Warnings: Dub Con ? (cursed Speech), Nsfw 🔞, Virgin Inumaki And Reader, (inumaki Is Aged Up To 19)

kinich refuses to put cake on your face in your wedding day

even before back when you still were just boyfriend, girlfriend, the evening he decided to propose; under a stellar night sky, "look a shooting star! quick, make a wish!" you quickly pointed out to the dark azure stratosphere.

"..."

"..did you wish?"

"yeah."

"well then, what was it!!"

"if i tell it now, it won't come true. isn't that what you said?"

"aww c'mon! i'm curious now!"

the tradition of putting cake onto your partner's face never appealed to him. he thought it was rude. he didn't wanna dirty the face he found the prettiest.

so the best he'd do is the smallest bit of icing on the tip of your nose, then put the rest of it in your mouth and lets you do the same.

he knew tonight was a cold night out as well, and gave you the jacket of his suit.

he knew how long it took to do your makeup, so he didn't wanna ruin it.

the cake tradition i'm taking about here usually refers to how your partner will take care of you, in sickness and in health, but when they smash it, it means they won't. so in the most respectful way possible, he didn't wanna disresepct you!

yeah he did his research, its his partner we're talking about. as much as he is blunt, he's quiet because most of the time he's busy paying attention to your likes.

did you notice how the cake was your favorite? did you notice it was your favorite flowers that he put up at every curtain? did you notice it was mixed with his and your culture when it came to traditions as well?

"you feel any better?" is all he says while watching you admire the scenery from a balcony. the venue was up in a tree, and all you wanted to do was admire what felt like a dream below you.

"can i know what you wished for on that day you proposed to me on?" you look over to your now husband.

"i wished for you to accept my proposal, and spend my life with you."

Just some sketches. I have no clue what that octopus-looking thing is, so don’t ask.😅

I’m kind of new to drawing and still trying to find my art style, so… yeah. Could do better.

BLOOD SUCKING FREAKS!

your faves as vampires— multifandom headcanons

fandom list— vnc (the case study of Vanitas), bsd, jjk, mha, one piece, aot, kny, csm, genshin impact (brings back memories…), haikyuu, soul eater, hxh + more!

cws: nsfw?, blood, biting, possessive/yandere themes, dark themes, bites can be used as a sort of aphrodisiac, overstim themes, mentions of bruising, chasing, “hunting”, mentions of being tied/chained up, some are darker than others due to the characters being more inherently “evil”, unedited, you can tell who my favs are, sorry if some are short... tell me if I missed anything!

MDNI

He’s so sweet and kind with you, always ensuring you’re fully prepared to take him. His big rough hands toying and prodding in such a gentle manner that you can’t help but cry out for more. Tears prick the corner of your eyes at his slow pace, you’re not sure how much longer you could keep going like this. His hands trail up and down leaving goosebumps across your skin. His eyes sharpen as he peers down at the junction of your neck. He tilts his head down, inhaling deeply as he drags his tongue up your collarbone. He hovers over your pulse point, sharp fangs grazing the sensitive spot and you shiver at the feeling.

“May I?”

His voice is thick and laced with lust. you feebly nod your head, letting out a small whimper. He hesitates slightly before biting down. It is weak, and only just pierces the skin enough for it to bleed. But what did you expect your hunk of a vampire is just soft.

Maybe a little too soft.

— Izuku, Tamaki, All might, Nighteye, Nanami, Higuruma, Ino, Rengoku, Gyomei, Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Jouno, Atsushi, Roland, Zack Fair, Armin, Shiro, Kunigami, Reo, Kurapika, Cyno, Aether, Gepard, Hinata, Sugawara, Yamaguchi + your fav

Your skin is already littered with bruises and teeth marks. Small beads of blood trickle down your chest and he carefully laps at them. He's been at it for hours, marking you up, making sure whoever dares to look at you knows you belong to him. But who could blame him

Your flesh is so soft and tender between his teeth he can’t help but want to take a bite. It's like you've put him in a trance. His gorgeous girlfriend, who's so eager and pliable to his touch. You were practically made for him. And the sweet sounds you make when he pushes deeper inside of you, it's not his fault your moans are so hypnotizing.

He doesn't normally get so worked up, but you've been riling him up all day. Teasing him with your touches, whispering dirty words into his ear, it's only natural he would break at some point.

He didn’t mean to get rough, but you just tasted so good he couldn’t resist. You won’t blame him… right?

— Xiao, Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, Alhaitham, Aizawa, Shoto, Shinso, Bakugo, Gojo, Noritoshi, Vanitas, Uzui, Giyuu, Zoro, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Aki, Rin, Isagi, Shidou, Sae, Tobio, Suna, Oikawa, Reno, Leon, Eren, Jean, Levi, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan + your fav

He's so messy.

Spending hours in between your thighs, kissing the supple skin, and also leaving his claim in their place. he's basically eating you alive, bite marks indented in the flesh, and he hasn't even touched you yet. You're whining for him to stop teasing, pleading for him to give you what you want. And who is he to deny?

Arms hooked under your thighs, keeping you in place from thrashing around. He buries his face into you, his nose nudging up against your clit, and the sensation has you jolting. He gives a tentative lick, eyes shooting up to look at your reaction. Your hands nestle into his hair, tugging at the roots as a moan slips out from your lips. And after that, he's ruthless, eating you out like you're a 5-star meal (you are). He's kissing and licking and sucking, and god, whatever the hell he's doing it's making your mind blank.

You don't have it in you to care about how loud you're being, and he doesn't seem to care either. In fact, they seem to encourage him to rip those pretty pretty sounds from you.

“So sweet f’me baby,”

Slick is practically covering the lower half of his face, but he doesn't seem to care. His eyes are blown wide, giving you a dazed out stare as he continues to lap at your core.

This was going to be a long night.

— Noè, Choso, Connie, Luffy, Tighnari, Kazuha, Itto, Kaeya, Leorio, Ranpo, Techou, Tachihara, Cloud, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Kaiser, Aiku, Kuroo, Tanaka, Miya twins, Hizashi, Mirio, Jin, Hawks, Tamaki, Sero, Denki, Kirishima, Sampo, Jiaoqui + your fav

You're such a brat.

You're lucky he still puts up with you after everything you've pulled. He glares down at you, the eye contact making you uneasy. Your mewling and whimpering did nothing to sway him. Your hands are still tied behind your back as his thighs continue to spread your legs open. His hands as roaming your body, squealing and pinching in places that make you jump, before he leaves them to play with your nipples.

His touch is light and teasing, driving you insane. Your nipples harden under his touch, embarrassing sounds escaping your throat as he continues to toy with them. You shove your face into the pillows next to you to muffle them. One of his hands leaves your chest to grip your chin, tilting your head back to stare directly at him. He wants to see every expression you make.

The tension between your legs becomes too much to ignore and you begin to discreetly hump his thigh, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you. At least you thought you were discreet. You don't far before his hands are off you and he's shoving you away. With teary eyes you stare at him confused, why did he stop you?

You're needy and sensitive and you want him to touch you again. You beg for him to continue, but all he does is let out a low chuckle. He doesn't plan on letting you off the hook so easily. He wants to make sure this stays ingrained in your head so that you'll never make the same mistake again.

Because you're his, and he'll spend every second reminding you of that fact.

— August Ruthven, Sanemi, Iguro, Akaza, Geto, Dazai, Mori, Fukuchi, Shigiraki, Overhaul, Blade, Reiner, (s4) Eren, Feitan, Chrollo + your fav

He doesn't know why you keep trying, why you continue to run away. He doesn't understand whatever false sense of freedom you feel when he lets you out. Did you really think you could outrun him? Oh, how idiotic. If he had it in him he would pity you, so dumb and naive. It seems like you still haven't learned your lesson.

Your wrists and ankles are bound together, chained up to the wall. Tears prick your eyes but you know he won't care. He's leaning over you, peering down at your small form as you keep yanking at the restraints in hopes of being set free. You and he both know it's futile, so why keep fighting?

He grips your arms, sharp claws pinching the skin. Without warning he hastily leans down to sink his teeth into your neck. You scream out and thrash at the pain but he holds you still, makes you take it.

