One Hell Of A Logical Ruse Part 1

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.”

If you're not to bombarded with requests could you do 41# from that quote prompt list with daddy aizawa 👉👈🥺 if you already have too many than just ignore this 💕 (also sorry if this is sent multiple times tumblr is being stupid)

No worries love! ❤️ And I'm sorry this is so short ahhh

41. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

Warnings: Dub-con, bondage, edging, thigh riding

"Don't get too needy, kitten."

You whined, trying desperately to get out of the restraints he had you in. Your wrists were tied behind your back, the capture weapon wrapped around your arms and torso so you couldn't move your arms in any way. "Shouta please! I'm sorry! Please just untie me, I need it!"

He laughed softly as he watched you squirm around on the bed, rubbing your thighs together in a weak attempt to create any since of friction between your legs.

Your eyes never left the tired hero's form as he paced back and forth, shaking his head in mock dissapointment. "Finally had enough of being a little brat? What was it that you said to me? To stay away from you, that you don't want me ever touching you?"

You looked away from him, embarrassed as he threw your own words back at you. It was his fault, you tried to remind yourself. Anyone would break if they went through what he did to you. For hours he got you on the edge of an orgasm. Much to your dismay, he stopped right as you were at your peek.

Then he kept the process going until you unraveled, now a whiny, needy mess for him. It happened so many times it was starting to get painful.

Aizawa sat down and smiled as he picked you up, shifting you so you were straddling him. "Tell me what you want. And don't get shy with me."

"I want you!" You pouted as he stopped you from grinding into his erection, urging you to stay still while you talked to him. "I want you to fuck me, please! I need it!"

Your eyes widened as he chuckled, his hands squeezed your waist. "You think I'm going to reward you after that little stunt you pulled? Oh no, kitten. You want to cum the only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

You were going to protest, but decided against it at the dark look he gave you. You didn't want him to punish you again, some which meant you wouldn't be able to sit right for a couple of days.

Sniffling, you slowly did as he told you to, moaning softly as your hips jerked back as you began to receive the pleasure you were looking for. You arched your back as his large hand wrapped around your throat to keep you guided and making sure you kept your eyes on him. The message was clear.

"Good. Now," He pecked your lips as you began to grind yourself against his thigh some more. "Show me how sorry you are."

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

this geto is very mean i apologise

reblogs and comments are much appreciated / my jjk masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes you a brat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crawl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-two! Thank you, Master--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Empty.

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Omg on that anons ask about Zashi walking in on reader n Shou WOOOOF. I would be like yeah you can stay and watch .... but no touchy. Omg I get off on that sm. Let him see Daddyzawa in action 🥵

Exhibitionist Aizawa and Reader x Hizashi? 

FUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU ANON LDASJFL;J 

Warnings: Exhibitionism, shy (lol) reader. 

If you enjoy my work, please consider checking out my Patreon!

“Oh, shi- SORRY!” Hizashi’s horror and embarrassment were beyond measure as he stumbled in the doorway. It took him a moment to fully register the scene before him; just a blur of skin and hair and twisting sheets. 

Shouta’s lithe, flushed body rocked skillfully against your own, muffled moans escaping you with every roll of his hips. His hand may have kept you quiet, but that didn't’ stop your nails from scratching deep marks along his muscled flesh.

Shouta chuckled, unphased by his roommate’s interruption. With a devious grin, he examined you, expression practically dripping with satisfaction and arrogance.

“Happy now?”

Heat blossomed across your cheeks, but you confirmed with a quick nod before shielding your face from view. He kissed your forehead tenderly before confronting the ‘intruder.’

Deer in the headlights didn’t quite capture poor Hizashi’s expression. The hero stood in the doorway, dumbstruck, eyes wide and jaw slack as panicked squeaks escaped him.

“Exhibitionist.” Shouta shrugged, offering nothing more in the way of explanation.

Hizashi let out the breath he’d been holding as he collapsed against the doorframe, “Oooooh! Oh, thank God.” 

After a beat, a playful smirk split his face and his attention turned to you. “You want me to watch, sweet thing? I’d pay any price to see that show-”

You whined, rolling your head off to the side and squealing into Shouta’s bicep. Giddiness and excitement had you squirming, but strong arms caged you in, keeping you safe and captive as you worked through your bashful mumbling. 

“Ohoho, you do.” Shouta purred, bringing up a hand to move yours away. “Is that what you want, baby girl? You want him to watch?” 

It didn’t take much thought. You muttered a quiet ‘yes,’ earning you a breathy chuckle. He found it cute how you could be so shy and slutty at the same time.

“That’s fucking sexy.” he determined, looking to Hizashi with brow cocked, “Alright, watch and learn, but keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh please, I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” Hizashi pulled out the chair previously tucked beneath Shouta’s desk, spinning it to rest his arms on the back as he sat. “Show me what you got.”

His voice dropped a spine-tingling octave and you shivered as he added, “And you, little listener...” You peeked through your hands to see him, in all his rockstar glory, peering at you with those entrancing emerald eyes, “be nice and loud for me.” 

Date Night: Part Three (Yandere ErasermicxReader)

Request: I just wanted to say that I love you Date Night Fics a lot! Will there be a part 3 of it? 😊😆😆❤️

Part One Part Two

           Night was falling quickly that evening, and most houses were blended easily into the darkness, their occupants out for a Valentine’s Day celebration. One house though, isolated and outside of the city proper, was alive with light and sound. Inside, two men worked diligently in the kitchen, the whole home filling with the tempting aroma of the dishes they were making.

           “Alright,” said Aizawa, “the chocolate-covered strawberries are in the freezer. What can I help you with?”

           “Well, the lamb still needs a little bit longer in the oven, you want to start putting the broccoli and rice into the dishes?” Hizashi answered as he peered into the oven.

           “Sure thing. Do you know if she’s left work yet?”

“Um, let me check,” Hizashi said, scrolling through his phone for the answer. “The tracker says she’s still at work, but she’s probably going to leave soon. And when she does, we’ll only have like twenty-five minutes before she gets home.”

“We can make it,” Aizawa said with a determined nod.

The next few minutes were pleasantly quiet as the sound of clattering dishes resounded throughout the kitchen, Aizawa moving the steaming sides to their bowls and covering them to ensure that they would still be warm by the time you came back home. He set them down gently on his and Hizashi’s round dining room table, being certain to make sure that they weren’t blocking the vase of pink magnolias and crimson roses that he and his boyfriend had so carefully chosen. The roses had been Aizawa’s idea, as he wanted a flower that would properly set the mood for this holiday dinner, and he found their deep, vibrant color a fitting representation of his feelings. Hizashi, by contrast, had chosen the magnolias, wanting to add something utterly unique and beautiful to match you. And together, he and Aizawa thought, the effect was breathtaking.

           When Aizawa reentered the kitchen, he saw Hizashi with his face practically pressed flat against the oven door. Smiling in amusement, Aizawa silently slunk up behind him, then suddenly darting forward to place a kiss on Hizashi’s neck. The blond jumped slightly at the unexpected touch, having been concentrating too hard to even hear his boyfriend’s approach, but soon melted in his arms.

