NSFW CAITVI FANART

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Simon loves to kiss you.

Not the messy, desperate kisses like shown in movies, the ones that always lead to more -though he'll never complain if it happens- but the sweet intimate kisses that are shared between the two of you, those make life worth living.

The privilege of being able to press a gentle kiss to your lips, forehead, or cheek is unlike the usually brutal things he does when he's away and it gives him a feeling he never thought he'd find.

To love you is a privilege in itself and he's never been so grateful to have something before. He takes every opportunity to kiss you no matter what you're doing his lips will find their way to you.

Currently, his chest is pressed tightly to your back and his arms are wrapped like a viper around your torso while you cook breakfast. Simon's face presses against the side of your head nuzzling into your hair like a cat.

A smile graces your face at the feeling, "You alright, my love?" He grunts into your hair and nods before pressing what must be the twentieth kiss to your head that morning. You can only laugh- never did you think after meeting this man, this keep-to-himself man- that he would be the type to never want to let you go.

Simon's voice is still husky when he finally speaks, "I love you." He's quiet still hesitant to voice his feelings.

You twist in his hold and wrap your arms around his neck fingers lacing through the short hair at the base of his neck.

You place a quick peck on his lips, then one on each cheek, and one more on his forehead and it's all he needs to know that you love him too.

The alternative ending, where Lute died instead of Adam… 🥀

PENITENCE

• feeling or showing sorrow and regret for having done wrong.

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo’s demise lead him into a heart wrenching dream-like state, where all he can see is you. You and him. Him and you. People he’s lost, people he could have met.

Satoru Gojo x fem!reader, angst, mention of slight gore with Satorus injuries, Silly drabble cause i was bored, not my best work 😝

Satoru’s eyes jolt open to his heart racing, and he swears it never beat this fast before. His body feels like it weighs million and millions of pounds. He plants his hands on the ground, sensing fine grains filtering in through his fingers as he looks down, hands sinking in fine sand.

His head is spinning, his mind feels like a static. It’s like his nerves are just firing off whenever they see fit. He stands up, brushing the sand off his torso as he looks down. His shirt is torn, his stomach is a mess of blood and guts he really doesn’t wish to look at. He looks back at the sand, noticing the indent of his shape, the blood splattered across the silhouette, a menacingly sharp line of blood over his waist is the only indication of his injury.

He should have bled out. He died.

Satoru’s torso feels like it’s going to fall apart—Like some strange force is keeping him in one piece. This is all so surreal, Satoru knows it’s not reality. Its a twisted looking world, so sweet looking it makes him want to shut his eyes and ignore how much he wishes to stay. This is most definitely a dream, or the afterlife, or both. Has he really crossed to the other side to be met with just a this?

He observes the sigh of a pretty beach before him. Golden sand, a nice pink sky, calm oceans, it’s picturesque. Like a painting. He stumbles forward, trying to keep himself steady as each footstep sinks into the sand. He walks normally, not feeling any pain or discomfort. None of those stings in his lower back, not an ache in his muscles, nothing.

He walks, not seeing any difference in his surroundings. He may have zoned out a few steps in, each step so agonizingly boring he may die from that instead of the injury present on his body.

“‘Toru!” Satoru stops abruptly, eyes blown wide as he hears a voice. Your voice. You giggle so sweetly, and he looks around frantically to search for you. Any glimpse of you could make him move forward, anything to prove you’re there. Its empty, and he feels himself die a little. Such a pretty beach turned so ugly and wretched in your absence. Where the hell are you? Why won’t you run to him? He dying, for gods sake!

“Toru! Come back, don’t go yet!” Your voice speaks up, echoing in his brain as he picks up the pace, trying to search for you. Why do you sound so happy? You shouldn’t be, it’s not the right time. Satoru adores your joy, but at the sight of him split in half, you would not be giggling and calling his name. You’d be in shambles, heartbroken.