It doesn't take long for the venom to enter your systems, an intoxicating feeling clouding your mind and a strange but familiar heat coursing through your body. Your body tensed, heart-beat picking up as you tried to deny what was happening.

He licked the wound closed before stepping back. his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you squirm as the aphrodisiac set in. You scream at him, curses getting mixed in with small yelps as your body becomes sensitive to your clothes. But he isn't too worried about that. He'll break you one way or another.

And then you'll see that there is no way of escaping him.

— Sukuna, Kenjaku, Muzan, Douma, Fyodor, Dabi + your fav

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FREAKS!

Anyway just another disclaimer: I don't romanticize the actions performed in the last one, idk it just doesn't do anything for me, I also (personally) think it's unhealthy but wtv floats your boat ig!! (I say this like it isn't the longest section) IDK, it was just kinda fun to write, I've been meaning to get into darker themes(I have a Douma fic I've been meaning to write) so I wanted to go all out and see how it felt.

I love writing heacanons, ahhhhhhhh, I probably won't edit these so hopefully they aren't too bad!

@ CHERICOS 2024 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works

──── 8 times in the morning.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. forest sex. that's it.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader,!!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. he would, idk i just get the vibes, oh and i wrote dialogue this time :)

kinich who's such a meanie, merely observing you, a lustful smirk on his face as you rode him. watching each time how you plop down onto his base, the way your wanton moans mixed with the moist, & musky environment you've both set yourselves to.

kinich who leans against the branches, as your chest leans onto his, repeatedly bouncing. hearing the way you could only whimper out small mewls of his name, seeing how prettily your tummy bulged with his length inside of you, he could watch you for days.

kinich who holds you down by your hips, slamming you against his base when you start to get tired, barely carrying yourself off the branch below you. grunting at the sound of your wails of pleasure. or the way you screamed his name when you squirted on his cock for what seems like the umpteenth time already!!

"ah— shit.. have you ever thought how pretty you look like this?" he huffed out as he held you down to his base. you couldn't make out a reply, simply inhaling and exhaling, in the process of catching your breath. "s' pretty.. i'm gonna miss the way you whine my name.. gonna miss these hips on this cock."

he sounded so condescending. mere pants coming out your mouth, busy trying to formulate a sentence in a way to retaliate against him. but before you can speak a single word—

"mhm? sorry, what was that, pretty?" mock visible in the tone of his voice, kinich had no mercy for you, at least for now. grinding against your g-spot. "a-ahh fffuck.. kin—" you felt like you were about to cum again, deep crescent marks indented to your plush thighs. "mmf.. kin— i-i'm g'na.." "what? cumming again?" he only rubbed against harder, reaching a hand out to touch the precious little bump he made in your stomach.

the dominance of tree covers the whole of the land, yet here you were, instead of hunting for the price of a million mora, you'd get the dopamine of getting it at least. kinich who only let out a scoff, watching your eyebrows knit in pleasure, watching how your thighs simply quivered from it, you were getting close.

kinich who was obsessed watching your expression spoil into a hot mess on his dick. feeling your pussy clench on him so good, he couldn't resist a groan. the moon marks into your hips only worsening, whining for him to just finish you off already—

"c'mon.. say please. please ruin my pussy, kinich. beg for me, tell me how much you've earned this last drop of my cum inside you." such a meanie kinich is! he wanted you to beg him so sweetly, even when you can barely remember your own name. even when you can only see stars from cumming so much. after a few attempts, he lets out a low rasp, giving it to you anyway.

kinich who pistons your hips onto his cock one more time, a lot rougher than the ones he did with you earlier. hitting your womb so good you scream a little louder than earlier, startling a few animals nearby (LOL.)

kinich who arrives back to their commissioners, the ones who originally gave him the mission, saying they forfeit the job.

"hey— kid you can't just leave now! you already—" a bag of the ores they searched for landed onto the table. deciding not to accept payment for this mission this time, making you cream on his cock 8 times in a row was priceless.

this was supposed to be in my kinktober thing but i guess i need to post

Satoru's Psyche|Teaser

"Now…would you say that human nature led me to this? Or am I a product of the cards I've been dealt?"

🗂️Patient File: Patient Gojo has been admitted to a specialized psychiatric hospital following a compulsive massacre and assault on the city of Shibuya|Causes/triggers that led to the patient’s mental decline and subsequent carnage in Shibuya are currently speculative; however, they are suspected to be linked to a prolonged period of confinement within a cube-like structure. Information regarding the mechanics of this structure and the patient’s history remain undisclosed to the ward and the public.  🩺Job Description: You are the only nurse in Tokyo—specifically assigned by an unknown secret society related to the patient—who is able to manage and care for patient Gojo. His violent and erratic behavior has left multitudes of staff members in shambles and disarray as he quickly disposed of them one after another. But for reasons unknown—a complete mystery to yourself as well—you have somehow managed to cross Gojo's barriers and earn his approval to be his one and only caretaker. Your duties include: daily routine patient care, observation and monitoring, therapy, adherence to protocol, and thorough documentation to be directly reported to the Director at the end of every shift. Be wary: Patient Gojo exhibits characteristics consistent with an extensive history of manipulation, obsessive behavior, and charismatic engagement. The patient's ability to charm and manipulate requires that staff be particularly cautious about their own psychological well-being. Exercise heightened emotional regulation and remain professional at all times to ensure that personal feelings do not affect judgment or quality of patient care. 📋Length of Admission (w.c): 10 unpredictable intervals 💊Intake Chart (tags): Patient is prone to: sporadic fits of violence; manipulation; flirtatious conduct, verbiage, and assault; over-obsessive tendencies; fluctuating attachment styles, narcissistic dialogue, and an insatiable compulsive urge to [REDACTED]. 🏥Orientation: August 14, 2024

doctor's angel's note: - Check the acknowledgment box (like) - Forward your copy (reblog) to accept this position. - Sign below (comment) to subscribe to the patient's weekly updates (tag list). S/O: @blkkizzat for the teaser inspo|Check out their teaser of the juicy, delectable Yakuza!Toji x Reader story that I cannot wait to get my hands on, The Nursery

Is it just me or everytime I fantasize I make myself nothing like me?

Iguro isn't used to Kaburamaru disappearing from his typical place upon his shoulders. And he's definitely not used to the snake being gone for long periods of time. Maybe that's why he's freaking out a bit more than usual trying to find the damn thing. He'd been training within the walls of the Butterfly Mansion when he realized that familiar weight was missing. And now he has to forgo honing his sword skills in order to stomp around the grounds, asking everyone he comes across, and keeping his eyes peeled for any kind of movement.

He doesn't have time for this but he loves that snake with all his heart so there's no way he'd be able to focus knowing he's missing.

Little does Iguro know, Kaburamaru left in search of something in particular. Or someone. The snake slithers along the ground quickly until he's on your heels and nearly trips you by wrapping himself around your ankles. It had scared you at first, making you yelp and leap away.

"Hey little guy," you steady your racing heart and kneel down with your arm out for him, "what are you doing? Where's your owner?"

Kaburamaru moves forward and coils himself around your wrist, flicking his tongue at you with what almost looks like a smile. He makes his way up your arm and drapes himself across your shoulders the same way he usually does with Iguro. You feel warmth bloom in your chest at the show of affection.

It's odd, ever since you met the snake hashira his pet seemed to take a liking to you. One that his master clearly doesn't share. Iguro always gave you silence and cold glares that made you feel like even though you've only known him a short time you'd personally slighted him. When he did speak to you it was always short and to the point. Which constantly leaves you even more confused as to why he let's his snake snuggle up on you.

You let your knuckle brush along the smooth scales and Kaburamaru's tongue pokes out to brush over your cheek.

Had he gotten lost? It wasn't common for him to go off on his own from what you'd heard from the other hashira. He's always glued onto Iguro. And according to Shinobu, he isn't friendly with anyone other than his owner. But he's different around you. He always sticks his head out toward you for scritches when you're nearby and he goes out of his way to rub against you when he can. You aren't sure why but you're happy to see that he likes you somewhat.

