#but this is my first smut fic tbh

[bowrapped]

burning for you

feline hybrid!reader x older!leon

tags: 18+, porn without plot, cis!afab!reader, owner/pet dynamics, daddy kink, mating/heat cycles, breeding kink, praise kink, hand kink, dd/lg-like themes, established relationship, surprisingly soft?

4.3k words

notes: i took the plunge and finally completed an nsfw fic based on some of my submissions to @lipglossanon as 🎀 anon! i hope y’all enjoy :)

crossposted to ao3

The front door subtly clicked as Leon unlocked it. Usually, you would already be headed to the door in greeting, your sensitive ears picking up his presence from the smallest of noises. This time, however, you were nowhere to be seen, and Leon called out to you as he shed his various accoutrement and walked deeper into the home.

Life with a hybrid had come with solace and routine for Leon, though it was a bit touch and go at times. You had a penchant for digging into his dirty laundry, wrapping yourself in sweaty workout clothes that you swore smelled divine. You were incredibly affectionate, something that both comforted and occasionally confounded Leon. You sweetly stayed by his side, purring as your long tail swished with affection. That’s not to say you were clingy—just honest in your feelings for the older man.

All of these factors were even more pronounced during your heat cycles. Leon knew another was coming soon, and he had a hunch it had come a bit early in spite of his preparations.

The thought was practically confirmed when there was no response to his calls. Leon quickly moved to his bedroom, past experience guiding him to your likely whereabouts.

As expected, he found you curled against his sheets and an assortment of his clothes. Your hands were bunched in the pile of fabric, pointedly refraining from touching your lower body while your thighs pressed together—trying and failing to find relief.

In his presence, you merely whined and curled yourself further into the makeshift nest around you, seemingly unable or unwilling to move very far.

Leon moved to sit on the edge of the bed and sighed, “There you are.”

You quickly shifted from your spot, your face pressed into his side as your hands tightly gripped his shirt. Your body was so tightly strung that you were near tears as you clung to your owner. Voice high and desperate, you cried into the cloth, “I needed you—need you so bad, Daddy.”

Daddy. The name had been your suggestion. You’d asked to call him that from the beginning, stating that it encompassed everything you dreamed an owner would be. A caregiver—someone who would love you unconditionally. His heart had melted at the confession, and he couldn’t help the twinge of arousal hearing the title from your lips. He diligently kept the expected promise of the name, and spoiled you just as it suggested. Middle age was surely softening him, but he wouldn’t focus on that now.

Leon easily untangled you from his side, gathered you in his arms, and sat against the dark wooden headboard. You were pliant as he settled you in his lap, back pressed against his chest and legs resting outside of his. Still, your hands clung to the muscular arms wrapped around your waist.

“Poor kitty,” Leon cooed as he guided your hair to the side, careful not to muss your pointed ears. His lips grazed your heated skin, stubble slightly tickling you as he went, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, but I’m here now, alright? Daddy’ll make it better.”

“Daddy, please, I—“ you mewled as Leon mouthed and nipped at your neck. “Was so good. I didn’t touch myself just like you told me to. Been waiting for you. Been so good,” your breath was heavy while you babbled, desperate for Leon to touch you.

He hummed in interest and smiled softly at your words—though you couldn’t see it. That rule was another staple in your dynamic, not born from sadism, but what Leon considered necessity.

Though you’d gotten better, you still had a tendency toward messiness. While he couldn’t fully fault you, he still needed to set some ground rules. Coming home to the sight of you grinding against his pillow was hot in the moment, but the extra laundry to be done after the fact was another story.

“Is that right?” He continued to press kisses into your nape as his hands roamed across your clothed chest, “That’s my girl. Daddy’s so proud of you, baby.”

You preened under his praise, chasing the large, rough hands that languidly explored your upper body over the threadbare fabric of Leon’s old tee. Your smaller fingers wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to pull his hands lower. You needed his fingers on your clit, in your cunt, anywhere that could give relief to the burning heat threatening to consume you.

Your body relaxed against Leon’s as he easily followed your lead. The feeling immediately dissipated when he didn’t go further down, but lifted your shirt hem instead.

“Daddy…” you grumbled. Your disappointment was evident, but Leon still pointedly ignored your spread legs and instead exposed your chest to the cool air of the room.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice low in his chest. “Want to give you some attention here first,” his calloused palms rested underneath your breasts, “We can’t have them feeling left out, can we?”

A high moan caught in your throat. You wanted to argue, to pull his hands down again, but you merely held onto his wrists as he continued to caress you. Your want to follow Leon’s somehow won out over heated desperation.

He caught your pebbled nipples between his forefinger and thumb, rolling and tugging them before grasping your breasts once more. You arched into his calloused hands, pleasured whimpers unmistakable in spite of your discontent.

“There you go…” Leon’s voice was soothing. “I know it’s hard, but just let me play a little.”

You let him. You always did. In your mind, Leon hung the stars, and you consistently followed him even when you protested.

It didn’t help that the rough attention he gave your breasts was a dizzying combination of too much and not enough. Your mind would be muddled regardless, but it was especially so now.

Neither his ministrations, nor your keens wavered as he spoke, “So sensitive here, sweetheart…Makes me wanna use my mouth on you—kiss you until you couldn't take it anymore.”

Your ears were downturned at his words. You knew you would take whatever Leon gave you, but you didn’t know if you could take that much teasing in your current state.

Leon huffed a laugh into your neck, ”I would, too, but you want me somewhere else, right?”

You immediately nodded, your hands again attempted to guide him between your legs. Leon’s arms remained firm, as did his tone, “C’mon. Gotta use your words for me.”

“‘M sorry,” your voice warbled, “I do.” You tugged his wrists again, succeeding this time in moving his hands further downward.

Leon’s fingertips grazed the frilly top of your panties as he playfully feigned ignorance.

“Here?” he questioned, a teasing smile on his face.

Your tail flicked in discontent as you immediately spread your legs even wider for him. “Yes. Please touch me, Daddy. I need it. Need you so badly.” Your hips canted upward, seeking friction that wasn’t there. The ache between your thighs was all-consuming, and you were desperate for the relief you knew Leon could give.

Leon gently patted your hip, “Alright. I’ll give you what you need, okay? No more teasing.”

He snaked his right hand underneath your waistband. His free arm wrapped firmly around your waist—an anchor for you as well as a way to keep you still. The wet spot you left on the white fabric was almost translucent on Leon’s hand as he gathered your slick on his fingertips.

His fingers easily glided across your entrance and up to your clit. You immediately bucked at the contact, but Leon’s arm didn't budge from its place across your soft stomach as he held you against him. His touch started in slow circular motions so as not to overwhelm your sensitive body.

Still, your hips desperately attempted to chase his hand, and you whined in both relieved pleasure and indignation at Leon’s stilling grasp. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he cooed.

As much as you wanted Leon to rush with you, he often opted to take his time. In addition to his penchant for teasing, you were precious to him, and he wished to convey that in part with how he handled you in intimate moments—at least until you urged him enough to do differently.