His eyes catch a glimpse of something, someone in the water. Himself? He watches his own body rise from the waves, his skin tinted pink on his shoulders, in swimming trunks and sunglasses. Sunburnt to a crisp, as usual. “Coming—“ he runs over to the shore, and Satoru stands there stunned.

What can he make of this, he doesn’t know. This other Satoru is him, and he knows it, he feels it. He’s an image in his dream. Satoru never believed himself to be so arrogant as to dream of himself all sexy coming out of the water, thats not what’s going on.

He watched the figment of himself run, and the beach seems endless until everything comes full circle. You’re on the beach towel, in your bathing suit as you chide at the sunburnt Satoru for being careless, pinching his cheek. You push him down, sitting behind him as you gently spread sunscreen on his shoulders.

Satorus breath hitches, knees feeling weak as he watches the sight in front of him. This must be hell, he’s made up his mind. Is his afterlife just him having to watch another version of himself happily in your care? it cuts him to the core.

“Y/n!” He calls out, feeling an unfamiliar throb in his abdomen. He forgets he’s dead, forgets that soon this dream, as beautiful as it is, in a twisted way, shall end. And hell fall into a twisted abyss, a cold dark sea, having failed at his duty. At being the strongest, at protecting people.

He wonders if this is karma, punishing him for his actions. Maybe in another universe, he’s as happy as the sunburnt version of him is. Laughing, smiling, spending time with you. Maybe these are versions of himself, those that didn’t die, those that got to live life to the fullest.

Your lack of a response is noted, and he continues walking, ignoring the sight as he moves forward, trying not to look back. Maybe the universe is cursing him for dying, showing him what he could have had. It feels like hes walking through millions of possibilities, each hurting just as much as the last. He walks through beaches and bedrooms, fields of flowers, wedding halls, family homes.

Another jolt of pain hits him, and he hears your voice again. He was walking trying to ignore everything, trying to power through his he sights and not make himself feel guilty for dying. He looks down, noticing bland grey tiles as your voice hits him again. So painfully beautiful.

“‘Toru, wanna hold her?”

Satoru can’t bear to look, he can’t. Seeing a possibility of that with you, its not possible. He doesn’t want to die like this, he wanted it to be peacful, filled with nothing but positive thoughts. But the ache in his heart is more than enough as he turns his head, screwing his eyes shut as he takes in a shaky breath.

He watches himself hold your baby, tears streaming down his own face as you comfort him best you can. Your daughter holds the dream-Satorus finger, fast asleep, swaddled in a pretty pink blanket. The real Satoru walks forward, staring down at the bundle of joy as another jolt hits him.

He reaches down to try and touch her, maybe get a glimpse of what could have been. Shes cute, red as a tomato, wailing like an ambulance. But she was yours, she’s yours. And he curses himself for not actually being able to experience this, envious of something that isn’t even real. His hand phases through the baby like he’s a ghost, and Satoru recoils at having his hand in your babies face. This isn’t where his place is. This is the vision of father Satoru and his baby, the mother of the little Gojo right beside him. He can’t live in their life, he can’t be the sobbing Satoru with a daughter in his arms.

Satoru steps back, trying to calm his own breathing as he begins walking again, the vision of the hospital room fading. So many versions of you two flash around him, his surroundings changing each time.

He sees more an more, from seeing Geto and Shoko, to you holding little Megumi when his leg broke as careless teenagers. To getting weird stares when you bought him clothes because people thought you were teen parents. All of it makes Satoru coil up in utter despair. He may be the strongest, but he doesn’t want to die!

He forgets how long hes been walking, a jolt of pain hitting him as he stops. A breeze washes over him, and he finds himself in a large field of white roses. The pain is getting to him, and he feels like hes been ripped apart. He has been, but thats besides the point.