"Come on let's go find Mr. Iguro," you say, poking your finger on his snoot lovingly.

Finding Iguro proves to be a challenge for you. Out of all the hashira he's the best at keeping himself scarce especially if he doesn't want to be found. You start by checking all the obvious places, like the trees surrounding the mansion, even climbing a few of them yourself just in case he's higher up than usual. No dice. Then you check the training grounds because you know he likes to work on his technique when he has nothing else to do. Again, no luck.

Finally you suck it up and start to ask around.

Which for some reason is a lot more stressful than it should be. Every servant or kakushi you ask gives you a sideways glance with a smirk and comments about Kaburamaru. You try to explain but they don't really listen, clearly coming to their own conclusions regardless.

Prancing up the steps towards an open door to the mansion you spot three young girls going on about their day. You wave them over and figure they're worth asking too. They always seem to know the most random information so maybe you'll get lucky. They all blink up at you in sync, shouting out a cheerful hello, and stop what they're doing to listen.

Iguro doesn't really know how long he's been searching by the time he rounds the corner toward the front of the mansion. He sighs as he sees no one there. Not even a servant. He's starting to get anxious about Kaburamaru. He can't remember the last time he's been separated from him for so-

"Hello Mx. (Y/n)!"

The sudden sharp sound of three high pitched voices catches his attention with a grimace. He shuffles across the open space and peers up at the doorway. He can't see the girls, he knows it's clearly Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi, but he can see the back of your form. You're hunched over with one hand planted on your bent knees to reach closer to their height and your other hand up brushing over-

It's Kaburamaru! He's curled around your shoulders and neck, resting limply with his head nuzzling into your cheek, his tongue flicked out with a happy snake smile.

You've had him this whole time?! Iguro feels his eyebrows pinch together as he moves to leap the porch but he pauses as you scratch the underside of Kaburamaru's exposed belly. He's thinking now, about how much that snake seems to like you. About how every since you started coming around Kaburamaru seems to seek your warmth. Iguro watches you coddle his pet and feels fluttering butterflies in his stomach. They bounce around his ribcage as if they're trying desperately to escape.

He always feels this way when he looks at you... hell when he thinks about you.

"Have any of you see Mr. Iguro anywhere?" You ask in a chipper voice.

He hears an array of "no" from the girls.

One of them gasps, Sumi, he thinks, "you got Mr. Iguro's snake!"

You nod with a soft laugh.

"I think Kabu here got lost so I'm trying to return him but I can't find Mr. Iguro anywhere."

Lost? Kaburamaru never gets lost. He knows the Butterfly Mansion inside and out. And did you just call him Kabu?

Iguro's nose twitches behind bandages.

That damn snake hadn't gotten lost. He went looking for you! On purpose! Iguro is starting to regret speaking about you so much in front of him. All of his frustrated rambling must be getting to his head and confusing him. But then again he'd been that way the entire time you'd been around even before Iguro started complaining. So maybe Kaburamaru just likes you.

Just like his owner.

You stand back tall and the snake adjusts his position, "If any of you see him will you tell him I'm looking for him?"

A cacophony of "uh huh" follows and Iguro sees you heave out a big sigh. Soon three little sets of feet pattering on tatami mats echoes out the door and the girls come barreling out to go back to their work. They all freeze when they see Iguro with his palms and one foot resting on the edge of the porch.

Before he can stop them, they all shout, "We found him!"

Iguro quickly puts himself back into a regular stance on the ground and curses in his head. Just a second after, you poke your head around the doorframe and you light up at the sight of him. Oh how he adores such a view. The way your eyes shine and crinkle with the bright smile you give makes him feel sick.

In a good way.

You wander to the edge of the porch in front of him and drop down lightly, "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Iguro doesn't know what to do. Is he supposed to say something? You're standing in front of him looking at him like he's supposed to respond. Is his heart racing? Is he okay? Iguro's fists clench onto the bottom of his haori until he feels it burn in his bone white knuckles.

Speak you idiot, he thinks.

"I don't have time for childish games."

You're confused by his words.

He's blinking at you with those beautiful multicolor eyes without much expression. Is he mad at you? You haven't done anything but your stomach drops at the thought. Out of all the hashira or even all the other slayers he's the one man you don't want to upset. You want him to like you. Maybe even see you as a friend. But he looks so stoic that it worries you.

"What are you talking about?" You ask.

Iguro hates the way your voice wavers just slightly. He didn't mean to upset you. His eyes dart away quickly, settling on a patch of dying flowers by the steps. There's no way he can bring himself to look at you especially with his pet so comfortably snuggled around you like that. It's making his blood rush in his ears.

"First you steal my snake and now you're playing dumb," he says, "I had to stop training for this."

"I didn't steal him? He actually found me. Almost tripped me into a thorn bush too," you explain.

The creature in question hisses but it's clearly not threatening as his following act is to flick that forked tongue over your cheek. You giggle at the tickling sensation and Iguro thinks his heart is about to burst from his chest in an explosion of messy and hidden feelings. He can't stand it. You make him feel ready to fall apart.

But damn he really wants you to laugh like that more.

"I'm sorry you were distracted from training-" you could distract him anytime, "but I wanted to make sure he got back in your arms-" would you like to be in his arms, "I know how much he means to you," do you know how much you mean to him?

Iguro lets his eyes flicker to you for a second but finds it's too much for him to handle. He huffs in frustration, "can I just have him back now, please?"

"Of course," you poke Kaburamaru under his jaw playfully, "go on now you freeloader. Shoulder ride's comin' to an end."

At first, he doesn't move. He just accepts your poking and tightens around you. It's not until Iguro meets his pink eyes and narrows his own that the snake droops sadly and begins to unwrap himself. He does so slowly, as some kind of show of defiance, until he begins to stretch out midair towards Iguro's strangely barren shoulders. It actually looks wrong to see them empty.

"I promise I took good care of him while he was with me," you assure, sensing the anxiety rolling off of him but assuming it was all from the absence of his closest friend and not partially you.

Iguro hummed in response.

Kaburamaru's head drops onto one of Iguro's shoulders while most of his body unfurls but remains on you.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you glance over Iguro. You could never seem to get over how pretty he looked especially as the setting sun brushed his features. Soft cheeks that you can just see the top of with the bandage, a sharp nose, a diverted gaze filled with gentle light. Your heart is pounding wildly and you swallow down rising acid.

You shouldn't be thinking about him that way!

Kaburamaru suddenly tightens his hold on you in a vice grip and before you register it he's using the leverage from holding both of you to yank you forward. A yelp tears through your throat. You stumble and so does Iguro, although him much more graceful, and his warmth encompasses you. The snake doesn't let up with his hold, pinning you both into place.

The fabric over Iguro's nose rubs against your own and you're left frozen. Your eyes cross as you try to look at where you're now connected and a burning flush rushes to your face. Iguro's own pink creeps up his neck and the bridge of his nose.

Gorgeous eyes, one green and one gold, stare into yours when you tear your gaze up. A shiver pricks up your spine. He looks so intense.

Iguro's mind is a jumbled mess of chaos and fire with alarms ringing from somewhere he can't quite decipher. You're so close. So warm. So soft. He can almost feel you breathing if you were just a smidge forward then your entire front would be pressed against him. Embarrassment twisted his stomach.

Both of you try to speak and both of you stop when you hear the other start.

For a moment, neither of you try again.

"Y-you're getting kind of red," you comment.

Iguro lets his gaze leave your eyes but finds that with the proximity it's hard to look anywhere and not see you. He settles on your hands where they seem to be afraid to move.

"Making fun of me now?" He mutters.

"No," you just barely seem to stop yourself from yelling, your voice dropping into a whisper in that musical cadence he so adores, "not at all."

He's going to be sick.

Iguro is genuinely going to be sick.

You might as well.

There's no chance at even attempting to fight Kaburamaru's grip. He's got the insane strength of a snake and even if you could you're too worried about hurting him. Iguro seems to think the same.

"You got a new haori," Iguro says.

The realization that he pays attention to you makes you feel like cupid's arrow strikes through your heart. He's right, you did get a new one, your last one was something you’d gotten when you were young. It wasn't a design you liked anymore.