           “You know,” Aizawa chuckled, “it’s not going to cook any faster if you stare at it.”

           “I know that. I just don’t want it to dry out, so I’m keeping an eye on it.”

           “I’m sure it’s going to be perfect,” Aizawa reassured him. At that, Hizashi turned to him, his eyes wide and anxious.

           “But what if it’s not?” Hizashi asked nervously. “What if we’ve done something wrong? What if she says no?” At the mere mention of that possibility, Aizawa’s stomach clenched and then spiraled downward, all the way down and past the kitchen floor. And even though Hizashi had already had the thought, actually saying it out loud had fishhooks piercing his heart and dragging it up to his throat. Seeing each other like that had both men squeezing the other tightly, just breathing for a moment until Aizawa finally spoke.

           “That’s not going to happen. We saved her. We’ve taken care of her for weeks now, protected her from Dabi and anyone else who would try to hurt her. We’ve shown her the love she really deserves. She can’t say no.”

           Hizashi sighed and gave a nervous grin.

           “You’re right, you’re always right, babe,” he said with a shaky nod. “I mean, really she’s already our sweetheart. We’re just making it official tonight.”

           It was true, both men thought to themselves. You were already theirs, they just needed to tell you that. So later that night, when the three of were finally sitting down to dinner, Aizawa and Hizashi forgot their worries in their lovesick excitement.

           “So how was work today?” Aizawa asked as he scooped some more rice onto your plate.

           “Oh, it was fine, just average,” you said with a tired smile.

           “I still can’t believe that they made you work on Valentine’s Day,” Hizashi muttered.

           “Well,” you laughed, “it’s not exactly a national holiday. And it’s not like I have a Valentine anyway.” At that, Aizawa flashed a stern look at his lover, warning him not to correct you just yet.

           “You haven’t seen any sign of Dabi, have you?” Aizawa asked, noting the way your eyes dimmed at your question. Now, he understood that everything that had happened was traumatic for you, but really, you should be glad that they had gotten that villain out of your life for you.

           “No, thankfully not,” you answered. “I don’t know if he actually cares enough about me to risk it.”

           “Well,” Aizawa said, “I’m glad he’s not mixing you up in his shit. You deserve so much better than that.” Hizashi nodded in agreement, and your cheeks heated at their concern. Really, these past few weeks had been so emotionally exhausting, you didn’t think you could have gotten through it without the two of them. They had opened up their home to you, had made you feel safe. They practically doted on you, providing everything that you could ever possibly want or need. And now—now they were even letting you intrude on their Valentine’s Day date. You hadn’t wanted to force yourself into their celebration, but they had insisted. In all honesty, Aizawa and Hizashi were probably the best friends you ever had.

           “Speaking of that though, I was thinking it’s about time for me to go home.”

           For a moment, Hizashi and Aizawa could only stare at you with disbelieving eyes.

           “What?” Hizashi finally responded with pure shock. “Why?”

           “It’s just that, well, it’s been weeks now. I haven’t seen the slightest sign of Dabi, and neither have either of you. I don’t think he’s going to try to contact me. And anyway, I feel bad about intruding into your home.”

           “You are not intruding!” Hizashi insisted as Aizawa took his hand.

           “Besides,” Aizawa added. “Dabi might just be waiting for you to leave.”

           “But—”

           “And we’d miss you!” Hizashi shouted over you.

           “I’d miss you guys too, but it’s not like we can’t see each other,” you reasoned. “We’d still be friends, right?”

           When you said that word—friend—Aizawa and Hizashi simultaneously squeezed each other’s hands tightly enough to make them go numb. Flashing a quick look towards each other, they made a silent lovers’ agreement.

           “But that’s the thing, sweetheart,” Aizawa started to say. “We don’t want to be your friends.”

           “What?”

           “We don’t want to be your friends,” Hizashi continued. “We want to be more than that with you. We love you.”

           Now it was your turn to be silent as their confession looped around and around in your mind. But with the two of them gazing at you so hopefully, it wasn’t long before you forced yourself to speak.

           “I—I’m sorry,” you began softly. “But I just can’t feel that way about anybody right now. What happened with Dabi, it—it really got to me, you saw how much it hurt me.”

           “We would never hurt you though,” Aizawa told you.

           “But I’m just not ready to be that vulnerable yet.”

           “Sure you are,” Aizawa said. “You have two men here who love you, who love you more than anyone else ever has. That’s all you need to be ready.”

           “I decide when I’m ready.”

           “Songbird, you’re just confused,” Hizashi said as Aizawa quietly slipped into the kitchen. “We know that this is a lot to take in, but taking this next step together is what’s right for all of us. We need to love you, and you need to let us.”

           “You’re not—”

           “Shouta and I can take care of you, we want to take care of you! You’ll never have to worry about anything again with us: not work, not bills, not villains, not anything! You would finally have the love that you deserve.”

           “I already said no,” you told as you began to stand from your chair. “I’m not going to say it again.”

           “And where are you going?” Aizawa suddenly asked from the dining room doorway.

           “I’m going to go back to my apartment and give you two a chance to cool down. Neither of you is making any sense.”

           “Really? Because you’re the one rejecting your soulmates.”

           “The two of you are not my soulmates.”

           “Of course we are,” Hizashi argued, tears beginning to fill his eyes at your stubbornness. When Aizawa spotted his boyfriend’s tears he frowned, extracting a syringe from his pocket and started to move towards you slowly and cautiously, the way one might with a spooked animal. As soon as you saw what he held in his hand, you tried to run for the door, only for Hizashi to immediately capture you in his arms. You writhed in his grip while Aizawa continued to approach you, and Hizashi nuzzled you comfortingly.

           “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Aizawa reassured you. “You’re just tired, you’re exhausted from work so you aren’t in your right mind.”

           “I told you that job was bad for you,” Hizashi grumbled into your neck.

           “Let me go!” you yelled. “Let me go or I swear—”

           “Ah, ah, songbird,” Hizashi lectured you as he held his hand over your mouth. “That’s no way to treat your lovers.”

           “Exactly,” Aizawa agreed. “So you’re going to have a little rest, and then hopefully in the morning you’ll realize just how foolishly you’ve been acting.”

           With that, Aizawa plunged the needle into your skin, both he and Hizashi ignoring your muffled pleas. The effects didn’t hit immediately, but soon enough you were melting into your captors’ arms, their touch the last thing you felt.

Please consider supporting me at my Ko-Fi account

Sweeter Than Heaven - Hosea x Reader

Hello Hosea fans!! This ended up WAY longer than I expected, but I've had the main man on my mind and wanted to give him the attention he deserves. Enjoy! It's on ao3 if you prefer.

Summary: Your crush on Hosea renders you incapable of interacting with him. He takes offence and tries to get to the bottom of what your issue is.

Word count: 8,283

Content warnings: Smut, 18+

Hosea Matthews took pride in being a decent man. He’d made his mistakes throughout his life but he was conscientious enough to see, admit, and learn from them. It was something he’d practised with age, his current stature far away from the cocky outlaw he’d been in his youth. 