Leon’s languid caresses grew stronger as he guided your overstimulated body. Sloppy, rhythmic clicks and vocal, heaving breaths announced your desperation to the otherwise silent room. His fingers swept across your clit and down your soaked cunt where he began to work his fingers inside you. Your muscles immediately tightened around him, trying to pull his digits further in.

“Hah—Daddy,” you cried out, body still trying to move with the rhythm of his hand. The heel of Leon’s palm grinded against your clit as two of his fingers curled inside you. You lurched, moans caught high in your throat at the intense feeling. Your dulled nails gripped Leon’s forearms. The unfounded thought of him removing his hands had you scrambling to keep him in place.

With your limited movement, you arched back into Leon as you chased the stimulation of his hand. The feel of his hardening cock underneath you only spurred on your growing climax. The air was filled with your high-pitched cries and the lewd wet sound of Leon’s fingers moving inside of you, “Fuck—please, don’t stop, Daddy.”

A low hush brushed against your skin. “It’s okay, I won’t stop,” his lips were hotly pressed to your ear as he attempted to soothe you. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Leon’s soft words and strong grip were grounding to your overactive mind. Though your hand was tight on his own and your cries didn’t fully cease, your body still minutely relaxed into his.

“Atta girl,” Leon murmured, “You’re alright. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.”

He pressed his palm harsher against you, trying to guide you over the edge, “Want you to cum on my fingers first. Can you do that for me?”

“Mhm. I can,” you hiccuped, “Wanna feel good. Wanna be good for you, Daddy.” You continued to chase your high, grinding down on Leon’s hand as he pressed a third finger alongside the others.

His voice kept rumbling softly in your mind, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t grasp any of the words spoken into your tufted ear. Your attention was solely focused on your impending climax and the sight of Leon’s hand between your legs.

Your eyes followed the flexing tendons in his wrist down to the hand half-hidden by soaked fabric. A part of you yearned to see his hand work against you, unconcealed by the frilled garment. Another loathed the idea of losing his touch at all.

You didn’t have to ponder the dilemma for much longer as your climax encroached the forefront of your mind. Leon’s hands and voice were both quickly guiding you toward your peak, and you followed the feeling with abandon. Your body had been left wanting, but now it could finally get relief. You trembled in his arms, ears folded and brow furrowed in pleasure.

“That’s it,” he drawled, “Know you can do it, baby.”

The knot in your core continually grew tighter under Leon’s rough hands and gentle coaxing. You fell over the edge easily. Your nails and mind latched onto the whispered promise of relief and a full cunt. Later, you’d be apologetic at each of the marks you left on Leon’s skin, but the thought was far away in the wake of your climax.

Your ears buzzed as the feeling swept you under. Leon worked your body through it, his fingers sticky with your release.

“There you go…” he cooed. His touches slowly transitioned from strong presses to soft caresses that left your body quivering.

Your chest heaved on the pleasant come down. Yet still, you felt empty in spite of his fingers. Heat demanded one thing from you, and the yearning ache in your core would not let you forget that fact.

You impatiently pulled his hand from your panties and interrupted its languid dance across your pussy. His fingers separated, and the semi-translucent strings connecting them instantly caught your eye.

Without thinking, you ran your textured tongue up his salty-sweet palm. “Daddy,” you spoke against his skin. “Wanna keep going,” you captured his fingers between your lips, catching his knuckles on your canines and muffling your voice, “Please?”

You lost yourself in your owner’s calloused hands. You had always been enamored with them and their ability to treat you with both stern guidance and delicate finesse. Today was no different.

Leon’s grip tightened around your waist. As much as (or perhaps, because) he loved it, attending to you had left him painfully hard and wanting. The feel of your warm mouth and the unintentional satisfied hums reverberating in your throat did little to help.

He shifted his fingers against your tongue, coaxing your mouth open when he spread them. You chased the thin bands of saliva connecting you, gathering his fingers back into your mouth in a meager attempt to clean them.

Leon’s eyes were fixed onto your mouth as he breathed, “Alright, baby. Just need you to get up for me, okay?”

Your lips relinquished their hold on Leon’s hand, now only slightly less messy than before. You quickly adjusted your position—poised on your knees, presenting yourself regardless of your semi-clothed form. Your tail swayed above you in silent beacon as you awaited his response.

God. Leon was sure you’d be the death of him. He’d expected you to simply shift, to sit between his legs and face him while you anticipated his next words. Normally, you would, and Leon felt this boldness was a side effect of your biology-induced desperation. Either way, he couldn’t help but enjoy the view.

His hands easily rested on your hips as he knelt behind you. One rested at your tailbone, your soft fur nestled in the cradle between his index finger and thumb. The other teased at the line of your underwear in the silent promise of removing the garment.

“Shit,” he sighed, “Almost too pretty for your own good.” His palms were hot against your skin, unmoving but firm.

You shivered underneath him when you realized the image you likely projected in that moment. You, half-clothed with tousled hair and your hips high in offering. Him, still in the base of his work clothes with only flushed cheeks and tented jeans to betray his lust.

Fighting the urge to grind back into him, you let Leon explore your body at his own pace.

He silently stroked the base of your tail as his eyes and free hand roamed over your body. A low purr vibrated in your chest. Though the heated ache persisted, you always indulged in any attention Leon gave you.

Leon had a strong teasing streak—something that had seriously frustrated you at first. In your mind, you didn’t know why you would deny yourself when you could instead be honest and proactive in your desires.

With time, you learned that while it did partially come from a place of mischief, it mostly stemmed from appreciation. He wanted to take his time with you, lathe affection on each inch of your skin, and cement that you were his to cherish.

His hand shifted across your ass and down to the gusset of your panties. Your hips jumped when his thumb ran a smooth line down to your clothed clit.

“Daddy…”

Though you understood his teasing, it didn’t mean you were never impatient in the wake of it.

Leon gently hushed you, “Want to take my time with you for a little longer. Just be patient for me.”

You breathed in quiet pants as his light touches continued. He pulled the damp cotton down your thighs, smoothing your puffed tail as it threaded through the makeshift hole in the fabric.

His hand again found its place between your legs. You jerked under his touch as his thumb ran along soaked skin. Before you could fully sink into the feeling, it seemed to leave almost as soon as it arrived.

You turned back to protest, but all impatient remarks caught in your throat when you caught his eye over your shoulder. Leon mirrored your earlier actions, albeit much less messily, savoring what your body left on the pad of his thumb.

Noticing your reaction, his eyes creased at the edges. “You made it look so good, thought I needed a reminder.” His free hand revealed more of your face from under your mussed locks, “But that can come later, right?”

He shifted back, deft fingers quickly undoing the clasps of his well-worn belt and deep blue jeans. A low sigh escaped him as he freed his cock. Precum beaded at the flushed tip, belying the composure he’d shown thus far.

You reached for Leon’s hand in a silent plea, and he quickly tangled your fingers in understanding.