"Uh huh," is your stupid, awestruck response.

Iguro feeds on that like a starved man placed in front of a buffet.

There's a pause as neither of you move and Kaburamaru tightens, pressing you together. He doesn't seem to be planning to let go any time soon and Iguro is too out of it, lost in his own crushing thoughts, to do anything.

Iguro finally let's go of his own and lets his fingers brush your haori affectionately, "it suits you."

You're sure he must be trying to kill you.

"Kaburamaru likes you," Iguro says, "he doesn't like anyone."

Your gaze drifts to the snake that's curling himself in his owner's hair, "I'm glad."

Iguro mutters something so quiet that all you get from it is the rumbling of his chest. You can't see his lips so there's no way to try and figure out what it was and you're sure if you ask he won't repeat it.

"I like him too," you say, trying to convince yourself that you're still talking about the snake.

You're not. And you know that.

Iguro's throat tightens as words attempt to jump ship and spew out of him like a faucet. He could almost lean forward and kiss you if he wanted. He wants to. If he asked what might you say? Would that precious flush get darker? Just before he loses his already thready control, a booming voice cuts into the courtyard. You two turn your head's to look.

"Oh my! Are you two finally going to kiss?"

It's Rengoku, standing on the corner of the far side of the porch in all his glory, his hands propped onto his hips and a bright smile on his face. The embarrassment you feel is almost enough to make you faint as he seems way too excited about catching you in a compromising position. You wonder how it looks from an outside view. Iguro and you are pressed chest to chest, hips to hips, and his hands are grabbing at your haori.

It must look inappropriate.

"Wonderful!" Rengoku shouts in excitement, "I shall let the others know. Join us for supper when you are ready my friends!"

Let the others know? The other... hashira? You and Iguro come to that conclusion at the exact same moment and share a braincell. Both of you yell out to stop Rengoku as he turns on his heel to head towards the dining room. Kaburamaru doesn't get the hint and remains in place causing both of your voices to clash together in panicked yelps as your feet tangle together and you tumble to the ground.

-The Cruel Prince-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~ 

Summary: Prince Scaramouche is a ruthless Prince ruling over Inazuma. His engagement to a princess has him upset. You are his servant who he talks to regularly. He invites you to his private chambers one day...

Pairing: Prince! Scaramouche x Servant! Female Reader

Warning: Mean/Nice Scara, power relationship, fluffy cuteness, mean princess she don't got no name, unprotected sex, foul language, mutual masturbation, porn w/ plot, and cream pies hehe.

Word Count: 6.3K (...These are too long. I'll be making some shorter smuts without so much plot!)

Enjoy~

“Hmph, you, servant. Meet me in my personal chambers when you are finished. Do not leave me waiting long.” Splashes of dark lavender pooled from his eyes, his gaze piercing and powerful as he stared intimidatingly in your direction. The flashes of his Royal outfit shining under the chandeliers of the palace. With a swift turn, the prince left the kitchen where you had been cleaning up with the other servants. Low murmurs were exchanged among your co-workers, most in envy, some in fear, and some with pity. Prince Scaramouche of Inazuma truly was someone to be feared among all ranks, Including those of other nations. Just the mention of his name and the sound of thunder struck fear into the souls of even the dead. Now here this terrifying man was, inviting you to his personal chambers. 

What could Prince Scaramouche possibly want with someone like you? 

As a product of Queen Ei’s corrupt contract with an outcasted mage, Prince Scaramouche was conceived purely from the virgin queen. She needn’t no king by her side, only a son to take over in her steed once he was of age. The prince was a cruel man. He was merciless to those who deceive him. Unforgiving to those who do not yield under the frigid gaze his familiar lavender eyes cast. And spiteful to the trespassers and criminals that threaten to tarnish the reputation his name held. The fluidity of his tongue was similar to the way he held the sharpened blade adorning his hip, precise and always going for the kill. The frostiness of his dark lavender eyes was enough to scare the strongest men in any kingdom to bow to his feet. The prince truly is a cruel man. 

But he can kind. 

In fact, your first meeting with Prince Scaramouche was somewhat pleasant. After dusting the library, you had a bit of free time before your next task and chose to enjoy reading a novel. Being too engrossed in your book, you failed to notice the prince entering the room. His harsh tongue broke you from your intense concentration, standing up to bow to him with an apology quick on your lips. He was silent for a moment before he asked what you were reading. You briefly explained a vague summary of the book and the prince gave only a hum of acknowledgment. He didn’t disturb you more and simply left off into the library to retrieve a book of his own. A week later, you identified his lonely figure sitting at a cushioned royal blue sofa reading the book you had been reading. Thus, starting your complex relationship with Prince Scaramouche. Meeting in the library every two days to quietly discuss literature over tea. 

Going to his personal chambers… was new. 

Once you finished with your task, you made your way down the quiet hallways towards Prince Scaramouche’s private chambers. The sound of your own footsteps echoed in the stillness of the halls, almost identical to the sound of the thunder that often reined in the quiet and gloomy kingdom of Inazuma. The large mahogany doors of the prince’s private chambers came into your view, the smooth oak fragrance swimming through your nostrils, making you remember just how wealthy and powerful the prince was. Muffled voices came from the other side of the wooden doors, and you debated whether you should leave and come back at a different time. Reflecting over the prince’s words, you gave three firm knocks on the door, silencing the voices on the other end until one spoke loudly and sternly. 

“Enter.” After an approval was voiced, you carefully entered the room and laid eyes on Prince Scaramouche and his fiancé. The cold look in his eyes never left, even for the woman whom he was betrothed to. The princess was already looking at you when you entered, a disgusted and envious look in her eyes. “What is this servant doing here in your room, Scaramouche? You knew I was coming today yet you still invite someone to your room to bother us?!” The prince paid no mind to the princess’s obnoxious question and beckoned you with his index finger. With quiet and careful steps, you made your way to the prince, standing in front of his desk looking down at him. “(Y/N).” Your eyes widened upon the use of your name. In the palace —at least in Inazuma—royals were not supposed to speak or even know their servants’ names. It was deemed unnecessary and a bit too close for blue-blood liking. Getting close to a servant was strictly forbidden, so you never told him your name even when he requested it of you. “Escort the princess out.” 

“What?! But we’re supposed to be planning our wedding! You can’t throw me out! I won’t leave!” The princess sat down on one of his purple cushioned seats accented by a midnight threading. The prince merely looked at her and back to you, his eyes sharply narrowing as if to tell you to obey him. With a deep breath you politely spoke to the princess, “Please, princess. The prince has requested you-“ The princess stood making you stop your sentence as you believed she was going to leave. Her body turned towards you, her expensive heels clicking along the wooden floors of the prince’s private chambers until she was on you. In a blur, her hand rose and left a nasty red imprint on your cheek. Your legs felt shaky and the sting from her slap made tears water into your eyes. “Don’t ever speak to me so carelessly like that again, servant! I will be your queen! You treat me with respect! Do not let this happen again! I will return later to discuss our planning!”

The princess left, leaving you alone with Prince Scaramouche. The silence was utterly deafening. His dark lavender eyes were focused on your cheek, studying the rising redness that stained your perfect skin. A slender gloved finger rose and instructed you to come to his side. Your steps were shaky towards him, the thumping of your own heart loud in your ears the closer to got to him. You stood by his chair; gaze set down to him relaxing in his expertly crafted chair. The moment your eyes met you could feel how intense and threatening his gaze really was. Dark lashes fluttered against his eyes once he spared you a few lucid blinks. Your hands clasped together in front of you, awaiting an order from the prince. 