He didn’t chastise himself for it, he’d seen it in all the men of the gang once upon a time. They too, some more than others, learnt and grew even if it was often in a misguided direction which he tried to correct. If he could do something good in this world, he could at least pass on the things he knew so that maybe those he thought highly of didn’t have to learn the hard way as he did. 

The fruits of his labour blossomed in recent years; a whole orchard of his legacy as clear as day solely by the pedestal the gang put him on. He was the one who most approached for advice, he was the one they asked when they wanted to learn something new, and he was the one who could provide a new angle on situations and see things often overlooked by others. Yes, Hosea did not struggle to gain the trust of those around him. 

However, it seemed his skills as an approachable wise old man (a description that took some time warming to) were being tested in the form of a new recruit to the gang. 

Most newbies go down one of two paths; jump in head first and make the loudest impression they can, or quietly watch from the sidelines and allow their actions to speak for them. Except this one did neither, not really. 

Honestly, you had him stumped. 

You were easy-going and someone everyone appeared to like, joining in on the banter when the drinks flowed but not being afraid to make suggestions where necessary. But you didn’t force your personality on anyone, and the overall opinion of the members of camp was a positive one. Approachable. Friendly. Smart. Even self-assured. 

It wasn’t that Hosea disagreed with these statements; it was just that he hadn’t had any chance to experience them himself. From afar, sure. He could see how one could describe you as all those things. But up close, when he tried to strike up a conversation – you had little or nothing to say other than the bare minimum for politeness. 

It’d finally happened, he supposed. A decent character who simply didn’t like him all that much. It unnerved him, seeing you laugh along with others only to quieten down when he came over. Was it the authority he held? Was it his age? He couldn’t be sure, but if he couldn’t keep up his reputation, he would at least find out the reason behind it. 

The wind was strong on that particular day. Strong enough that it whipped your face and blew your hair into disarray if you dared sit out in it for more than five minutes. So, when Tilly beckoned you into her tent with Karen and Mary-Beth, you didn’t hesitate in heading in and getting comfy beside them. 

“You’re sure Grimshaw won’t mind?” you asked, righting your shirt that’d gone askew thanks to the blustery air. 

“Grimshaw,” Karen elongated the word with distaste, “minds everything. I’d like to see her sew clothes when they’re being blown across the damn camp, though.” 

“No,” Tilly interjected before you could respond, “she won’t mind. Ain’t no way we could work in this, and Grimshaw knows that.” 

“Whatever you say,” Karen mumbled, pulling one of the folded blankets over herself. 

“You think it’ll last long?” you asked, flicking your gaze upwards. 

“Why, girl, you bored of us already?” 

“No,” you snickered. “But we could do with a way to pass the time.” 

The four of you took to thinking, and you thought maybe you could all sing a few songs – 

“I know,” Mary-Beth smiled, highlighting the hint of blush on the apples of her cheeks. “We could share our recent... Fancies.” 

“Oh, trust you to suggest romance,” Karen scoffed. 

“Come on, it’s the perfect opportunity! Winds so strong our words will stay locked up in this tent, and certainly won’t travel to any unwanted ears.” 

“Fine,” Karen acquiesced reluctantly. “Suppose I’ll start. Sean was asking me about this thing the other day, something like –” 

“No,” Tilly stopped her flow before it could begin, “I heard enough of you and Sean to last me a lifetime.” 

At Mary-Beth’s knowing chuckle, Karen rolled her eyes. “Well, then suit yourself. Actually, I’d like to hear if our newest friend has eyes for anyone.” 

Three expectant gazes landed on you, and you straightened up at the sudden attention. You shrugged. “I don’t know, there isn’t really anyone who’s caught my eye.” 

“Oh please,” Mary-Beth tutted. “Surely there’s someone you at least find attractive.” 

Attractive? Sure. The camp had its fair share of attractive people, but you knew that wasn’t what they were asking, not really. But you were lying, someone had in fact caught your eye. Only it was someone they’d never expect. 

It was more than just a pondering thought, too. It was the kind of attraction that made you forget your words, breathing cease, and limbs sit rigid and unnatural in their sockets.  

If you were being honest, you’d surprised yourself too. Any of the young, handsome outlaws you’d interacted with would’ve been an understandable choice, that way you could reason why you were drawn to one more than the other. Perhaps you’d even have liked more than one of them, weighing up their various traits to describe the winner. 

But none of them interested you at all.  

Sure, you could appreciate their looks, their sense of humour, or their work ethic, but there wasn’t that feeling that turned your tummy over and rendered your thoughts entirely theirs. In turn, you’d found it easy to talk to them, not even considering the possibility of dating and so having nothing to be concerned about.  

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been spared from the plight of having a crush. It almost made it worse that it was unexpected, you not having the slightest clue how to deal with it and feeling like nothing short of a blundering child every time you got to interact with him.  

God damn Hosea Matthews. 

You didn’t know what to make of it at first. When your mind went quiet the first time he spoke to you in that voice of his, you spent the rest of the day worrying you were coming down with something. It took a few days, until one evening when a bottle of whisky in hand ignited some more-than inappropriate thoughts about the man. Ever since, you couldn’t even look at him and expected this ridiculous feeling to go away in no time at all. 

Alas, weeks passed and there you were; crushing on him more with every day. What were you mean to do? How could you go about something like that? Would it be as easy as initiating a drunken kiss or harmless flirting? This man was as smart as they come and likely much less reckless than the younger men, surely you couldn’t make such an immature advance on him.  

You found ignoring him to be the easiest way to deal with it in the end. He scared you, not in an intimidating way but purely the fact that he knew so much whereas you knew so little. No, you supposed you weren’t scared of him; just scared of the fool you’d appear to be if you interacted with him. That wasn’t a problem provided you kept your distance. 

It was getting concerning, though you stuck hard with the idea that it would go away at some point. Right? 

You shrugged at the girls, concluding that the worse thing to do would be to admit it to them. “Sorry,” you laughed apologetically, “I hate to be such a bore.” 

The girls soon forgot, the discussion turning to one of the others but you couldn’t keep your mind away from him. 

―――

Thankfully, the wind died down some days later and allowed you to sit out with a book in the fresh afternoon air once your chores were finished. 

Hosea saw his opportunity. 

He walked over and stood to the side of you, though a pace behind so you didn’t see him in your peripheral right away. “Afternoon, miss. I need you for a job, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me.” 

Silence. 

Hosea cleared his throat, watching your unchanged expression and posture for a moment. “Miss?” he asked, a little louder than before. 

Your head rose from your book and towards him, brows pulling together in confusion. “Uh, me?” 

“Yes,” he smiled easily, “you.” 

Blinking owlishly at him, your nerves began to race your chest and you did your best job of not focusing on them. Why did he want you to go? This was all still new to you, you were far less capable than the other, more experienced girls. Perhaps it was a bit of practice? Unless you’d been slacking and he was subtly making you pull your weight? Either way, both options would mean Hosea would be exposed to you in close proximity alone and see your skills first-hand, providing you with ample opportunity to fuck up – 

“Miss,” he half-sighed, reminding you he was expecting a response and you realised you’d remained still since he’d clarified. Even when not talking, apparently you could still make a fool of yourself.  