A high moan rushed from your throat as he slowly guided himself into your welcoming heat. The feeling of him was not new, but it was nevertheless overwhelming. Your mind was awash with him. The dull burning stretch of your muscles, the warmth of his hands on your sides, and the timbre of Leon’s voice all swam in your muddled mind and culminated in slurred gratitude.

Daddy—thank you, thank you, thank you…!

“Shh, don’t gotta thank me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You hiccuped a relieved sob at finally being filled. Your face burned—though you couldn’t dwell on your outburst. Instead, your breathing was heavy as you tried to relax around him. Wanted as it was, the insistent press of his cock was heady in your cotton-filled brain.

Leon let out a low moan as your body greedily took him in. In spite of your shared desperation, he kept his pace slow and his touch gentle. His hand squeezed yours in reassurance, and he quietly called your name. “Talk to me,” he coaxed, voice rough in his throat.

You nodded earnestly, one side of your face against the bedsheets, “I’m okay…” your voice trembled, “Sorry.”

He chuckled, “It’s alright. Don’t want to hurt you, that's all.”

“You won’t,” you grinded against him as you deepened the arch of your back, goading Leon further, “I can take it, Daddy. Please?”

“Fuck…” Leon hissed, his hips involuntarily following yours. He pressed your intertwined hands into the mattress, “I can never say no to you, can I?”

Your voice was lost in your throat, and the rhetorical question was simply met with pleased mewls as he finally moved. Obscene wet noises resounded from where your bodies were joined. The sound mingled with your voices in an unorthodox symphony.

Leon’s hand untangled from yours, moving to firmly grasp your hip. With it, he guided your body onto his, thrusts heavy as he fell into rhythm. His eyes trailed down the glistening line of your spine to where the two of you were connected. Your cunt wrapped tightly around him, seemingly trying to keep his cock nestled deep inside.

“Can’t help but spoil you.” Leon’s voice was low and rough as his eyes remained on you. A white band of your arousal already began to gather at his base—another mark of explicit honesty from your tightly wound body.

Each of your cries were muffled into the mattress as he fucked you. Your pleasured babbles were almost unintelligible to Leon as you continued to hide from him.

Muscular arms gathered you close to his chest, your damp skin hot against his own. Your head lolled to the side in a meager bid for him to move higher as he placed more forceful, heated kisses along your shoulder. “You don’t need to hide, sweetheart,” he murmured, stubble now rough against you. As he spoke, one of his hands trailed down to your soaked cunt.

It easily found its mark, rubbing quick circles along your clit and further coaxing you to your climax. You bucked in his grasp at the added stimulation. Your hands clutched his forearms as they searched for an anchor. You were certain his grip was the only thing keeping you kneeling on your shaking legs.

Your words were interspersed with whines and moans as he continued to move inside of you, “‘M sorry, Daddy—just feels so good.”

You could feel his smile at your words. “It’s alright,” he breathed, “Just let go for me.” His other hand found its way to your breast, cradling it in his palm. He let his thumb trace circles across its peak, his movements gentle yet purposeful.

Your voice continued to fill the room in tandem with the sound of your bodies moving together. Each of Leon’s touches had you barreling toward your peak.

Your tail trembled against Leon’s chest, and you whined high in your throat, the vibrations reaching Leon’s lips as he kissed your fevered skin, “Daddy, ‘m so close—please.” You weren't sure what you were asking for with your pleasure-slurred words. You just knew you didn’t want him to stop.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. He continued to rub your clit as he pressed his lips against yours in a messy kiss. His heavy breaths mingled with yours as he spoke, “Daddy’s got you. It’s okay.”

His movements became more forceful, his hips pumping into you faster than before. His encouraging whispers and forceful touches remained as you reached the edge.

A final coo from him had you tumbling to your orgasm. Your body shook in Leon’s grasp as he fucked you through it. You almost chanted his name and given title like a prayer as you crested over each wave of pleasure. Your cunt tightly squeezed around him. Leon’s resulting groan was lost in the rushing of your ears.

He continued to thrust into you, feeling his own release beginning to come soon after yours. “Oh, fuck,” he choked back a whine, his breath hot against your sweat-dampened skin.

You reached behind you, hooking your fingers into what you could of Leon’s thigh. “Please, don’t stop,” you begged—desperate for him even now, “Wan’ it inside.”

Leon’s cock throbbed at your request. The admission wasn’t new by any means, but it was no less spurring. His arms snaked closer around your waist, seeking more leverage to buck his hips upwards into yours.

“Okay, I’ll give you what you want, baby. Give it to you,” he rested a palm just under your navel, “right here. Right where it should be, hm?.”

You clenched around him again, eliciting another pleasured hiss from Leon. “Yes! Want it so bad. Wanna be full. Need to be full, Daddy,” your frantic pleas continued.

Your trimmed nails pressed small crescent moons into Leon’s skin as you clung to him. You reached between your legs, already seeking another release as Leon chased his own.

“Shh…” Leon soothed you, rubbing his hand along your side. “It's okay. I won’t stop.” He deftly replaced your hand with his own, his larger fingers rubbing quick circles against your swollen clit.

“Just a little bit longer, baby,” he whispered hoarsely. “Then I’ll fill you up. Try and make you a mommy. Would my pretty girl like that?”

Your body prickled in arousal at Leon’s words. You nodded jerkily, words slurring while you trembled in his arms, “Please, Daddy, I want that s’much. Wan’ you to get me pregnant.”

Your heats often lead down this line of talk. Leon wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but he always indulged you. He also couldn’t deny that the idea of it taking, leaving you glowing and full of him months down the line had his abdomen tight with want.

Leon held his hips flush against you as he reached his peak. He cursed lowly into your neck while his cock throbbed, filling you with each movement. The warmth spreading within you along with your owner’s goading words sent you over the edge again with him.

Your bodies fed into each other’s pleasure in a dizzying loop. Each clench of your muscles caused him to grind more harshly into your cunt, filling you further as you milked his release.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—” your words strung together as you came around him. Your tail wrapped loosely around his waist in a meager attempt to keep him in place.

He held you tightly to his broad chest, keeping his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. He kissed your fevered temple as you came down together, whispering soothing words with each press of his lips.

You clung to him with equal fervor. Mewls quietly tumbled from your mouth while Leon enveloped you.

Your bodies remained connected as your heart rates and breathing gradually slowed. After a moment, he began to unwrap his arms from your spent frame—ready to clean the two of you from the evening. Before he could, however, your hands immediately tightened their grip on him.

“Wait—don’t want any to spill out. Wanna keep it all in. Please?” Your soft feline ears were flat against your head at the thought of Leon leaving you empty. You wanted to cockwarm him—keep him and his cum as deep as possible for as long as he’d let you.

Leon shook his head and looked down at you with affectionate amusement, “Greedy…” Despite his teasing remark, he allowed himself to be pulled back.

Ensuring your bodies remained connected, Leon carefully guided you both back to your earlier position—you sat in his lap while his back rested against the headboard.