“On your knees.” The command was stern and deep, practically forcing you to your knees beside the arm of his chair. Prince Scaramouche turned his chair to face you, his knees so close to your face you thought he was accidentally going to kick you in the face. You closed your eyes, lips tightening in a thin line awaiting his words. “…Lift your head.” You did as he instructed, your eyes landing on the smug and prideful expression that plastered itself onto his pale features. A cruel and teasing smile spread onto his lips, obviously pleased by your unwavering obedience. “Do you know why I’ve asked you to come?” Your head shook honestly, any sense of words dying in your throat as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Truly pathetic you are…” 

“F…Forgive me, Prince…” His midnight gloved hands gripped your chin causing red to blossom over both your cheeks. The smoothness of his thumb rose to glide over your lips, his eyes now focused on the plush softness of your lips. Once he realized he was staring a bit too longingly at your lips, he scoffed and let your chin go, now running his fingers along the handprint swollen into your cheek. “Such a good girl. You always listen so well. I’ll make sure her actions do not go unpunished as your reward.” Your eyes widened slightly at his praise and promise. Your lips parted only to have his finger press lightly against your lips. “Keep those pretty lips shut and listen.” You remained quiet, the heat of your cheeks only increasing due to the closeness of his touch. He retracted his hand and sighed out in frustration. “That wretch needs to go back to her own kingdom and stop interfering in my personal affairs so much. It’s damn annoying that I can’t get a moment to breath without her head weaseling its way so far up my ass I can’t even shit her out if I tried.” 

A small giggle left your mouth, humored by his foul language and use of words. He paused to listen to your laughter, his face lighting up in surprise and bewilderment at such a sound. You lowered your head quickly muttering an apology. This only amused him more. “Hah! Am I truly that scary or are you this weak?” With a slightly flustered expression, you bit your lip and looked up to him again, shaking your head in response. The look that graced his dark lavender eyes told you that he wanted you to speak. He needed to hear it. “I…I’m not scared of you, Prince Scaramouche. You’ve always… been kind to me, even at our meetings in the library to discuss books. You’ve never shown true malice towards me. I only worry of disappointing you, Prince.” 

It was evident from the look on his face that he was greatly pleased by your answer. “Hmm. A fine answer. That deserves a little reward don’t you think?” A sly smile spread across his lips, his teeth peaking from the plushness of his pale pink lips. Your face began to flush pink again, watching helplessly as his face leaned closer to yours. “How about a kiss? I think that sounds like a lovely reward.” Your heart hammered harder against your chest; your eyes wide as the prince tilted his head towards your lips. Nothing could stop him from doing as he pleased with you. You closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the impact of his lips against yours. A low chuckle came beside your ear, making you flinch. “Haha, you should see the look in your face. Did you actually think I was going to kiss you?” 

“A-Ah?! W-Wait no… I-I’m so sorr—Mmph!” A hungry pressure was applied onto your lips, silencing your pitiful apology to the powerful prince. His tongue forced your lips apart, sliding over your teeth and gums with a predatory dominance. Your hands gripped the frilled fabric of your servant’s dress, eyes screwed tightly shut as you shook in his forceful lip-lock. Your mouth weakly fell apart for him, letting his tongue invade your mouth to claim you as his own. His gloved hand slid through your hair, lightly tugging your head back to push his tongue deeper. Your body was beginning to get hot, a soft sigh of embarrassed pleasure leaving your mouth into his. His lips curled against yours, letting you feel the way his expression morphed. He pulled away from you, his tongue slowly leaving yours to let your eyes see the thick string of saliva that connected your tongues. With a flick of his tongue the string snapped, his perverted tongue gliding over his upper lip. “You taste intoxicating. You sure you’re not trying to poison me or something?” 

You couldn’t speak. Any words that tried to escape your lips couldn’t from the sheer shock of everything that was happening. All you could do was gaze up at him in awe. A slight sneer rose to his expression before he turned away with a dismissive pat and ruffle of your hair. “Your initial purpose for being here is no longer important. That’ll be all. You’re dismissed.” You blinked and swallowed thickly, shakily standing and bowing to him. Your face was purely red, utterly embarrassed and flustered by the events that transpired. The intensity of his gaze weighing in on the back of your head was truly terrifying. It felt as if he was sizing you up, studying your body and your physique to find your weak spot so that he can effectively pounce and devour you. 

He was hunting you. 

It wouldn’t be long before he would strike again. 

Mindless chatter drummed against your ears as you quietly sat in the dining hall eating your dinner. Other servants surrounded you, eating their fills of the cooks’ tireless efforts. The prince and the princess had finally set a date for their wedding, which would also be the prince's coronation. You could tell by the way he carried himself lately that he was far from being please about this. The princess couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Her eyes sparkled roaming the halls of the palace, trying to make sense of all the turns and paths to get to where she needed to go the most. The servants attempted to avoid the princess due to her ludicrous and outright psychotic requests —mostly having to deal with Prince Scaramouche. Her goals were truly sinful, and the request of you and some other female servants was all the proof of that. 

She wanted to be intimate with the prince. 

Your mind drifted back to the day he kissed you. After Prince Scaramouche had sealed his lips on yours in a heated kiss, you tried to avoid him as much as you could, but he always found a way to get you. He always threw sly and underhanded comments about you trying to avoid him or being too flustered to face him. His mouth never quit running. His fingers began to linger more on your hands when you handed him a book, his eyes following your lips and letting them lower shamelessly to stare at your chest. His scent clogged your nose, his aura dazed your mind, and his voice was like constant music to your ears, hypnotizing you to think of him and him only. It was as if he had been with you all day and all night. Even when he isn’t around it always felt like his presence was somewhere close by. 

It was obvious. 

You were starting to fall in love with him. 

A loud bang interrupted you from your thoughts. The door to the dining hall burst open, involuntarily welcoming the prince to the servants only area of freedom from work. His eyes connected with yours immediately, heated, and intense eyes glaring coldly at you. “Come to my chambers. Now!” His voice was booming and full of distaste, it was a contrast to what he had been showing you the past few weeks. The seductive and flirtatious tone he used with you was gone in this moment. Nothing but pure rage and detest radiating from his rather short frame. You rose slowly, the eyes of all the other servants following you as you walked towards him. Low murmurs were exchanged, making your expression sour which the prince took notice of quickly. “Silence! You dare to speak so casually and rudely in my presence? I should have all your heads!”

The room fell eerily silent, the only thing being heard was your quiet footsteps towards the prince. His eyes trained on you, lips forming a straight line as he had to compose himself before he started dragging you away by force. Once you were in front of the prince he turned swiftly and walked out with haste, expecting you to follow closely. You matched his stride, following behind not making a peep since it was crystal clear that the prince was in a terrible mood. The familiar narrows and curves of the hallway alerted you to where he was leading you. The intimidating thumps of his boots sounded like the raging thunder that rocked the land and haunted the dreams of children. It felt as if you were caught in the middle of a terrible storm that showed no mercy with merciless winds and crackling thunder. 

The prince swung the door open, grabbing your wrist and pulling you in with a harsh tug. A surprised gasp flew from your lips, not expecting the sudden impact when your back hit the dark wood of his door. The lock slid into place with a click as the prince’s gloved hands twisted the lock. He was quick in his movements, lips locking with yours in a passionate kiss. The leather of his gloves slid along your wrists, slowly pushing your hands up above your head until he held them there with one hand, trailing the other back down your arm to your face. A soft sigh left your mouth, your body instantly becoming weak at the prince’s dominant touch. He pulled away slowly, dark lavender eyes gazing into yours intently while his thumb grazed your cheek softly. 