“Sorry,” you said instinctively, attempting to relax your shoulders to diffuse the tension your body had accumulated. “Right now?” 

“Well, yes,” he pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open. “In about half an hour.” 

“Can I ask what the job is?” 

Hosea hid the concern from his smile, wondering why on earth you felt as though that wasn’t appropriate knowledge for you to know. “It’s just a bit of investigating, really. I don’t much fancy sitting alone in the saloon while I do so.” 

Finally, he’d said the right thing, and that appeared to relax you somewhat. You could do that, right? A couple of hours, the option of a drink to calm your nerves, and just listen to whoever the mark was. A starter job for you to dip your feet in the choppy waters of a life of crime. “Sure,” you shrugged casually, and Hosea accepted that was the best he’d get out of you for now. He told you to meet him by the horses when it was time. 

You weren’t proud of how much time you spent picking an outfit, acting like a teenager as though this man would even look twice at you. Wearing one of your favourite shirts and a simple skirt, you initially pinned some of your hair back but promptly returned it to its usual state at the worry that you were trying too hard. So, there you were half an hour later, mounting up on your horse and riding out with Hosea. 

On the ride over to the saloon, he’d decided on letting you reach out to him. The more he pushed conversation the more he expected you’d stray from it, and in his experience, many people aren’t comfortable with silence and that can be enough of a motivation in itself for striking up a conversation. Not you, though.  

It was your assumption that he was deep in thought, planning for the upcoming job and so you left him to his thoughts; not that you’d know what to say anyway. 

There was still time, though, and he didn’t concern himself with it too much. Once the two of you arrived, you got seated at the bar and he bought a bottle of beer for each of you. 

As he glanced around the room, it occurred to you that you didn’t have the slightest clue what this job was for and if anything was expected of you. You cleared your throat before quietly asking, “is there anything I’m supposed to do?” 

“Just follow my lead,” he said, and you relaxed and tensed simultaneously, happy that he trusted you enough to need no preparation but worried that you’d prove that to not be the case. Something in his tone was enough for you to almost believe him and thus gain confidence in yourself, it was an odd feeling and you briefly puzzled over how he managed to put you at ease with only four words. 

It wasn’t long before Hosea made you aware of the man when he entered, leaning up against the bar and that was when he started making conversation with you. Small talk, about the weather, how your horse was, what book you were reading, etc. It made sense, the pair of you could hardly sit there in silence and the knowledge that Hosea was listening more to the man behind him that to you made it much easier to talk to him. 

Then Hosea turned, politely apologising that he couldn’t help but overhear the man and your heartrate quickened for a moment at the fear of your cover being blown. But the man was fine with it, engaging in conversation about some fancy repeaters he was selling and Hosea feigned his interest as a gun enthusiast. How he had so much knowledge you’d never know, and it was knowledge you’d never learn since you couldn’t focus on the conversation, instead observing and listening to Hosea as he spoke. 

It was a marvel to see him in his element, and you watched on with adoration at his cool persona while his even cooler words gradually eased his victim and gained their trust. When the man turned away for you both to follow, offering to show him the merchandise, Hosea caught your eye and the slightest of smiles quirked over his mouth – enough of a response that didn’t suggest any suspicious motives had the man caught it. Hosea followed him and you followed a few paces behind, trying to squash your smile from growing further; this was rather fun.  

You waited outside while the sky turned darker and Hosea went into the small homestead close to town. It was easier this way, you wouldn’t have to linger or stand there awkwardly while they spoke. A rather useless part in the operation if you did say so yourself, but if Hosea wanted anything more from you, he’d have made that known. 

He was laughing and joking with the man when they came outside, clapping a hand on his shoulder and you smiled to yourself at how talented he was; it was like he was a different person entirely. You walked beside him once he’d said his goodbyes. 

“Get what you need?” you asked. 

Hosea nodded, promptly returning to his usual self and noticing how guarded you still were. “Indeed,” he said quietly, “should be a nice clean robbery for the boys.” 

You didn’t need to ask more, not wanting to pry into business that didn’t concern you and sighed in relief internally at managing to not ruin anything now that it was over. “Back to camp now, then?” 

“Why the rush? I say we go back to that saloon. Their whisky is rather good,” he responded promptly. 

Goddamnit. “I suppose.” 

Hosea’s smile hid his true feelings, bordering on frustration with your lackadaisical manner. He’d been nice enough, hadn’t he? What more did you want? He wasn’t a fan of resorting to drink to loosen someone's lips, it felt lazy and immoral, but you didn’t leave him with any other choice. The true goal of this job was still yet to be accomplished. 

And so there you were, back at the bar and he’d ordered some shots of whiskey with the excuse of celebrating a successful recon. You went along with it, more small talk ensuing and you relaxed once again as the whisky began to take its desired effect.  

Of course, Hosea noticed it. The way your brow softened and shoulders dropped to the way they were with seemingly everyone else but him soothed his growing concern with his plan. It was working. 

As he was telling you a story, the atmosphere shifted. You were sure it was only felt by you, or perhaps it was the drink, but you began to think there was more to this than he was letting on. He’d specifically chosen you to come out on the job when truthfully you didn’t need to be here, he’d suggested getting a drink once it was finished, and he’d spent the last forty-five minutes asking you questions to get to know you, all the while listening with intent... did he want you? You observed him as he spoke, the way he seemed to be searching your face for something, the brief touches on your arm, and the faint sparkle in his eye. 

He stopped mid-sentence, the change on your face distracting him since you’d gone from happy to concerned in a matter of seconds. “Is something the matter, miss?” 

Of course. He’d never make a move on you, how could he? If it went wrong that was your trust gone, his image tarnished as the trustworthy leader. You had to be the one to do it, didn’t you? 

It was easy, really. You didn’t think when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his and they were soft, and he smelled good - 

Hosea pulled away, his hand hovering between your torsos to keep the distance with a confused look on his face. Oh god. Before you could speak, apologising for being such an idiot and more than ready to blame it on alcohol, he relaxed once again.  

“Miss,” he said softly. “That isn’t how we do things here.” 

You nodded profusely, of course it wasn’t, he was a grown man, charming, charismatic, smart, and you just threw yourself at his feet because he showed you a bit of kindness and interest. How ridiculous you must look. “I’m so sorry, I mustn't have been thinking -” 

“Now,” he laughed, at ease and doing his best to keep the panic he saw growing in your eyes from manifesting, “don’t you apologise! I can see why you’d think that was the way of the gang, but truly it is not. You are here on merit alone, and I apologise if I have given any indication that more was expected of you.” 

The gang? Merit? Expected? What? Perhaps the drink was a good enough excuse, nothing made sense anymore and you frowned at him. “I -” you started, unsure of how to proceed but the alcohol thinned out your filter for the questions that were on your mind. “I don’t know what the gang has to do with it. I - there are... others, right?” 