The feeling of his jeans underneath you erred on the edge of uncomfortable as the opened fly pressed into your skin. You refused to admit it to Leon, though, and instead opted to lean further into the man.

His fingers combed through your hair, taming some of the tangles. Your head tilted toward his touch, eager to be pet. He readily obliged you and you purred contentedly in his arms, heat sated—at least for the moment.

#leon kennedy x reader #hybrid reader #leon s kennedy x reader #i have so many thoughts when it comes to hybrid reader #i could’ve written more but i needed to pace myself for my first smut fic lmao #there will most likely be a part two to this tbh #like a cat series #my works

[pjs-everyday]

*immediately loses their cool* lmao 🤓 // linework >> grayscale // ko-fi

#hahahaaaa-- imagining this is when they start noticing the other being secretive #who's gonna spill the beans first???!!!!!!!! #tbh i feel like they'll never ever say anything explicitly and just accept each other lol no friction in my fantasy!!! #twiyor #twiyor month #twiyor smut #loidyor #loid x yor #spy x family #spy family #loid forger #yor forger #agent twilight #thorn princess #loid x yor fic #sxf #sxf fic #spy x family fanart #pjseveryday #illustration #art #anime art #fanart #digital illustration

[darkworkcourier]

Der Waidmann - König/gn!reader

Content includes CNC (reader and König agreed to the scene beforehand, but please be mindful of this), chasing and pursuit, fighting, choking, dryhumping, clothed sex, and aftercare. Reader is gender-neutral and not physically described in any way except for some clothing.

(This is very, very inspired by @toxooz's incredible art over here.)

---

It's freezing. Real, bone-deep kind of cold that feels more like a liquid soaking into your clothes. You shiver, tucking your hands back into your sleeves, folding the ends of the sleeves over and clutching the bunched-up hem in your fists to try to keep the worst of the chill out.

Building a fire is out of the question. It's a waxing moon tonight, and the moonlight would easily catch on a column of smoke. The smell would travel. Worst of all, it could calm you down and lull you into dropping your guard. The cold may be brutal, but at least it keeps you awake.

Warm thoughts, you repeat in your head. Even your mind's speaking in whispers, afraid to raise your mental voice like he'll hear you somehow. So you think about cups of warm tea and curls of steam—the image a silent tableau. You imagine the smell of it, the sensation of steam damp on your palm as your hand hovers over the cup. In your mind's eye, you see your hand reach out for the handle, and—

Crack.

You freeze.

Cold crawls up your body, an animal slithering with glee as the warmth of motion fades. Fear is its climbing partner, equally frigid—except it enters you, curls like frost in your belly, grips your vocal cords in a steel-cold claw. The only thing that dares to move is your heart, beating traitorously loud.

Every sound in the forest seems magnified now; leaves rustling loud as gunshots, the wind whistling through the branches at a screaming decibel. You listen for footsteps, for any sign that you're being followed.

There's no way to tell how long you stand still. Your feet ache, your skin itches with the cold, your shoulders stiff and sore. Moonlight filters through the high tree canopy and dapples your skin like a fawn's spots, and you imagine your stillness makes you seem like part of the forest. At least, you hope that's true, that whatever follows you is just as fooled by the accidental camouflage.

If it's still following you.

You wait a moment longer; how long is impossible to say. Long enough that you don't hear another human-made sound aside from your own stilted breathing and reckless pulse. Eventually, you decide it's safe to move—to proceed to safety, wherever that is.

All you manage is one step.

One step, and then there's cold steel at your throat; the flat of a blade, collaring you, rendering you frozen once more. There's no bite of the business side, but you know better than to try to get out of the loose hold.

Then, from behind you, close to your ear, you hear, "Careless."

You have only a second to register the voice, to check it for familiarity and run it against the repository of people in your mind. A second isn't enough, and suddenly you're struck from behind, an arm against your mid-back that knocks you to the ground. On instinct, your hands go out to brace, just as the knife's yanked away and mercifully doesn't catch you. Pain lances up your arms as you hit the dirt, twigs snapping and scratching your face. The air is knocked out of your lungs, and even in the dark, you see twinkling sparks dancing in your vision.

The impact also disorients you, and another rough shove to your side sends you sprawling onto your back, unsure which direction you're facing or where to look. You see stars blinking through the tree canopy—they whirl like pinwheels as you try to get your senses back to normal.

Just in time to see the glint of a blade and the flash of two eyes in the darkness.

Fear overtakes reason—the animal sense of freezing up, accepting the end as it approaches with furious speed and deadly accuracy, the immediate surrender of prey to predator. You gasp and screw your eyes shut, like shutting down one sense will somehow dull the others.

Instead, it makes the dull thunk beside your head all the louder.

Silence follows. Not oppressive. Not stifling. It's the strange silence of the forest, active and alive, yet completely uncaring of your situation—the silence of being ignored. You catch the sound of your attacker's breathing, hard pants filtered through fabric. When you finally do open your eyes, you see him as a silhouette over you, and only then do you register his weight over your hips, his arms on either side of your head. When you manage to turn to find the source of the strange sound beside you, your eyes adjust to allow you to see the assailant's knife driven into the earth with enough force to bury the blade to the hilt.

"Fuck," you breathe out, your first spoken word in hours.

Then you reluctantly turn your attention back to the attacker. You see now that he blends in with the forest, his enormity covered in vines and leaves on a ghillie suit. There was no way you would have spotted him earlier.

He seems pleased with himself, judging by the way his voice rolls out of him in a purr. "Any last words?" he asks.

Before what, exactly? Before he throttles you to death, or chokes the life out of you? You almost mean to ask, but the cold grip of fear is starting to ebb, giving way to the primal need to fight, to escape. He has the size advantage, clearly; however, you're fast, and you know there has to be a way to buy time with the advantages you do have.

"Just one or two," you say.

When he leans in to hear you, the smug victory rolling off him like the heat you can feel through your clothes, you wait. He gets closer.

Closer.

And you immediately reach up with both hands, thumbs pointed, directed toward his eyes. Whether or not you actually hit them, you can't tell. You feel something warm, and then that lively silence of the forest gives way to a bellow of fury. He instinctively reaches up to either grab at you or shove you away to protect his face, but seems caught in split-second indecision. You take that brief second for the blessing it is, scrambling out from underneath him and taking off at a clip through the forest.

There's no doubt he's in pursuit. You don't need to look over your shoulder or stop to listen to know this. Furthermore, you can't spare the half second you'd need to check, as you need every increment of time available to get as much distance between you and him as possible. The overarching goal isn't clear yet—there's no base to run back to, no hiding place you know of, no miraculous weapons cache to raid. You're defenseless, save for what your hands and feet can do, but you're not planning to roll over and admit defeat quite yet.

So you run. You sprint. Every breath burns, every blister on your feet screams in protest. If you manage to live through the night, you'll certainly need more than a day to recover.

Yet you're also running night-blind. The moonlit forest floor is an illusory carpet of false elevation and strange textures. Over and over, you catch yourself from tripping, from running directly into a downed tree or a large stone. The only thing you can possibly count on is that he's in the same situation, running through unfamiliar territory with only his instincts to guide him.