“You belong to me now. I’m tired of all this bullshit. I’m no longer going to abide by their rules. Submit to me.” He muttered against your lips, his eyes staring into yours intently. Both of your hands were held by your wrists in one of his strong slender hands. A confused look spread over your face, lightly panting against his lips as he continued to press his body against yours. “W-Wait Prince Scaramouche… M-May I speak?” The prince froze hearing your hesitance to his actions. The dejected look crossing his eyes made you shiver since he was beginning to become upset. He slowly let go of your wrists, stepping away from you with a bit of reluctance. You made a shy step forward, clearing your throat and adjusting your clothes. The prince clearly didn’t like this. “P-Prince Scaramouche… may I ask what happened to have you advancing on me all of a sudden? We… we kissed before once but… y-you’re a Royal, and you’re engaged to the princess, your wedding is-“ 

“I don’t give two shits about status or that wretch.” His words were cold and harsh, practically spitting them out at you as if they were poison on his tongue. The fury in his eyes was evident, annoyance raising to his lips in a bitter sneer. “I am only with her due to my mother forcing a marriage to me. I would rather have you, than her. Haha! You’re the only one who isn’t so scared of me that you’ll actually have a normal conversation with me. Does your small brain not comprehend how lonely I must be? How your less annoying presence satiates this emptiness in my chest? How your kind words melt my heart? How you treat me like a human being?” A sorrowful frown curved onto his lips, his eyes softening in the slightest when he made another step towards you. The dazzling shines of his medals in the dim lighting reminded you again of who exactly was in front of you, admitting he wanted to be with you instead of the beautiful princess. “B-But-“ 

“Hah, enough with the back talk. I’ve already admitted that I wish to have you regardless of the situation. It’s a matter of accepting or rejecting me. What is it you want, (Y/N)? If you aren’t a coward against royalty… then accept me. I can see it in your eyes you wish to have me too.” There was no denying that yes, you did want Prince Scaramouche. He held such power, respect, and most of all, he held a soft tenderness to you. The way his expression softens and relaxes when you’re in the library with him, asking childish and innocent questions he wishes to know. Those who get close to know the prince and genuinely care will know that of his caring and curious nature. None had ever gotten to experience this. You were the first one to ever want to know the prince, and here he was, rewarding you for your kindness, your patience, and your bravery for standing in the face of a furious thunderstorm, appreciating its cool rapid winds and loud thunder. Through masked words of rudeness to shield his soul, his actions revealed what lies in his heart. “Spit it out already, I’m losing patience.”

You didn’t respond verbally to him, you only gazed at him with the gentle tenderness that lovers would exchange. Your bare hands rose slowly, letting your fingertips slide over his unblemished pale features. His skin was cool to the touch yet soft as if it had never been touched or seen by that of battle or labor. The long lashes surrounding his dark lavender eyes fluttered under your gentleness, his gloved hands coming to rest against the back of one of your own hands. Your lips grew closer to his, brushing them softly against one another before you sealed your answer with a loving kiss. The prince moved his hands along your arm, slowly coming down to settle against your waist, pulling you closer towards him in attempt to practically become one with you. His touch was desperate, hungry, and oh so feverishly nervous. Truly sinful for someone of his status. 

“Fuck…” A faint curse came from his soft pale pink lips, the color of his cheeks rising to a gorgeous rosy red. His hands came down your slowly, inching his way closer and closer to your bottom. Anxious pants left your lungs as you waited for him to firmly grab you and continue. His strong hands gripped against the plushness of your ass, groping, and kneading the curvy flesh. A low groan erupted from his chest, bringing his hand down to pull your leg up against his hip. “You’re so beautiful…” The prince’s generous praise serenaded your body to croon into him, your mind turning to mush at the simple melody of his affections. Sparks of dark lavender glimmered within his eyes; the darkness of his pupils blown out in pure desire. His sinful tongue slipped past the guard of his thin lips to slide along your neck slowly before his teeth met your skin in a mix of passion and lust. “P-Prince-“ 

“Call my name.” His lips vibrated against your flesh, his hot breath fanning against your skin threatening to leave passionate burns of his affections. A pathetic whimper sounded from your throat, your tongue testing the waters of how well his name rolled off. “S-Scaramouche…” A heated sigh leaves the royal’s lips, his body moving forward to hold you against the wall. His teeth grazed your neck hungrily, his tongue marked you possessive, and his lips caressed your heart to encourage you to yearn for him more. “Such a good girl. Always so good to me.” Both of his hands slapped against your butt and pulled you up to hold your legs around his waist, carrying you back to his bedroom. The harsh kick of his boots made the door swing open, in an instant your back was against the bed with the prince on you in mere seconds. “Tell me what you want. Tell your Prince what to do to your lewd body.” 

“S-Scaramouche… I…” The words caught in your throat as you tried to think of a way to voice your desires to the Prince of Inzauma. Your flustered appearance only spurred the prince to touch you further. His slender fingers, still encased by the smoothness of his ebony gloves, glided up the skirt of your servant’s attire. The tenderness of his touch against your thighs turned desperate quick when he started to ascend higher, getting dangerously close to your shamefully wet cunt. “Use your words, darling.” The sweetness in his tone as he cooed that sensational nickname to you was enough to let your mind finally accept what was going to happen. You looked up to him, newfound confidence, and desire in your eyes. Of course, he noticed immediately with a satisfied smile, his tongue coming to lick his lips seductively. “Please, Scaramouche… touch me more.” 

“Hah, fuck…!” His lips crashed down on yours again, his hands making quick work go grab your thighs and part them, placing himself between them. The heat of his body scorched yours, a light sweat coating your forehead as his touches got all the more sinful. His tongue flicked and swirled against your own before he grabbed your jaw and pulled away from your lips, forcing you to keep your mouth open. Without so much as a breath, he spat in your mouth, sending a shiver down your spine as his spit mushed around on your tongue. “Swallow it.” His tone was no longer sweet and loving, it was demanding, lustful, seductive, and oh so lewd. You did as he instructed, swallowing his spit with a flustered squirm. The gorgeous shimmer of his canines came to your hazy view, his teeth snatching the leather on the tip of his finger and pulling his glove off with his teeth. God his hands were just absolutely gorgeous. “Good girl. You still want more, right?” 

You nod anxiously. A dark chuckle rumbled his chest, his gloves discarded to now feverishly unbutton the front of your shirt. “Good answer. Now sit back… and let your divine Prince take care of you.” His fingers brushed over your skin when he pushed your shirt open, dark lavender irises landing on the raggedy white bra you wore. While he was enjoying the delicious view, his lips turned downwards into scowl at the condition of your undergarment. “Tsk, we’ll have to change this if you are to become my woman. I’ll make sure you’re dressed in the most exquisite lingerie mora can buy.” A soft moan echoed into his ears once his hands made contact with your breasts, smooth hands kneading your tender mounds. The pads of his fingers teased your flesh, lightly dipping into the front of your bra and sliding his hand down to pinch your nipple. “Hmm! P-Prince Scaramouche…!” 

The uncomfortable push of your shambled bra from his fingers was nothing compared to the bliss you experienced under his hot touch. “Have you ever been touched like this before?” It was clear from the look in his eyes that he was searching for a particular answer. He begged you to say no, begged that he was the only man that’s ever touched you. It was possessive, jealous, and pitiful the way he gnawed at his lower lip waiting for your answer. “Mmph, no you’re, hah, t-the first Scaramouche.” His irksome scowl twisted into a cocky grin, the heaviness of his eyelids coming down to hold his vision. He was now solely focused on making you feel the best. “Good. Then let my touch be carved into that dumb brain of yours. Moan till your hearts content, darling.” 

His fingers pulled away slowly, his hands coming to push your bra up and over your head instead of unclipping it. This action made you realize that the brave and often times egotistical prince was also inexperienced. You would’ve never guessed due to his personality. Every act he did he did with the utmost confidence as if he’d rehearsed every scenario imaginable. The cloudy gaze he set on your chest was intense, his pupils blown out in pure lustful devotion to your body. Every swell and curve of your breasts had him mesmerized. The cute little erection of your nipples, the darker pigmentation of your areolas, and the slight jiggle they had whenever you shifted about. He quickly found himself becoming obsessed with the sight, imagination running wild with all the lewd things he could do. How would they look covered in his cum? Scratch that, maybe some lovely purple hickeys? Nah, what about some red blotchy bite marks? 

Fuck, he wants it all! 

“S-Scaramouche?” The sound of your flustered voice broke him from the bewitched state he had suffered when looking at your bare chest. A rosy blush spread over your cheeks; hands shaky at your sides wanting to cover yourself from his unwavering gaze. He let out a small, amused chuckle. “What? Can I not admire your body? I am a prince after all… I should be able to admire my things when I please.” His lips descended, landing on your collar bone only to cascade down to give wet kisses along the swells of your chest. His tongue came around your areola, flicking up to nudge your erected nipples. “Hmm!” You flinched upon the sudden action, lips coming up set in a firm line while your eyebrows scrunched in silenced pleasure. He repeated this action, earning another small flinch accompanied by a hushed whimper. “You’re so cute when you try to hide your voice from me. We’ll see how long you can keep that up.”