Now it was Hosea’s turn to be confused. Other what? Were the other girls performing the task of pleasing the men and told you that was the norm? This was getting more serious, that was something he certainly wouldn’t tolerate. “Do you have an example of who?” 

“Well, there’s John and Abigail, of course, then Karen with Sean, though I know they’re not -” 

The cogs clicked into place, though Hosea still couldn’t make sense of what he thought he was hearing. “Hold on,” he said, placing his hand over yours that rested on the bar and you looked at it for a moment, how nice your hands looked together along with how gentle his touch was. “You... actually want this?” 

Hosea dipped his chin, hazel eyes piercing yours and you worked on a swallow. If nothing else had made sense tonight, his touch and gaze more than made up for it. Now that felt right. You didn’t have it in you to lie and you surrendered, offering him a nod in the hope that he would figure out what was going on. 

A brief flash of shock washed over him but a small smile tugged on the corners of his lips. He was honoured, and suddenly your behaviour made sense. Now he knew, not that he’d ever have figured it out without the push, it was blindingly obvious. The way you always seemed to be looking away from him, growing more nervous with every step he made closer to you, and clamming up whenever he made conversation. It was a crush, simple as that. 

A crush on him, no less. It’d been a while since he’d had to identify one of those aimed his way, but he wasn’t about to let it slip away in a hurry. To top it off, it came from you. He’d thought you beautiful when you joined up, he wasn’t about to deny that, and while he hadn’t had much experience with you, he’d soon grown fond of watching you from a distance. 

“I’m flattered,” he began with, searching his mind for how to court a woman and the expectant and worried look in your eye almost made him melt. How sweet. He inched closer, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and suppressing his laugh at how seemed to get even more nervous. As amusing as it was, he didn’t want you to feel that way. “Taken aback, sure. A pretty young thing like you takin’ an interest in an old conman? It’s almost comical.” 

You expected it much less than he did, but god both of his hands were on you and he actually looked happy, so you started to laugh. He was right, it was comical but no less true. “Perhaps it is.” 

Every inch of Hosea’s face relaxed fondly, your laugh ringing angelically in his ear and there was only one thing he wanted to do now. He leaned in once again but promptly stopped himself, watching your expression grow concerned once more. “I think I’d prefer to do this in a more private setting.” 

Reminding yourself not to be too uncool, you nodded calmly in agreement. 

“There’s a hotel nearby, we could get to know each other there?” he caught himself quickly, realising how this must all sound. “Not - not like that. Just, whatever you're comfortable with.” 

You’d done it. You’d made Hosea Matthews nervous. It seemed like an impossible feat, but he looked positively boyish with that apprehension in his eye and it was downright cute. You might not have his quick way with words, but you clearly had something. You slipped your hand into his, and pushed off the bar, smirking at him and following you out those doors was one of the easiest things he’d ever done. 

For all that boost of confidence was, it didn’t want to stick around. Your nerves made themselves known once again as Hosea opened the small room to the homely hotel, but you grasped to them desperately as you walked through the door he held open for you. It clicked shut, and you turned; you were really alone in a hotel room with him. 

He was hesitant, restricting himself as though he wasn’t entirely trusting in your desire to be with him. It made you want him even more though, walking the dark alleys of your mind where you wondered what he was like when he didn’t hinder himself. Unfiltered, unbounded Hosea was something you’d been longing to see. You’d waited long enough, anyway. 

Hosea was about to say something, make conversation and get to know you when you took a step forward and met his lips once more as though it’d been the only thought in your head since you practically skipped out of the saloon.  

His lips were delightfully soft, whisky residue sitting nicely on the plush flesh and it was addicting. You ran your hands around his lean waist until your frame pressed into his. 

This truly hadn’t been Hosea’s intention with getting the room, he was a gentleman after all, but you were stealing away all his logical thoughts. Besides, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and gladly returned your affections. 

Attempting to keep it slow, for now, you repeatedly kissed each other and once again you guessed he would only do what you were comfortable with. Well, screw that. In your fantasies, he’d taken control and taken what he wanted, while still keeping that desire to feed your pleasure, and you supposed it was down to you to let him know you were okay with it. You didn’t know if this would ever even happen again, but it wasn’t in your jurisdiction to question it. You gently grazed his bottom lip, pulling it between your two rows of teeth and Hosea’s breath stilled in his chest. 

He broke the contact, brow narrowing with the tilt of his head as though he was looking at you in a completely new light. A warmth grew in his eyes that you’d never seen before, one not borne from adoration – but lust. He moved his head forward, his lips stopping an inch from your ear until his shallow breaths landed on your skin. It didn’t make you shiver, but his following words that were laced with a dark undertone certainly did. 

“I didn’t have you down as such a troublemaker.” 

You gulped, an involuntary gasp leaving you as a hand snaked to your flank, gripping you with a firmness you wouldn’t have expected from him, and you looked at him all doe-eyed when he moved his head back to catch your gaze. 

“What’s the matter, dearest?” your heart thumped at the sound of the endearment as it purred through his lips, “going all quiet on me, now?” 

After a beat in your almost-paralysed state of mind and body, you realised he’d asked you a question and you nodded dumbly. How quickly he’d turned that round, immediately showing you who was in charge and promptly reminding you of the fact. More than anything you wished you could match his silken words, but even you knew better than to try and then subsequently ruin the mood. This was what you’d thought about for weeks, fantasising about his voice in your ear and his hands on your body while your fingers slipped between your wanting folds. He smirked, a brash confidence radiating from him that contrasted the gentle kiss he proceeded to place on your cheekbone. 

“That just won’t do,” he murmured against your skin, giving up his fight against his desires. “But the night is young. Plenty of time for me to wrench some noises out of you, yet.” 

Your next breath was a quiet whimper, your eyes falling shut as goosebumps grew all over your body. Now it all made sense, this man didn’t just know the right words to say, but he knew exactly how and when to say them. No wonder he’d conned so many people of their precious valuables and cash in his time, you were about ready to turn out your pockets and give him everything you owned.  

With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see him pressing his lips together to compose himself at the sight of you unravelling before him. He liked what he saw and what he heard, so Hosea decided he’d be greedy for once. He wanted more. “Hm, yes. That’s what I’m looking for.” 

Fluttering your eyes open, you noticed the widening of his pupils as his desire grew from within. “Hosea,” you breathed. 

“Hm?” he asked casually, though inside he was thinking of how his name sounded coming out of your mouth like that, more magnificent than any grand symphony.  

You just waited for more, and he smiled proudly.  

“Tell me what the matter is,” he brushed a hand over your hair and you couldn’t pick out whether he was teasing or comforting you. 

“God,” you started, arousal taking over your thoughts, “I want you. I really want you.” 

Hosea hadn’t expected you to be quite so bold, but he couldn’t ignore your signs any longer. You’d shown him and told him, and the only thing you seemed to be drunk on was lust. It’d be almost rude of him to turn away your advances. “Very well, then.” 

The hand placed loving on your head pulled your face to his, and he kissed you far unlike the way he’d kissed you previously. His lips led yours, firm and unyielding as they moved. You melted into it, glad for his other hand on your form to hold you upright. Sufficiently happy with your pliancy, the hand on your head trailed down your back, urging you even closer until he rested a palm on your behind, not hesitating in squeezing the soft flesh. You gasped, and he took the opportunity of your open mouth to slide his tongue inside. 

