aizawa was far from boring. Well, at least to you.

He often told your class tales of valiant heroes taking on the world’s worst villains, and usually coming out on top. Sometimes he’d regale you with stories of his own heroic past, but being such a humble man, those were few and far between. 

Despite your sincere interest, you couldn’t help drifting off at times during his lectures. The depth and cadence of his voice made your eyelids feel heavy, eventually calling them to close as the words became your lullaby.  

Oftentimes you kept yourself awake by simply admiring his undeniably attractive frame. The man was beyond gorgeous. Silky ebony locks pulled back in a loose bun, long, lean body stood proudly as he spoke or scribbled concepts on the whiteboard. Sometimes you’d get lucky and steal a peek at his toned lower abdomen as he wrote on the whiteboard, relishing in the sinful chill the voyeuristic act gave you. No matter what he did, Shouta Aizawa exuding pure confidence and competence, something you certainly valued.

On this day you occupied your tired mind by reading. You’d covered the material on the previous night, and for you, it was simply a review. The tactic definitely paid off, but there was one problem, the content of this particular story had your thighs shifting together, hot arousal pooling between your legs. During an extra spicy excerpt, you couldn’t stop a quiet moan from slipping through your lips.

Keep reading

you kids are in trouble