The prince moved his bare hands along the sides of your waist, catching under your skirt and pulling the frilled fabric down to expose the lace of your panties. The pads of his elegantly slender fingers glided easily over your skin, giving your legs chilly goosebumps at his touch. His index and middle finger slid from your skin to the sensational folds of your clothed cunt, rubbing slowly to ease his way between them. “Heh, look how wet you are… that’s incredibly lewd of you, (Y/N).” The grin on his face widened once he saw your face contort in quivering ecstasy as his fingertips teased at your folds. His middle finger found your puffy clit, rubbing back and forth slowly. Your back arched with a gasp at the sudden action, limbs twitching while your lip found its way between your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t you dare try to hold back those pretty moans. Let everyone hear you. Let them know how well I pleasure you, princess.” 

The prince relished in the way your body squirmed underneath him. It was always something he unconsciously loved. Dominating others and controlling every aspect over them. Discomfort boiled within the prince’s groin, his cock twitching feeling his fingertips becoming damp with your slick that was overflowing from your lovely cunt. He quickly withdrew one of his hands from your body, hastily unbuckling his pants to relieve the strain against his hard cock. “What do you want, darling? Tell your master what you fucking want!” His fingers encased your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingertips until your back was arching, head throwing back into the exquisite silk of the prince’s bed. “Scaramouche! P-Please… I-I can’t-! Want-! Ngh… I want more!” A cocky smirk plastered across the thin pale lips of the prince, his fingers now hooking on the side of your panties to pull them aside and slide his fingers up and down your wet folds. “Tsk, Tsk, not good enough. Be more specific.” Heavy lustful breaths poured from your mouth, your throat already dry and your heart beginning to hammer against your chest. “F-Fingers, hah, inside please…” 

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, I’ll indulge you for our first time… don’t expect the same treatment in the future now, darling.” With a sensationally fluid movement, the prince’s fingers embedded themselves into your warm cunt, walls fluttered tight at the sudden intrusion. A flustered and surprised gasp spewed from your lips, thighs shaking slightly at the god-like structure of his fingers. With his other hand, he grabbed your hand and guided it to rest against the tight bulge against his undergarments, his heavy arousal. A relieved sigh escaped from his lungs, groaning deeply at the contact against his cock. “Rub it if you want more. Hurry.” Desperation was laced within his hushed tone, hips bucking lightly into your hand to feel the electrifying friction of your hand on his erection. “C’mon, baby… fucking rub it.”

With a shy blush, you started to move your hand loosely around his cock, earning a low groan at the feathery touch. A satisfied grin spread onto his swollen pale lips feeling your cunt squeeze on his fingers. “What? You like jerking me off, darling? That’s… hah, incredibly lewd of you, fuck.” Scaramouche leaned over you, jaw clenched when your fingers kept loosely brushing over his tip over and over again. His fingers hooked inside of you, thrusting them deep causing your grip to tighten in surprise on his cock. You both moaned in unison, enjoying each other’s sinful touch. The prince bucked his hips into your hand, matching indigo brows furrowing at the lovely warmth around his twitching arousal. “Such a good girl. Always so, hah, obedient for me even like this.” 

“S-Scaramouche... hmm.” His fingers eagerly fucked your dripping cunt with purpose. His eyes were trained on your sinful expressions, fingers spreading to stretch out your walls. The friction of your fingers against his tip caused him to hunch over at a rapid approach to his release. “Stop.” Your hand immediately retracted upon hearing his order, worried you possibly hurt him or did something to cause him pain. Scaramouche pulled his fingers from you, not missing the small whimper that vibrated your throat as emptiness was all you were left with. Seeing such a worried expression, the prince laughed and kissed your forehead before bringing his fingers to his lips. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m just… too eager to have you right now.” A dark look of lust covered his eyes, devilish tongue coming to flick over his fingers and taste your juices. The flustered expression on your face was rewarding. Once his fingers were clean, he shrugged off his clothes, letting your eyes wander around the physique of the prince's slender tone body until your eyes trained on his erection before embarrassingly looking back into his dark lavender eyes. “Heh, think you can handle it?” 

An audible gulp echoed from your throat. 

“Y-Yes…” A small snicker came from the flashy Prince. He guided his hands along your thighs, spreading them wide open to your embarrassment. Scaramouche licked his lips at the view of you beneath him, cheeks faintly pink, drunk off the feeling of lust and your beautiful features. You belonged there. In his arms underneath him, obediently letting him do as he pleased. His one and only princess forever. “Oh? Yeah? Well…” Something wet and firm rubbed over your entrance, making your eyes snap down to identify what it was even though you knew what it was. A grin spread over his face and with one fluid movement, his cock was sheathed snuggly inside your warm and inviting cunt. A low groan ripped from his chest, sighing loudly in relief and pleasure at the blissful feeling. “Let’s see if you can keep up, darling.”

It hurt at first, his cock stretching your walls past their usual limits. Your face scrunched in pain, your lungs clawing for air as the sudden invasion left you breathless and panting. Scaramouche’s hips rutted into yours slow and firm, heavy balls slapping against the plush of your ass while his fingers dug bruises into your waist. “Shh, just… hah, bear with it for a bit.” After a few shallow thrusts, your walls got used to the feeling of being stretch and the pain twisted and melted into sinful pleasure. A soft moan was all Scaramouche needed to know you were feeling good. His hips began to buck harsher into yours. With grit teeth and furrowed brows, he growled out lowly. “You’re so fucking tight. Hah, shit.”

“Hmm, Scaramouche, hah, it’s so… deep, hngh!” Your head threw back into the expensive sheets of the prince’s bed. Your hands darted up to his toned shoulders, clutching onto him for dear life as his cock drilled deeper. The mushy head of his erection kissed against your cervix, making stars appear in your vision. Nothing had ever felt this good before, it was addicting, like a drug that once you start you could never stop. Scaramouche was too good. “Shit, shit… Agh…!” Strands of soft indigo rested against your sweaty forehead, warm breath fanning repeatedly over your face as the prince got closer to your face panting. Your lashes fluttered, black overtaking your vision as you solely focused on the pace of his hips and the swollen plush of his lips against yours. His pace became harsher and quicker, forcing loud and unabashed moans to flow into his mouth to swallow for him and him only. “You feeling good, darling? Hah, tell me how fucking good it feels, ngh.”

“It feels so -hah!- so good Scaramouche! So good! T-Too… much, ahh!” An unfamiliar feeling began to build in your abdomen, it was tight and hot. Your fingers dug into the unmarked flesh of his shoulders, embarrassed eyes slowly opening to look up at the prince. His eyes connected with yours instantly, a storm of indigo and deep lavender swirled within his irises, threatening to destroy your whole being with his overwhelming lust and affection. It was such a turn on to make eye contact with him while he was massaging your velvety insides with his thick cock. He leaned down and sealed your lips with his own once more, his pace faltering and a groan reverberating onto your lips as his orgasm grew closer and closer. “Shit, I’m gonna cum… Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming! Gah, damnit!”

“Scaramouche wait-! Ahh! Wait, wait- Mmm!!” Your toes curled and your back arched off the bed, a cry of your new lover’s name leaving your swollen abused lips. A creamy ring surrounded his cock, your juices making lewd squelching noises as his cock slid in and out of you so nicely. With an increasingly sloppy pace, the prince stilled on top of you, his body trembling slightly before letting out a flurry of pleasured curses. A warm gush flooded your insides, and you could feel the tip of his cock twitching wildly as his cum sputtered into your core. A shiver ran down your spine feeling so full inside, all of it was just so… blissful and overwhelming. You both sat there trying to catch your breath until Scaramouche's voice cut through the air. “(Y/N).” His voice was low and heaving as he called out to you. Your eyes could barely stay open anymore with how tired your love making had been. “Yes, Prin- Scaramouche…?”