Possibly count on does not mean definitely count on, though.

Because you're suddenly struck from behind again, a hard impact to your spine that sends you sprawling. The only consolation is that you manage to twist around and grab him on the way down. You hear a grunt of pain as both of you fall, and you hiss in response when a tree root catches your ribs.

Unfortunately, you're more dazed than he is. While you have to take a second longer to get your bearings again, he's back on you, this time holding you down with one enormous arm on your throat, cutting off your air supply with terrifying efficiency.

"Clever, Kaninchen," he snarls. You can't see him, but you imagine he's baring his teeth, biting out the words like a wolf snapping its jaws. "But I'm not foolish enough to let you go twice."

It's a threat he's clearly capable of enforcing. You struggle underneath him, your lungs aching, fingers weakly clawing at him as though your effort might be enough. The forest grows darker around you—a black curtain falling onto you during your final act. The animal resistance flares just once more, nails digging into his skin, legs trying to kick up; it's all for nothing.

Suddenly, his arm lets up. You're flooded with frigid air, causing you to cough and sputter as your vision practically whites out. Everything fucking aches, and you try to reorient yourself around the bare fact that you're somehow alive after all this.

But then his hands go to your shoulders, pinning you to the cold earth, damp seeping into your clothes and hair. You wince and hoarsely bark out a protest, but whatever sound you aim to make beyond that is promptly drowned out the moment you feel him change position—his legs move so they now bracket one of yours, and he rolls his hips against your thigh.

For a spare, dizzy moment, you think you hallucinated the sensation. Then he does it again, with a little more force. He grunts, breathes heavier, leans down so the fabric of his hood brushes over your face. You smell sweat and dirt on him, and something pungently metallic—blood, maybe. He ruts against your thigh again and again while his weight presses down like a hydraulic force on your shoulders, causing them to ache horrendously. Yet the pain feels like a background suggestion as you marvel in the sensation of him humping your goddamn leg. He's obviously hard, his arousal more than present against you, and he quickens his pace so it becomes all the more obvious.

Your voice is pathetic, but you manage a baffled, "What?"

Only to be met by one gloved hand over your mouth, the smell of gun oil reeking in your nose. "Ruhig," he snarls. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face through the hood. "Stay quiet or I'll make you."

This threat doesn't feel as forceful, but it could simply be dulled by your own confusingly persistent arousal matching his. Every thrust of his hips has you gasping against his palm, your own hips moving on their own accord.

Obviously, he notices.

His pace stutters once and you see the silhouette of his head move a little. Then, he laughs. It's low, starting deep in his chest before rising in pitch. It then tapers off in an amused sigh. "Enjoying yourself, Kaninchen?" he asks, although the teasing tone is blunted by the way he redoubles his pace on your thigh.

You can't nod or shake your head. All you can do is breathe hard through your nose, small moans breaking loose from your better sense.

"Thought so," he says, then hisses on a particular thrust and drag.

For a long while, that's all there is. You beneath him, feeling him fuck himself on your thigh, his breathing staggered and quick, while you fight back your own arousal even though it's a losing battle. All thoughts of attempting to survive beyond this little rendezvous fade out, and in their place are fantasies of him pulling down your pants, fucking you properly, teasing you to the brink of madness while still wearing those gun oil-stained gloves.

His hips suddenly jerk, and with the motion, you hear him draw in a sharp gasp and let out the air as a grunt. Once more, twice. Then you feel him frantically chasing his orgasm as he pins your leg to the dirt with his full weight.

He's going to come just from rutting on your thigh, completely clothed. Holy shit.

You groan against his glove as you feel the friction burn on your leg, then the ache of him holding you down with his hips. He bites off another loud moan, then lets it loose as a primal growl that sends shivers down your spine before they dissipate as hot sparks in your belly. You feel a new heat, damp against your leg, as he comes harder than you've ever heard or felt anyone do before.

You lay there, stunned, his hand still on your mouth, but one of his fingers half-worked between your teeth. You can taste leather and something bitter, and before you can explore that any further, he suddenly takes his hand away.

There's a sweep of air, scented with pine and frost, then sweat and blood—and then there are lips on yours.

And teeth sharp on your bottom lip.

It's over as quick as it begins. A fae kiss, fast and sharp enough to confuse and startle you, before leaving you wondering if it happened at all.

Then he's off of you, his otherworldly silhouette as tall as the trees around it him, it seems. You have only a moment to stare up in something like awe, at the speckled starlight haloing his head. Then, in a voice like a scrape of earth and a crackle of broken ice, he says, "Run, Kaninchen."

And you're off again.

---

"I am so sorry— Fuck, is that another one? Is that from my hand?"

The narrow cubicle of the shower is full of fragrant steam, but mostly full of König's sheer size, cramming you into a tiny tiled corner. His hands frantically hover over your skin, finding old and new marks before he frets over them.

Not for the first time, you wave his hands away. "It's fine," you tell him once more. "I would have said something if it was too much."

"But it was too much," he replies quickly, and immediately, his hands are back. They seem magnetized to your throat, finding where he nearly choked you out.

And your hands are on his arm again, although the gesture is far less frantic than it was in the woods. "I asked you to do that part," you remind him. "I like choking, remember?"

König looks wounded, even as the water drips off his hair and cascades over his shoulders from the showerhead level with his upper back. "I know," he concedes, but he doesn't sound pleased about it.

You reach up and stroke his wet cheek, finding a bruise on him from your thumb. You found out after the scene that you did get him in the left eye, but just jabbed the lower part of the right socket, giving him a solid black eye. Your apology was less repetitive, but nonetheless heartfelt. "It was fun," you reiterate. "Yes, I'm sore as hell, and I feel like I could sleep for a week, but I had the time of my life out there."

"Running from me," he groans, lowering his head to rest on your shoulder. You roll your eyes and reach up to hug him, even if the height difference makes it difficult.

"Oh, and you totally didn't have fun chasing me down."

König's quiet for a moment, before you feel him sigh against you and nod, just a little. "Ein bisschen," he mutters.

You grin and turn your head to kiss his cheek, delighting in the sensation of him leaning into it. "Tell you what," you say, stroking up and down his spine, your touch careful as you're mindful of where he said he was sore. "You can make it up to me by being as gentle as humanly possible once we're back in bed."

You can feel him smile against you, his arms going up to wrap around your waist.

"Absolut," he replies. "I'd like nothing more than that."