You promptly mobilised, allowing him in and circling your tongue around his, the taste of his spit something you’d been wanting to indulge in for a while. A faint hint of peppermint passed over once you’d soaked up any leftover taste of whisky he had to offer, and you brought your hands to his chest to grip at the fabric of his waistcoat. A wanting sound left him and his tongue retreated, pressing his forehead to yours while you both caught your breaths. 

Breathing wasn’t something you cared for right now, though you reminded yourself not to rush this, but he was right there and you innocently shifted your stance, brushing your thigh against his crotch and oh - 

He shook his head at you minimally, pulling away to get a look at the inquisitive desire that’d taken over your features. “One thing you should know,” he stated. “I take my time with my work.” 

“So, I’m work now?” 

Hosea’s face softened with a fond smile and he chuckled. “A piece of work,” he mused, “yes. That’s exactly what I think you are.” 

You huffed, unaware of your natural growing confidence and comfort with the man in such a short space of time. His hands found your hips, and you thought he was pushing you away until your thighs met the side of the bed and you obediently sat, putting you at a rather nice height and you took full advantage to look at his cock straining through his pants. 

A chuckle from above preluded Hosea nudging your legs apart with his foot against yours and you shifted back as he leaned down, his knee planted between your thighs while his other remained on the floor. One hand made its way up your body, expertly avoiding your breast and stopping to grip your chin. He studied you, endless possibilities playing out in his head and it excited him profusely. It was tough to decide on where to start with your waiting body beneath him, but his first goal was to make you come. He needed to know what you sounded like when you released, what you looked like, and most importantly – what you tasted like. 

The kiss he placed on your nose was far sweeter than anything else he planned to do to you that night. Then he glanced down, disappointed that you were still clothed, an inconvenient barrier, and you noticed the look grow on his face. 

“Everything alright?” you asked timidly, hoping you hadn’t come across too strong or he’d begun to regret pursuing this.  

“No,” he said shortly and you pouted. “You’re wearing too many clothes for my liking.” 

“Oh,” you smirked, fingers reaching to the buttons on your shirt but he stopped the path by holding your wrists. 

“Ah, ah. This is a present I didn’t expect to be opening tonight, and if it’s quite alright with you I’d like to unwrap it myself.” 

You blushed, quickly moving your hands away and the pleased, hungry look in his eye made something burn deep in your core as he drank in the sight of you. 

Those hands of his were something you’d thought about many times, wondering exactly what other talents his slender fingers were capable of. They made light work of your buttons, your shirt opening to slip to the sides and reveal your breasts to him.  

Hosea sighed painfully, his cock twitching in delight at seeing you exposed. “Lord above,” he hummed, conceding that God must exist – how else was something as heavenly as you created? He ran his palm to the underside of one of your breasts, gently kneading it and wanting nothing more than to experience them in all their glory. He moved down an inch and then hesitated, flicking his gaze up to your anticipation-filled expression. “This alright?” 

The soft tone counteracted the dark one that’d otherwise taken over his voice, and it was a comfort to know that your enjoyment and happiness were still his top priority. Your nod in response was urgent, rolling your shoulders back into the mattress in a futile attempt to get him closer to your sensitive spot and he couldn’t resist cracking a smile. 

“Alright girl,” he chuckled, “I’ve got you.” 

With that, his mouth came down onto your nipple, sucking it gently into his mouth and you groaned at the warm wetness on your skin, small jolts of pleasure shooting through you each time he sucked in. His mouth came off and his tongue took over while his other hand fondled your left-out nipple, squeezing and rolling it between his fingers. He ran his tongue around your areola a few times before short flicks of his tongue greeted your bud, now hard and straining to maximise the sensation.  

After kissing the flesh of your breast, he moved over to the other side and nuzzled the inner side of it with his nose. A peck on your nipple followed before he sucked that one in, and you expected his fingers to move over to the other side but instead, they trailed downwards, the back of his knuckles softly grazing over your centre. 

You whined low in your throat, watching him indulge with closed eyes while continuing to tease you down below. When you rolled your hips into his touch he met your gaze, the sight of you wanting and desperate almost enough to make him finish in his pants right there and then. He held off, unsure exactly how far this would go but knowing he had no plans of ending it any time soon.  

“You can,” you took a breath, “unwrap those too if you’d like.” 

A breath of a laugh came from his nose as he planted kisses over your breasts before stopping between them. “It’d be my pleasure.” 

“Trust me, pleasures all mine,” you responded dreamily and that smile of his made another appearance and he tilted his head at you. 

At your quizzical brow, he placed a kiss on your sternum before resting his chin there. “You’re funny,” he complimented adoringly. 

You tutted, rolling your hips into his now-still hand and he nodded his recollection of his previous ministrations.  

“My apologies,” he hummed, chaste kisses placed in a neat line down your stomach and you admired his multi-tasking ability while he swiftly undid your skirt.  

He moved off you to stand and you willingly lifted your hips for him to pull the rest of your clothing off. You were half-tempted to question why he was still fully clothed, but having someone so infatuated with you was a dream you didn’t want to interrupt. Plus, there’d be time for that yet if it was something he was comfortable with. 

Speaking of, you realised the view you'd presented to him and he raised his brows while looking lovingly between your thighs, and you instinctively closed them out of embarrassment but he brought a hand to your knee to part them once again, his gaze not leaving your flushed cunt. “So pretty. Why would you want to hide something so pretty?” 

You pressed your lips together, basking in the shower of affection that felt so natural coming from him. Like he meant every word, and he wasn’t just trying to make you feel good about yourself so he could have his way.  

“Come on, now,” he stroked his hand up your thigh while kneeling on the floor and the image of his face between your legs was instantly burned into your memory as one of the most delightful sights you’d ever seen. “Where’s that wily minx from earlier? This right here -” he gazed back at your most private part, “is one of the most wonderful things on this planet.” 

As you sighed gratefully, he brought his index finger into his mouth though you didn’t think it was necessary with how drenched you were. His spit grew cool fast, and you jolted slightly when it met the top of your slit, tracing a line down while he watched the pleasure blossom on your face, peaking when he brushed over your clit and you whined. He smiled to himself. “What a perfect sight.” 

Your head that’d dropped back tilted up in time to catch his fond expression before he dropped his attention to what you presented to him. He watched the tip of his finger as it slowly manoeuvred around your entrance to collect your slick, and while he was tempted to lick it off, he held back and decided he’d rather taste you directly from the source. 

Hosea watched intently as his finger entered you, appreciating the flutter of your walls as he pushed in up to the knuckle and gently slid back out. At no resistance from you, quite the opposite, in fact, he repeated the motion again, then a third time until his finger was completely sheathed inside you. The thought of him filling you further fleeted over your mind and you moaned softly at the teasing sensation. 

“More, Hosea, please,” you begged politely and he allowed himself a last look at the tight expression on your face before moving forward, simultaneously pushing a second finger inside and licking a long stripe up your slit. 