He stops, eyes glued to ground. He feels as if he can see his own reflection, the ground almost mirror-like. He can’t begin to count how many lashes and gashes are on his body, the way his entire torso feels like its being held on by a thread.

would he have done things differently if he knew? Would he have joined Suguru? Made sure Haibara didn’t die? Kill Toji before he killed Riko? Destory the ugly stich faced cursed before he set Nanami ablaze?

Would he have married you if he knew he’d die? No, he wouldn’t.

As if the Satoru Gojo would leave you a widow at 27.

Would you look pretty in a wedding dress? Silly question, of course you would.

Suguru would be his best man.

Megumi would bring you your rings.

And he’d cry, he’d cry super ugly, fat tears.

But he can’t, can’t think of what else he’d do after that as he feels his body hit hard ground, feeling his body slide apart like a cartoon. This is the real world, isn’t it? Dreams don’t last forever.

His legs are gone, all he can see is the sky is a flicker of the sky, blurry and dim. Its clear, blue as his eyes. He feels warm, disgustingly at ease. He’s leaving people behind, but at last, he’s resting.

God I love your little extended universe of Vox and the reader it's so damn good-- I have a little folder on my phone with a bunch of your work saved for later. It's like a treat

I do agree that Bad Liar seems to be at a nice enough conclusion BUT I second that anon asking for the "fucking Vox so Val can hear" fic. Petty dom reader with her prize.

-🐭

a/n — Long awaited fic incoming! It’s been like three weeks… jesus.

summary — Reader fucks a very vocal Vox in Val’s porn studio, mainly to be petty because you all can make Vox feel 100x better.

warnings — Smut, pegging, afab reader implied, aka use of a strap on, very self indulgent, small use of ‘mommy’, even smaller use of ‘y/n

Vox was loud, in and out of bed. You knew that all too well. That’s what, in hindsight, made this whole situation a bad idea.

You were in a backroom of Val’s studio. At first the intention was only to visit Vox during work. However, you did have the strap in your bag and he looked so damn good in his suit. 

To sum up, you couldn’t resist. Pulling him off to subsection of the porn studio, not even bothering to close the door all the way, and bending him over a table to fuck him relentlessly. 

At first he argued, telling you he had to get back to work. But it didn’t take much convincing to get him to take a ‘quick’ break. 

His pants were off, leaving his ass and dick fully exposed to you, but aside from his suit jacket and vest, his button up was still on. His tie was undone, however, and his shirt was only hanging on by three buttons.

“Quiet, Vox. What would anyone say if they saw you like this?” You coo down at him, thrusting deeper into his ass.

He whines loudly at your words, completely disregarding the actual order behind them.

“It’s hard to be quiet when yo—ouz—u’re doing that with your hips—szz—“ He tries to remain coherent, but it didn’t take much for your rhythm to affect his system.

You roll your eyes, leaning in closer and covering his mouth with your hand, rolling your hips once more. He whimpers.

“If you don’t start controlling your volume soon, Vox, I’m gonna have to stop. Got that?” You whisper, cruelly.

He whines, quieter this time, and nods his head. “Good boy,” you praise, grasping his hips harder.

That almost got him to break him promise immediately. He whimpered pathetically and arched back further into you.

“Good, baby. Doing so good, taking orders so well,” You breathe, finding a steady pace to fuck him.

Once again, he whines quietly and mutters something under his breath. You didn’t pick up on it, instead catching a glimpse of something by the doorway, moving in the corner of your eye.

You don’t turn your head fully, instead sparing an unintentional looking glance towards the door. Vox hadn’t noticed, too busy focusing on the dick up his ass. 

You noticed though. And god, it took everything in you not to turn over to the figure and flash a proud smile. No, no, you had to go about this right. It had to be slick.

“Vox, sweetheart, I changed my mind. Be as loud as you want,” you say sweetly, picking up the pace and starting to go faster. 

He whines and glitches out a small, “Yes, f—ffc—fuck. Thank you.” 