“…You’ll be my Queen, won’t you?” With a loving smile, you leaned up gently and kiss his warm cheek. “Of course, without a doubt.” The prince snorted and flicked your forehead. “Good. Not as if I would let you say no to begin with.” 

The prince was a cruel and selfish man, but he was also kind.

"Time for me to go out and find the truth. So long, suckers!"

-Scaramouche

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time. 

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers. 

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason. 

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less. 

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone. 

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there. 

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?” 

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring. 

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles. 

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self. 

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say. 

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.” 

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair. 

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face. 

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.” 

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again. 

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion. 

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.” 

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands. 

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool. 

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses. 

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef. 

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table. 

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does. 

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready. 

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off. 

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.” 

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for. 

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage. 

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?” 

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.” 

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy. 

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy. 

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are. 

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together. 

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it. 

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...” 

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached. 

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him. 

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say? 

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess? 

No way—that can’t be it, right? 

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor. 

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.” 

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox. 

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.” 

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend. 

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his. 

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.” 

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

nsfw gamer!perv!mean!neighbor!scara x fem reader. fingering, oral(m recieving), scara is obsessed w readers lips and eyes(you'll see), unprotected sex, idk what else but have fun kekw I'm literally writing part two of this cus I have an ideaaaaa

your back is pressed hard against the wall. the yelling from the front the side of the weak drywall is from your neighbor, scaramouche. it was normal, from what you’ve heard, he’s always playing games. and he rages. hard. the way he yells out comms to his teammates and curses them right after for fucking up is a common occurrence on your apartment floor.

to be honest, you hadn’t even seen him for the longest time. just the way his mocking, sexy tone spits at an opponent when he takes them down. you would bang on the wall a little, and he would quiet down for just a little while before yelling out again.

that was until about a month ago. it was late. you were slightly buzzed, but not enough to take you out of your senses when you crossed paths with the purple-haired man. you're fumbling with your keys, dropping them as he passes you by with a snort. you retort, telling him to stop laughing! nothing was funny, you were really struggling here! he raises his arms in mock innocence. he never said it was! stop assuming things you don’t know.

you pout. it's cute, he thinks. so when you do manage to pick your keys up after much struggle, he hums to catch your attention. he motions for you to follow him, and you do. you don't even know why, but who wouldn't follow such a pretty man if they were in your shoes?

"just sit here. maybe when your eyes and brain start working together again, you'll be able to get back into your own home."

the noise you make in retaliation has jolts of electricity traveling to his ears. it was light, high pitched. almost a whimper. he shakes his head and makes his way towards the kitchen. when he returns with a glass of water, you're passed out. scaramouche rolls his eyes and hooks his arm underneath your legs so he can lay you down. he's watching you closely, the rise and fall of your chest, the soft breaths escaping from your parted lips. those lips...but he decides to hold off on what the devil on his shoulder is telling him to do.

when he wakes up, there's a thank you note on the spot you were asleep in the night before. the cup he placed for you is empty. he picks the glass up, pressing his lips onto the mark your lipstick left on it.

after that, you became a literal thorn in his side. you always seemed to catch him whenever he was coming back from whatever he was doing. you're texting him to shut up while he's on the game, or sitting in his living room with him while he watches the stupid show you put on, just like this time.

but someone calls you. unknown number? ah! it was probably for the delivery you had. so you excuse yourself and step out of his home. five minutes pass. then ten. it's weird. not that he cares, but shouldn't you be back by now! so he goes to look. your door is cracked open just the slightest bit, so he lets himself in. it's not new, he's always showing up unannounced anyway. he's padding his way to your room and he sees you with a.. pc?

yeah! your pc! you explain to him that you've been waiting for it to come so you can start building it.

"you want to build a pc?"

he doesn't actually mean to laugh. but it's almost absurd. even he almost broke his in a fit of rage while trying to get it working. what makes you think you can do it all in one sitting? but you rebound quick. telling him to fuck off so you can get to work. he picks a nice spot on your bed, facing the desk and floorspace you choose to work with while he lays back. when you glance up, the way he's looking down at you has you writhing. like a predator studying its prey before it pounces.

maybe he was right. this wasn't easy at all! why would you even subject yourself to this? he's stifling another laugh when you groan out in frustration once again. you're practically whining his name out as you're asking for help and he chooses to ignore the twitch in his pants as he drags himself towards you. rather than joining you, he's placing himself on the desk chair and bringing what you've done up to the desk. he looks around a bit, going between the manual and the semi-built contraption before asking you to hand something over. even though you didn't get as far as you wanted, he hates that he has to admit you did a hell of a good starting job.

"you're not gonna take it apart?"

he shakes his head as he looks down to answer you. or, he was going to. but the way you're perched up on your knees, big eyes staring up at him has his voice catch in his throat. he turns back to continue working, but a thought crosses his mind.

"pass me that screwdriver over there."

it's far, so you place your hand against the cold floor and stretch over. he almost moans at the unadulterated view of your ass, tiny shorts riding up as you reach out. you hand it to him and he can't even remember what he needed it for! but he shoves it in anyway so he doesn't look like a complete idiot.

after what feels like forever, the monitor runs without an issue! the breath of relief followed by a long drawn-out thank you is all that he hears. you're still on the floor, so you lean your head against the side of your chair. but the way he purrs your name out has you craning your head up to meet his gaze.

he's looking at you with that look again, and you can't find the strength to push any words out. his lips curl up before he speaks.

"now now, you can't let me go without giving me a proper thank you, hm?"

those pretty lips of yours are wrapped tight around his cock. the grip he has on your hair is so tight, almost bruising as you drag yourself up and down his length. he doesn't hide the way he groans, eyes trained on you as yours are squeezed shut, trying so hard to take all of him.

"fuck, always knew-ah. always knew this mouth would feel so fuckin' good."

his words are practically yanking the arousal out of you as you whimper against him. he hisses at the vibration, shoving himself deeper into your throat as you tighten the grip you have on his thigh.

"look at me.."

and you're just so fucking gorgeous. your cheeks are red, lips swollen around him. your tear-filled eyes threatening to spill as he fucks into your mouth now. his eyes never leave yours. they cant. it's that cute face of yours that sends him over the edge, hips still bucking up as he tries to ride the high out for as long as possible. when he finally frees your mouth, your labored breaths bring his attention right back to you. you were the one supposed to be "thanking" him, but he couldn't leave such a pretty thing like this.

which is why you're laid up between his legs, cunt getting abused by his slender fingers while his other hand tugs at your nipples. his palm is pressed flat against your swollen clit as he pumps those two fingers in and out at a delicious pace. he's curling his fingers at all the right spots, the heel of his palm pushing down at just the right moment that has your body spasming under him. tsk. he didn't even get to fuck with you a little before you came. but it's good to know how sensitive you are to him.

he shifts out from behind you so you can lie fully down. in a second he's on top, lips harshly catching yours in a rough kiss. the way his tip pokes at your entrance has you gasping into his mouth. he quickly slides his tongue into your mouth before pushing into you.

the way he fingered you is nothing compared to the stretch of his cock. he's much thicker than you anticipated, and when he finally bottoms out, the warmth of his breath and the closeness of his body have your eyes falling shut. you can feel everything. every vein, every twitch. the way his breath hitches when you unconsciously squeeze down on him. but that won't do. not at all. his hand finds your jaw in a strong grip.

"look at me when i fuck you."

so you open your eyes. his eyes are hooded, gaze heavy as he pulls out of you slowly. but the force of the thrust has you arching off the bed. he keeps it like that, hitting you fast and hard so that the only thing you can cry out is a mess of begging him not to stop. his free hand finds your hip to raise you up slightly and that change of angles has you seeing stars. your fingers are bunching the sheets as his name falls from your lips over and over as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

your breath becomes more jagged, your hand moving to grip the wrist that was still holding your face. you're whining about how close you are. his grip tightens and raises your head up slightly to give you one instruction. cum.

and you do. it's heavy on your body, broken sobs and moans leaving you as your eyes roll back. the warmth around his cock mixed with that expression is sending him spiraling too, releasing straight into you. the last thing you remember is his lips on the side of your face before you drift off into a much-needed slumber.

part 2 here!