#cod: mw2 #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig x reader #könig x gn!reader #this is my first like full-length könig fic thingy holy mackerel #i like writing him a little unhinged tbh #also der waidmann means the huntsman in german hunting language #and kaninchen is like little rabbit? but i meant it in the sense of a coney in hunting

[tachimichishrine]

Please I am begging, I can’t get over just how perfect Tachihara would be with the whole ghost face trend. Please please please

<what. what if I told you I wholeheartedly agree. throws my headcanons and love at you>

"scream for me"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! reader {ghostface trend} hcs

warnings: nsfw ; kitchen sex ; knife play ; intended lowercase ; cursing; unedited so unedited i wrote this half asleep thinking abt being pussy drunk on tachi pls forgive me

manz is a SPY. he's done undercover work and wears a disguise 24/7 (his disguise is a goddamn bandaid but he's hot so we let it slide) he adores getting dressed up

I think he'd be really bad at taking it serious though

100% he gets very childish about things like birthdays, holidays, halloween bc he didn't get that kind of experience with his family when he was younger (womp womp :/)

the hunting dogs obviously don't have anything to do with halloween so imagine his surprise when he caught the port mafia hq covered in spider webs and blood.

the blood was likely real

elise was the one who insisted on it, and if she insists, everyone is wearing cat ears and fake vampire fangs.

chuuya was a vampire the dude definitely had practice

he was definitely in the spooky scary spirit when he had his head on your lap, one hand sliding under and up between your thighs like a pillow and watching scream

i KNOW he felt just the teeny tiniest insecurity when you started calling certain scenes really hot but he tried, really hard, to ignore it.

got a little too comfortable and sleepy when you starting running your fingers through his hair and found himself letting out a yelp at the stupidest jumpscares

you teased him for it all night

"do you think I'd survive in one of those horror movies?" you asked later that night, curled up in bed.

"your dumbass would probably trip and kill yourself on a kitchen knife while making breakfast."

"well, fuck you."

"only if you insist" said with his trademark grin.

you got him back by playing into his jumpiness and hiding around every corner, even when you're on missions

you sprung out with a dramatic ghost-like scream (holding back laughter) on one important mission and the man almost shot you

like he pulled the trigger and everything and had to use his ability to keep the bullet from drilling a hole in your stupid skull.

you toned down the pranks after that.

however, it did give him an idea.

he started using his ability to set up the mood for payback by making metal doors creak or scraping chair legs on the ground slowly

a chill physically ran up your spine when you were walking hand in hand and the front door of an empty "for sale" store slammed open, then shut.

maybe he liked it a little how you squeezed his hand when he did that

maybe he liked it a little when you punched him on the shoulder as you realized it was just his antics

but he sure as hell liked it when you roughly smacked his naked ass and shoved his face into the sheets later that night to teach him a lesson

you liked his screams more like that anyways

tachihara was nowhere to be found after you disappeared into the shower trying to wash off all the smeared cum he'd left on your body. you already thought it was strange that he didn't join you even when you offered, but it was even weirder when you came out in nothing but a towel, and the bed was empty.

"michi, I know you're tryin' to be cute or whatever and scare me, but you're not very subtle about it," you giggled, ditching the underwear to just put on some shorts and one of his shirts. your body bounced onto the mattress that was still warm from your bodies, still smelling like sex and gunpowder. the covers were thrown over you and snuggled into and you waited patiently.

it was amusing, at first.

it was annoying after 10 minutes.

you'd gone on your phone, scrolling listlessly to pass the time while you waited for him to finish up whatever stupid prank he was planning so you could get back to sleep, but a whole half hour had passed and it was beginning to feel a little wrong. you weren't worried (he kicked your ass in training too many times for you not to know how strong he was), but sure as hell curious as to what was going on. it was the spooky season, after all, and there was no harm in indulging a little bit; you dialed his number and heard it ring from somewhere in the apartment.

he was really trying to set it up for you, huh? cute. you figured you'd play along.

the phone was vibrating from the kitchen counter, and you picked it cautiously, glancing around you to find out from where your boyfriend was inevitably going to try to jump at you. you heard a chair move, and your eyes darted to look over in that direction out of instinct.

of course a hand clasped around your mouth and another pulled your waist backwards. you bit his gloved hand playfully to get him to let you go and just giggled, shoving your hips back onto him teasingly and trying to flip around to get a look at him.

your entire body got slammed onto the kitchen counter, hair pulled back in one harsh movement

oh fuck.

you didn't think you'd be bent over so fast, his hips already grinding into your ass while the thin, cheap plastic of his mask rubbed against your cheek, his husky voice laying out every lewd thing you both knew you were thinking. from the way his body was leaning onto you, you guessed that he was shirtless and wearing just about the tightest, low-cut pants known to man being held up by a belt (there was definitely a thick belt; you felt the buckle poke into your lower back every time he'd grind too hard)

"michzou..." you didn't have any problems with what he was doing, but loose fingers were touching your body all over and the thin shorts you'd thrown on previously without a second thought were soaking with every word he'd rasp out. "michi, stop playin' around, I-"

it seems your simple ask got you manhandled again, and both gloved hands were now on your thighs, lifting you up to sit you down on the counter so he could rub against you from the front. it was hard to take it seriously and you let out a giggle when you watched him loom over you with the ghostface mask on, trying to be serious. your fingers went to dig into his shoulders as your hips rolled, back arched trying to feel him better.

he sighed, groaning and trying to slip off the mask when he realized it wasn't having the effect he wanted, but you flicked it back on.

"just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I don't think this is fuckin' hot," you reassured him, ironically chuckling again, and this spurred him to grab your hands and pin them above your head on the cabinets above.

"can't believe you liked gettin' fucked by a masked man this much." his voice was deeper than it usually was but god did it get you throbbing. your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to regain control without your hands.

you quipped back with a sly grin. "would be better if you actually fucked me."

shit, you knew just what to say to get him riled up. he let your hands go to pull off your useless shorts which already had splotches of your arousal, and you seized the opportunity to unbuckle his belt, slide your fist into his pants and pull him out.

getting fucked senseless by your masked boyfriend on the kitchen counter at 3 in the morning was not on your schedule for halloween.

"you know," you mused, your pace slowing once the build up had passed but still rocking yourself on him, "usually the victims try to fight back."

"the fuck does that me-"

the cold metal of a knife poked and teased the exposed skin on his neck, and you felt a little irritated you couldn't see his shock through the mask. "c'mon, you've had your fun, baby, it's my turn."

he wanted to play the part, he really did, but before he could try to resist you had him gently sliced into streaks of red, teeth marks coating his body and his tongue gagging on blood-stained fingers from under the mask. your legs were still secured around his hips, fucking into him slowly and deeply, and every guttural groan that echoed out in the hollow apartment was good enough to keep you going while his body tensed up with rigid muscles and heavy breaths.

he couldn't take it anymore once the searing sting of you smearing his blood on his skin mixed in with the pleasure of dragging against your tightly clenched walls, and he murmured a curse before discarding the mask, messily kissing you with groaning lips buried into your neck once he finally got enough air to pant your name.

ah, the dumbass. he really tried to get you to play along but it was hard when you had him under your thumb. maybe next year, he'd try again.