A gasp of pleasure accompanied your back arching off the bed, and the temptation to touch himself grew tough to ignore, but he managed. He ran his tongue between your soaked folds while he slowly moved his fingers in and out of your entrance. Twisting them around slightly to ensure you were stretched, should the need for that arise, he revelled in the taste of your pussy that ground up into his mouth. You tasted delightful and he began lapping at your clit, making your toes curl while pleas of his name spilled out of your mouth.  

Your dreams and dirty thoughts had done him no favours, this was far better than you imagined and a brief amusement passed over you at the thought of how silver that tongue really was. It proceeded to lick up all the juice you had to offer until Hosea grew greedy and wanted more. He wanted you to come in his mouth, on his fingers and he sucked on your clit, the sensation buzzing through your body as he did a pulsing motion with his lips. Continuing to fuck you with his fingers, you didn’t know which way to move your hips since every direction provided more pleasure, and it built up and you weakly tried to warn him, panting “I’m -” until your breathing paused while your body released over him, thighs tensing around his head and Hosea mused that he could quite happily suffocate here between your thighs.  

It felt like it lasted a small eternity, the orgasm flowing out of you in waves as Hosea helped coax it, and you finally relaxed back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling at the stars that peppered your vision. 

“Goddamn delicious,” you heard Hosea say, not having it in you to respond or even laugh, but you felt his fingers leave you and he crawled up your body. 

“Happy?” 

“I’m past happy, Hosea. I’m -” you didn’t know what to say, how to describe what you were feeling and you willed him up with your hands gripping his collar so you could kiss him lazily. The taste of yourself on his tongue was enough to ramp you up again but he moved to roll off you. “Where are you going?” 

“We don’t need to rush,” he soothed, thumb stroking your stomach. 

“But -” you protested, you wanted more and you wanted to feel him. “I want to.” 

“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You don’t need to, dear. I’m happy to wait.” 

“Do you want to?” you asked and he laughed, clearly just not trying to pressure you. Plus, his hard cock pressing into your leg was a dead giveaway. “Okay, because I really want to. I need to. I might die if we don’t.” 

He barked a laugh, taking your hand in his and kissing at your knuckles, the sheen of your slick passing over to your skin. “No, you won’t die.” 

“I will,” you insisted. 

“Well,” he shifted to stand between your draped legs hanging off the bed, his hands starting to undo his belt to pull it free and to the floor. The action of him smirking down at you while he did so was enough to drive you insane. “We don’t want that now, do we.” 

With that, he pushed his pants down and put a hand on either side of your hips and pulled you towards him, his cock springing up and just inches away from where you needed it. His calloused palms ran up to your knees, gently spreading them while you stared at his cock in disbelief that you were actually seeing it and once again your imagination had failed you.  

“Like what you see?” he teased, puffing his chest out slightly in pride. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, wishing you could describe him the way he’d described you but you didn’t think they’d invented those words yet. After realising you were in somewhat of an infatuated trance, you sat up and met his gaze, eyes blown wide with lust but still a promise of trust held in them. “This is – indescribable.” 

“I’ll take that,” he laughed softly, petting your head and you went to kiss his chest but were met with the fabric of his waistcoat.  

“Can I take this off?” you asked, fingertips fiddling with a button in anticipation. 

“If you’d like.” 

“I would like,” you said decidedly, half of his buttons already undone and you glanced up in questioning when you reached his shirt, making quick work of that too and marvelling at the exposed lean chest presented to you, dusted with light hairs and faint scars. 

Hosea shrugged off the garments and your eyes darted over his form, more beautiful than you’d pictured but your attention was soon grabbed by the leaking head of his cock. You debated putting your mouth around it, but with how insistently it stood to attention, you shifted back, patting the bed for him to join you. 

He didn’t question it, accommodating your request and you gently manoeuvred his shoulders to persuade him to lie back, not missing the excited glint in his eyes as you straddled him. With his cock sitting comfortably on his abdomen, you rolled your hips over it and coated him with your abundance of wetness. He groaned in bliss, head dropping back to the pillow and hands harshly gripping your thighs to anchor himself. He suspected it would do no good since he was grounding himself to a real-life angel that would only send him further up into the clouds. He didn’t care, either. 

The pressure of his shaft against your sensitive clit caused your walls to throb with need, your whole body begging to be filled by what Hosea had to offer. Your palms met the back of his hands, brushing up his forearms and to his shoulders until you could plant your hands on either side of his head. “Shit,” he whispered, lost in a haze of desire and the sight of your face above him, eyes filled with want and lips still plump from earlier while your hair fell down towards him was enough to bring a grown man to his knees, and he thanked the stars he was already laying down. He cupped your jaw and you leaned into it before moving your face to his and kissing his lips.  

Hosea kissed you back, soft and tender as he reached a hand between your torsos to find his cock and you met him halfway for his tip to press against your entrance. The kiss broke and the two of you gazed at each other, both wanting to watch the reaction of him finally being inside you. But you both missed it, pure bliss taking over as he pushed in and you had to close your eyes at the delightful stretch. He did too, your walls constricting his length knocking the air clean from his lungs. 

The pair of you stilled, once your crotch nestled into his hips, getting used to the feel of each other and committing every sensation to memory. You reopened your eyes to find his still shut as he dragged his mind away from thinking of how good it felt to avoid finishing prematurely. After planting a kiss on each cheek, he hummed in response and met your gaze. 

“You feel perfect,” he remarked, hand brushing up your flank, “you are perfect.” 

You shook your head, kissing his lips again. “You are.” 

He shunted a laugh, deciding now might be the worse time to argue over such a thing. You silently agreed and moved your hips to drag yourself back off his length. His hips twitched while he released a pleasured sigh, and you promptly lowered again to commence your motion of fucking down onto him.  

With each roll of your hips, your orgasm climbed back up and you enjoyed altering the pace and feeling him in every possible way. The man himself panted beneath you, fingers now weak where they rested on your hips instead of gripping at the flesh, informing you that whatever you doing was just what he wanted. 

“That’s it, that’s it sweetheart,” he praised, and as was the case in normal society, Hosea’s praise was expertly timed to ensure maximum effect and meaning. Seeking his approval was something everyone did, even if it was subconscious, and that was no less the case when in the bedroom. 

His forehead shone with a layer of sweat; brows pulled together in concentration as he watched his cock disappear into you every time your hips came down. 

The plush spot inside your walls grew, you realised as the head of Hosea’s cock brushing over it with each thrust become more of a heightened sensation. Your limbs grew weak and you sat back, Hosea taking note of your response and deciding it was his turn to make the effort. He fucked up into you, reaching deep within your walls and hitting that spot harder each time. You whined, desperately finding something to cling to and with your head dropped back one of his hands slipped into yours. You squeezed as your abdomen tensed, doing a good job of hovering above him to provide room enough for him to thrust upwards. Your cunt clenched around him, bringing a hand to fondle your breast and Hosea watched the show intently, eyes watering with the effort it took not to come at the sight. But you were close, your high-pitched moans told him that much and briefly hoped the room next door wasn’t occupied. 