You can’t tell if the figure is still there, but you feel a presence around you. And it wasn’t exactly out of character for Valentino to lurk. Fucking prick. You’ll show him, though.

Vox claws dig into the table as you rut into him roughly, still keeping a solid rhythm, but making it more aggressive. It’s an art after all, and you’re sure that damn moth knows. 

“Oh god—zzx— fuck, fuck,” Vox whines, clawing at the table desperately, leaving deep marks. 

That’s when you get an idea. All at once, you stop, and pull out.

“Fuck, why the f—ffz—fuck would you stop—“ Vox’s question is cut off when you flip him over quickly, hoist him up by his thighs, and slam him onto the nearest wall. 

You make sure the doorway has a clear shot of the scene. Not so slowly, you push your strap into Vox once more, he hisses and wraps his arms around your neck instinctively.

You thrust into him with force and, for lack of a better word, talented rhythm. Vox cries out, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, threatening to drip down him screen.

“Oh god, y/n—“ he moaned so loudly you were sure that half the studio could have heard, “y/n—zzf— Fuck. Deeper, fuck—“ 

His incoherent babbles only grew stronger as you planted kisses on his neck and bit down roughly. 

“My pretty boy,” You say, all too loudly, “Doing so good for me baby. Taking me so well.” 

At this point, the tears finally got the best of him, starting to dribble down his screen and he whined pathetically. The lights around you flickered, and you smirked to yourself.

A power outage? Aw, and maybe even during a filming session, how sad. Not really, though. Because Vox deserves to be treated like this, always. No exceptions. And you were doing your part to make sure everyone knew that. 

“You look so fucking stunning, sweetheart,” Vox’s claws scrapped up and down your back, leaving deep marks. 

You try not to hiss too loudly, “Aw, baby. Mommy making you feel that good?” 

He moans and lets out a sob as you fuck into him roughly, “Yes—szz— mommy, feels so good. Please ‘m—“

He cuts himself off by buffering in an almost violent sputter, sending a shock of electricity out. It shocks your body and fully cuts the lights off for a long moment. 

“Fuck,” you almost growl, “Your mine, Vox. You’re fucking mine.” 

Your rhythmic pace, if possible, becomes faster, shooting all the way up to his core. He whines at your comment, gripping onto you harder.

“Say it,” you hiss, nails digging into his hips, surely causing a bruise for tomorrow, “Tell everyone here who you belong to.”

You’re lucky he was so fucked out, because never in a million years would he normally admit to anything worded like that.  However, tonight you were doing an excellent job at fucking with his head.

“You, mommy—zzs— ‘m yours. ‘m yours,” he practically sobbed out. 

“Damn right,” you say lowly, finally sparing a glance to the seemingly empty doorway. No matter, you were sure people hallways down could hear these phrases clear as day. 

“Cum anytime you want baby—“ He didn’t hesitate to let go, sputtering out a mix of moans and malfunctions. 

With that, the power flashed one more time, before completely shutting off. Vox clings onto you for a few more moments, before you feel his body loosen. 

Still having a hold on his thighs, you pull out of him and access the damage. Just as you thought; total blue screen.

No matter, you’d clean up just fine. The feeling of self accomplishment totally overpowered the annoying process of getting him to turn back on. 

This feeling only gets better when you heard a foul shriek from down the hall in your direction. Already smiling, you couldn’t help but begin to laugh. 

You’d practically won. The power had gone out, prohibiting that perverted moth from filming anything, and at the same time stopped him from doing anything to distract himself from that loud pleasured noises Vox was making. 

But most of all, you treated Vox like the princess he is and took care of him well. And that, in a sense, was victory on its own. 

a/n — YIPPEE GUYS I FINALLY WROTE IT!!

“i am going to fuck you!”

“i am going to fuck you!”

that particular clip from lucifer’s fight with the first ever man to walk the planet—adam—had been playing for what seemed like ages now. it’s become background noise at this point, drowned out by the sinful whimpers of the king himself alongside the occasional creaking of the mattress.