#AAAAHAHAHAAHAHAAAHAAHAHA I LOVE ASKS TY FOR BEING MY FIRST #tbh i didn't get on the ghostface trend but you could slap tachi into an elmo costume and i'd still wanna fuck him into next week #dude your ask is so appreciated i'd let YOU fuck me in an elmo costume into next week #(sorry it's kinda short I may do a sequel if my brain allows me) #more people need to beg in my askbox ngl 🗣️🗣️🗣️ #opinion on the ghostface thing I think tachi would fuck it up in a silly way because how the hell does this absolute sub stay in character #tachihara michizou #bsd tachihara #tachihara x reader #bungo stray dogs tachihara #tachihara smut #tachihara michizou x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #tachihara x reader smut #bsd ghostface #tachihara ghostface #down bad tm #tachi fics #im unwell for them

[twistedappletree]

i’ve written a fic from jin ling’s pov about his crush on lan sizhui but now i kind of wanna write one from LSZ’s pov since i tend to favor JL’s 👀🩵💛

#I’ve been exploring LSZ’s POV and studying his character a tonnnn in letters never sent #but since it’s more mature bc both him and JL are adults in that fic #it would be cute to do another junior ficlet before I start posting my first chapter monstrosity lmao #it’s over 30k words rn and not nearly done 😭 #WHATS THIS BOY THINKING #let’s find out #hehehehhehe #tbh he’s such a nerd his thoughts are probably super cheesy and a little poetic #while also being frustrated by JL’s attitude at times #but wanting to understand it at the same time #gonna study him like a lab rat ahahahAHAHAHA #apple babble 🍎 #fic musings #zhuiling musings #‘why are you the way that you are?’ *falls in love* #P L S #also 30k fic is still aspec btw #I mean mature as in emotionally #i do not partaketh in the smut writing not my thing sorrryyyyy 🤷‍♀️

[obsidiannebula]

Owe Nothing

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Ulquiorra Cifer/Grimmjow Jaegerjaques

Characters: Ulquiorra Cifer, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Nnoitra Gilga

Additional Tags: Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dubious Consent, sexual favors, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, predatory nnoitra gilga, dominant ulquiorra cifer, power bottom ulquiorra cifer, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, backtalk, Face Slapping, POV Grimmjow Jaegerjaques

Summary: Grimmjow finds himself in a bind. Ulquiorra can help, but the assistance of the Cuatro Espada does not come without a price. Owing people favors isn't really Grimmjow's style, but thankfully, if he's willing to sacrifice his ego for a night, he won't be in debt for long.

Link to follow in reblog because otherwise Tumblr eats the post!

#grimmulqui #grimmulqui smut #bleach smut #my writing #this is a lot tamer than the first draft tbh #the dubcon was gonna be so much more dub #but hey first smut fic! i did it! its done!

[crazywolf828]

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: RWBY

Relationship: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long

Characters: Yang Xiao Long, Blake Belladonna

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Firefighter!Yang, EMT! Blake, Smut, Strap-Ons, Cunnilingus, Clothing Kink, Car Sex, They fuck in the firetruck

Summary:

"Yang!" Yang blinks rapidly, snapped out of her haze to Pyrrha, curiously looking at her. "It's out, are you okay?"

She's quick to turn the hose off, the tension of it relaxing as she looks past Pyrrha. The house is out, not an ember in sight, it's probably been out for a while.

"Yeah, sorry, just a bit distracted." She says, and it would be convincing to just about anyone other than Pyrrha.

She's always been too damn perceptive.

"You're distracted during a call?" Pyrrha huffs a laugh, helping Yang drag the hose back to the engine, "You feeling alright?" She jokes.

She feels frustrated that's for sure, body buzzing with thoughts of what's to come. "I'm fine Pyrrha, promise." Her eyes glance over to Blake who's leaning against one of the ambulances, eyes dark and a wicked smirk on her face.

It's absolutely not fair how attractive she is when she's not even doing anything.

Pyrrha follows her gaze before shaking her head, "Distracted, sure."

-

Request: Emt blake having a kink for yang wearing the strap under her firefighter clothes, and wearing said clothes during sex

#after last chapter i think they deserve to just be in love and hrny tbh #first smut since being sick stole my ability to write so hopefully its alright! #hope yall enjoy! #rwby #bumblby #bumbleby #bumblebee #bmblb #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #yang x blake #blake x yang #emt blake #firefighter yang #ff/emt au #fics #fanfiction #my fics #don't mind me

[noels-enby-wifey]

Alleyway fun

Ok but this was inspired from the discord server where somebody, mentioned Ramón dragging you into a alleyway for a quickie. But my funny mind expanded on it for fun :P 

Only warning for smut under the read more

With how fast he's dragging you to the nearest alleyway you’d think he’s be in your pants the second yall get further into it, he probably would ngl, but no he’d still tease the mess out of you before that, the bastard probably has a small lube packet in his pocket for shit like this if you two weren’t in the house/in his office. But he’d practically pin you against that wall and his lips would be on you in a instant before you could vocalize anything, your lips, your neck, your chest, anyway he can reach in that moment and leave a little hickey or two, he wouldnt wanna hear it anyway unless you’re calling out his name in pleasure~ anyway he’d still take a bit of time to work you open for him before gently fucking you into that wall, quickly getting faster the closer he gets to his own release, all you can do is practically stand there listening to him basically growling praises into your ear as one of his hands cover your mouth to somewhat keep the alley quiet so nobody can tell whats going on. Even after he cums he’ll fuck you until you come undone, cause what kind of man would he be if you didnt cum at all?? totally unfair. He’d help clean yourself up a bit so your legs wouldn't be a glowing mess underneath your clothes, and he’d have a convincing lie as to why you’re walking around with a slight limp. “Oh Their limp?” He chuckles “My Darling here just sprained their leg doing some exercise, they insisted to walk back home to go rest~” 

#repurpose game #repurpose ramon #repurpose ramón rojo #repurpose smut #this was my first fic/drabble in a good while tbh #I had fun writing this #hope Tumblr doesn't strike me down for this rip

[misano17]

Here ya go you fucking freaks (affectionate)

K, so like, Shu and Mika are in a room together.

Not sure where exactly this would fit in the narrative.

Definitely before their feelings are revealed but after they’re over being enemies.

So like, I feel like Mika is very much in the “I know I like him but I have more important stuff to do, like denying that to his face and also getting back to my world” and Shu is in the “oh god oh god oh god, no, this can’t be happening, holy shit, I-” Mika walks by, “I can’t do this, I’m going to die here, how is one man that beautiful, why is he so, so, well not polite but he’s so kind and I” he’s having a bit of a moment. He’s especially fixated on Mika’s eyes and mouth. Like a little weirdo. I am too, both of us are weirdos.

Gore starts now:

“Ngh!” 

How had Mika ended up here? His body felt like it was pinned in place, stood upright against Shu’s gaze with his mouth open and his tongue- 

Well, Mika didn’t really want to think about that right now.

Shu had stuck his thumb in there a couple minutes ago. An innocuous action in and of itself. Mika assumed he was just inspecting something or other. Shu had a tendency to do that occasionally. Many of the demons did, actually. Mika guessed it just came with the territory, many of them had never actually seen a human. Especially one close enough to touch. 