Your legs tensed and you dropped your head forward, hands splayed on Hosea’s chest as your fingernails dug into his skin, one last thrust from him was all it took for the band in you to snap and you let out a silent moan in relief, no more energy available for anything other than coming right on his cock. 

Hosea bit his tongue, waiting until you’d taken a couple of breaths and pulled out. Even in your haze, you know what this meant and you gripped your hand around his cock, soon feeling warm spurts rope across your chest and stomach while a choked-out whimper came from the man underneath you. 

Both of you spend a moment suspended before returning to your bodies, and in your exhaustion, you wavered forward slightly but stopped yourself with a hand on the bed. Hosea caught your gaze, a fucked-out expression on his face and pulled you in to lay on his chest. Neither of you cared much about the mix of spend between you, and you lay your head on his chest to hear the thumping of his heart start to return to rest. 

He drew light circles on the small of your back, a gentle breath skimming your shoulder with each out-breath he took, each one quieter than the last. 

A small piece of clarity returned to you, and the stark realisation of what any of this could mean. What would it be like to date someone in the gang - Hosea, no less? Would you even be dating him, or was this a one-time thing? “Hosea,” you began, sitting up and finding him looking back at you like he was waiting for you to say something. He shook his head, holding your forearms in each hand and tugging you back down to him once again. You obliged, the reminder that you’re safe in his arms being more than enough for you to relax. 

“Shh,” Hosea soothed you, brushing his hand down your back. “We can leave all that for the morning. Unless you want to go back to camp now?” 

You shook your head fervently. “No, I -” 

“Good,” he interrupted with a smug smile. “For now, I just want you to stay here and lay with me.” 

So you did. 

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!

~

Keep reading

[anakin x reader x obi-wan]

THE LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS ARE PLAGUING ME AGAIN

warnings: smut, voyeurism (without consent), masturbation, reader doesn’t have a specified gender (but is probably mostly seen as afab)

—

You’re Obi-Wan’s lover and best friends with his ex-padawan Anakin. The three of you are incredibly close, always getting along. Anakin is aware of Obi-Wan and yours’ secret tryst-relationship-thing going on, but can’t help but start to become infatuated with you as well.

Of course, he keeps this to himself because he loves Obi-Wan, but sometimes the selfish thoughts would plague him as he wonders if Obi-Wan was worth your time, worth your love. A little voice inside him says no, I’m better for them, but then his rationale would rebuke him, stating that this thought path would only lead him down to trouble, that he must accept his brother got to you first.

But one night, Anakin passes by your room on his way to bed when he heard you mumble something inside, perhaps to someone. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he backpedals to linger behind your closed door. He waits to see if he’ll hear anything else, and when he does…

“Obi-Wan- oh, yes, please right there..”

Jealousy envelopes his entire being, eating away at his insides. He can’t help it, no matter how many times he’d fought himself over thoughts of you, told himself that you chose his master instead of him, he couldn’t come to accept it. He wanted you, he wanted you so fucking badly. And every time he had to look into your eyes or talk to you was true suffering for him, knowing he can never have you.

Even when envy stung his heart, he didn’t leave. He stayed- god knows why- to listen to your cries of pleasure, to treasure your sounds for a later time for himself. You sounded perfect, even better than he had imagined when he coaxed a weak, lonely pleasure out of himself on lonely nights. Thank god Obi-Wan was mostly silent, just a heavy breather, so Anakin could focus on you.

He could hear when your skin slapped against each other, could hear the wet sounds coming from you, and he soon found himself stiff and incredibly uncomfortable in his pants.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

Anakin’s thoughts run wild, knowing what he was thinking and planning to do was completely wrong and horrible, but the lust permeating his body and brain clouded his rationale as his hand trailed down to cup the tent of his pants.

Suddenly noises of movement come from the room, and his ears perk up to try to picture what was going on behind that door. Soon enough, the slapping noises were back again and louder than before- maybe even faster. This time you were moaning and gasping for breath, Anakin could only imagine what was happening to you. Probably getting your back blown out.

He strokes himself harder at that thought, silently wishing he could see you.

An absolutely devilish idea crosses his mind, but he’s quick to dismiss it.

That’s too far… right?

Look at what you’re doing right now, you pervert.

It’s true, if that’s too far, then what’s this?

The Jedi purses his lips in frustration, arguing with himself in his head with your erotic moans as background music.

Fuck it, if he can’t ever have you, at least he should be able to see you, just once.

Pausing all movement, he connects with the force, and as gently and as quietly as humanly possible, he uses it to nudge the door ajar just enough for him to peak. When he peers through..

Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit.

Obi-Wan’s got you on all fours, pounding into you with his hands gripping tight onto your hips, guiding you to bounce on his cock over and over again. Your back is arched perfectly, your face in complete bliss as it’s angled towards the ceiling.

Anakin’s own dick pulses with a new wave of need, so he quickly shoves his hand down his trousers and fists himself, sucking back any noise that might escape his throat. He would do anything in the galaxy to be the one right there thrusting wildly into you, he’d make you feel so good. Better than Obi-Wan. He’d be making you scream.

Obi-Wan leans over and grips the back of your neck to push your face into the covers, causing you to whimper. Now he’s got a hold your neck and your hip, and as he lifts a leg up to create a better angle, he groans and falls back into your previous pace. You squeal at the change, clearly very much enjoying everything your lover was doing.

How does Obi-Wan even know what to do, for kriff’s sake? The spark of jealousy reignites once again, but Anakin pushes it back so he can chase his release.

It only took a few more minutes before you started crying out again.

“Obi- Obi I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

The sight of you releasing was one he desperately soaked in, quickly watching every inch of your body as it spasmed and shook from the strength of your orgasm.

Anakin was pumping himself harder and faster, unbothered if he was leaking all over his himself, feeling that knot grow taut within him until he witnessed Obi-Wan push himself as deep as he could go within you, coaxing one last cry out of you and inevitably pushing Anakin over the edge as well. Ropes of cum coated the inside of his pants, as that euphoric sensation washed over him. He relished in it, picturing that he had just came inside you instead, but as soon as the feeling came it was gone, and the horrid reality of what he had done set in.

Fuck.

i dont want the mean guy who’s soft only for me i want the psychopath with no moral compass who’s moral compass becomes even more skewed for my sake bc i’m just the shit like that

Dabi and Tomura (poly or separately) are all about that forced intimacy, and will get it from their Darling no matter what. You're not sleeping in the bed if you're gonna flinch and shrink away when he moves to get close to you. You don't want to shower with him? Oh, guess you aren't showering at all until you stop being stubborn. Turning your head when he goes to move/lick a bit of stray food off of your lips? No meals for the next day, and the day after THAT you're getting tied up so you have to let him give you food. Tomura and Dabi both think of themselves as monsters, and if they have to let that side of them show a bit more to force their darling into being affectionate or to just stop fighting them, they will. They're more stubborn than you, they're stronger than you, and they're more terrifying than you can ever hope to be. Now stop fucking squirming and hug me back like you mean it, goddammit.