“you were supposed to say— ‘fuck you up,’ my king,” you murmur close to his ear, peppering kisses down to his neck. lucifer was writhing beneath you, his knuckle almost turning white from how hard he’s holding onto your hand.

the intimacy during this heated session almost made him want to cry, if he wasn’t already getting ahead of himself.

“because the latter means something different, yes?”

lucifer nods to your question, struggling to meet your gaze. “y—yes— fuck—sorry, ‘m sorry—“ he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for; maybe he knows that he made the mistake in the delivery of his message adam, which lead to you getting slightly jealous.

barely.

“don’t apologize,” you hush his apologies by picking up your pace a bit, eliciting a reaction so erotic that you might mistake lucifer for a pornstar. his back arched, drool pooling on the corner of his lips—too cockdrunk to even care how he looked in front of you.

“just enjoy yourself, yeah? you deserve it after the show you put on, my king.”

“uh huh. yes, aha—..! yn, i’m gonna—“

instead of lucifer doing the fucking, he’d prefer to be on the receiving end, not that anyone who heard him on the battlefield during the early extermination would ever know.

sometimes i imagine adam absolutely hating apples and anything related to them. apple pie, apple juice, ect. he simply wont eat them.

and he’s finally in a committed relationship with someone new. he loves you to bits despite struggling to really show it in any traditionally romantic way. it takes a while for him to even say “i love you.”

but one day, you’re both in the kitchen or having a picnic. its not a special day, you’re just talking about your week, cracking jokes, everything is so good. you’re kind of hungry so you grab yourself a snack and without thinking, you offer adam an apple. the red gem is in your hand and its extended to him.

you dont realise what you’ve done but all adam can think of is eve offering him an apple after she had taken a bite, after she damned humanity. seeing it reminds him of the worst day of his life.

but its not eve, its you. and he takes the apple from your hand and eats it. and you both just keep talking because everything is going to be ok

Kissing & Waiting .ᐟ

ʚɞ: levi, eren, armin, jean, porco, reiner

note: when you kiss them in the car and they get hard so they make you wait for their boners to go down !

warnings: cursing, sexual, toxic porco, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

i really think having an emotional connection is so important to bakugou sexually.

like, i think he has to be in the exact right mood in order to get off by himself at home alone. can't be too tired, can't be too stressed out, can't have too much on his mind regarding work or other things, and even if it's been a while and his body is sensitive and wanting for it—if his head is not right, he can sit there for hours and never reach his peak.

which is why i think ultimately he doesn't do it that often, because it pisses him off to waste the time and not find the release. makes him more agitated. i think porn for the most part doesn't help him because he's too picky, literature probably helps a bit more, but he's still picky, and his imagination can get him there, but his headspace has to be right.

i think he's slow to hands-on stuff, when your relationship starts, and you can tell he's going to be like that pretty quickly. he responds to your touch like it's an accident; you reach out to hold his hand and he pulls his back like your knuckles have knocked by chance, like you're too close. it's not meant to be a rejection of any kind, it's just—he doesn't want you to touch him if you don't want to. if you don't mean to.

but when he realizes that you mean to, that you want to—

it has him skyrocketing. surprises him terribly, the affect you have on his body, and how quickly, because not even he can always have that affect on his own body.

you reach up to push some hair out of his face and your fingers skirt his cheekbone and he feels like a stupid gross disgusting puddle of mush. you loop your arm through his and lean into him while you're walking and he feels like a prize, like he's yours and you're his and you want everybody to know and that gives him a rush of pride that makes his head woozy.

he's dropping you off at home after date number he-doesn't-know and you're staring up at him outside your front door and he knows he should kiss you so he does and his whole body lights up with a heat he doesn't recognize at all. just from that.

and then he finally gets it: that heart-aching, stomach turning, body shaking want he's only ever heard about, and now finally feels.

strained