Mika thought nothing of it when Shu ran the edge of his fingernail over his gums. It was a slow, almost gliding motion, only made smooth by the excessive saliva coating Mika’s mouth and the smooth filed down surface of Shu’s fingernail. 

Well, ‘thought nothing of it’ would actually be quite the understatement. It was all Mika could think about in those moments. The slight tingling feeling Shu left behind as his finger brushed past Mika’s teeth and gums was at the forefront of his mind. It lingered there as Mika tilted his head up further, it lingered as he swallowed around the building pressure in his throat, and it lingered as Shu placed the pad of his thumb on Mika’s tongue.

It wasn’t heavy but there was a certain amount of pressure that came with the angle at which Shu’s finger pressed down on his tongue.

Mika couldn’t pinpoint how Shu tasted on his tongue. The main flavor that stood out to him was a mellow sweetness, like a honeysuckle in spring just before the morning dew fades. A weird comparison but that was all Mika could come up with at the moment. 

The sharp edge of Shu’s nail was just barely pressing into the flesh of Mika’s tongue, just slight enough to make its presence known while also poking ever so slightly into his tongue. It was just enough for Mika to be acutely aware of the sharp object resting on his tongue without panicking. 

Mika couldn’t draw his eyes away from Shu’s gaze. The look in his eyes was intense, like there was some question he needed to answer that Mika’s tongue was keeping from him. 

Then, Mika tasted iron, sweet, cold iron. 

A little bit too much pressure on Shu’s end, and a badly timed breath on Mika’s end.

Shu’s fingernail had pierced the flesh of Mika’s tongue.

It was soft and warm. A horrifyingly intrusive thought passed through his mind. He wanted to dig his finger into the wound, he wanted to drag his nail back across the ripped flesh, he wanted to make a mess of the inside of Mika’s mouth, he wanted to hear what kind of noises Mika would make. 

Shu wanted to smack himself. These, these, he couldn’t in good conscious call them thoughts, these desires were shameful. He shouldn’t be thinking of a human like this, and, oh god! Mika is a human! He can’t just heal himself like a demon would. He could get an infection and even-

Shu needed to remove his finger immediately.

He was deliberately slow as he moved, careful not to jostle the wound in any way.

“Ngh!” 

Did, did Mika just whine? 

Mika wanted to kill himself. He needed to die, right now. This was awful. 

Oh god, he was turning red wasn’t he. Shu was going to think he was a freak, who the hell would whine after getting their tongue stabbed? 

And, wait, was he? Oh no. He had grabbed Shu’s hand when he tried to remove it. 

You know what, he didn’t just want to kill himself now, he was going to kill himself. Very soon if he had any say in the matter. Blood oath be damned, he could care less about getting home now. Dying would be preferable to lying awake thinking about this every night for the next sixty years.

There was no way he could just play off his reaction as one from the pain right? Not with how red he was turning. 

Shu paused for a moment to take in the sight in front of him. 

Mika’s head was tilted back in the same angle Shu had maneuvered his head into, his mouth was wide open, and his tongue was weeping blood around the hole Shu had made in it. Mika’s eyes were shut tight, and he was just barely shuddering as his face turned redder and redder by the second.

The way Mika’s tongue trembled around his finger was intoxicating.

Shu pushed his finger back into the wound ever so slightly.

“Ah!”

Mika’s entire body shuddered.

Something snapped in Shu’s mind. 

He jammed his finger back into the wound with as much force as he could manage.

“Ngah!” Mika cried out again.

Shu couldn’t tell whether it was out of pain or pleasure but the part of his mind that cared was suppressed by the part of his mind that wanted, no, demanded that he draw more sounds out of Mika.

Squelching sounds filled the air as Shu thrust his thumb back into the wound over and over and over. 

Mika’s noises crescendoed higher and higher as Shu’s thrusts grew more forceful, though, Mika seemed to be moving around too much for Shu’s liking.

Shu’s other grand wrapped around the back of Mika’s head like a vice to keep him still, locking his head in that torturous angle as Shu pushed his thumb in deeper.

The blood from Mika’s tongue was seeping down his throat, choking him slowly from the inside but Mika couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

The burning sensation on his tongue was too much for him to form any coherent thoughts. The feeling of Shu’s fingers ripping at the hair on the back of his neck was too intoxicating. It was all just too much.

“Ngh!”

Mika’s grip on Shu’s wrist tightened, holding him in place for only a moment.

Shu snapped to his senses immediately.

What the hell was he doing?

Oh god, Mika’s mouth was filled with blood, some of it was even staining his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

Shu was horribly embarrassed. What the hell had even possessed him to do this?

Was it, oh god, was it the noise Mika made?

There was no way. That would be absurd. If that were actually the case Shu would die of shame right here, on the spot.

Well, he certainly felt like dying.

Oh god, that was it wasn’t it? Hearing Mika make a noise like that had sent him over the edge.

He must have been going insane.

That had to be it.

Or, or maybe someone had slipped him one of those dreadful poisons, the kind that humans called an aphrodisiac? There was no way he had done all this on his own, with no outside stimuli aside from a noise Mika made. That would be completely absurd.

As much as Shu wanted to deny it, the longer the thought lingered in his mind, the more plausible it became.

Shu fixed his gaze on Mika, on the way his head angled back, on the way he gasped and breathed as blood from his wound poured down his throat, and on the way his tongue pulsed around Shu’s thumb. 

Shu was careful when removing his thumb, slow and deliberate in his movements. Letting so much blood go down Mika’s throat wasn’t ideal. Shu didn’t want to think about the consequences right now.

Mika let out another whine when Shu’s hand left his mouth.

What was wrong with him? Mika couldn’t tell at this moment, all he could think about was the sensation of Shu’s thumb prodding at his wound. Mika desperately wanted to feel it again but he didn’t have the energy to chase after the sensation.

As soon as Shu unlatched his hand from Mika’s neck the boy collapsed. 

Blood stained the floor by his open mouth.

#tw gore #tw blood #possibly nsft #probably nsft #nsft #does this count as smut?? #cross posted on ao3 #well it will be in a little bit #I need to make the post there first #shumika #listen #the brainrot overtook me #this is actually a scene I'm considering for my new fic #i'll rewrite it for that fic when I get around to it if I include it #This is just Shu fingerblasting Mika's tongue #I apologize for all of this tbh #not really #I am never sorry #I'm american it's not in my nature to admit to wrongdoing I physically can't I'll explode #brainrot #ensemble stars fanfic #Listening to Nojima Kenji's cover of Ifuudoudou did something to me

[elialys]

you should post “these lines etched in sand” on wattpad so more ppl see it!!

I'll admit I never got around to using Wattpad! Do I sound like the millennial that I am if I admit I didn't think it was really used to post fics? I always thought it was more for original stuff 😅

#i mean i posted my first fic 20 years ago #things have changed quite a lot 😂 #tbh i know im writing for a very niche part of the fandom and im ok with it :') #no hot smut in my fic #only emotional trauma #😈 #hug!box

[bitegore]

*gates two postable fics behind an unfinished slot* parkour

#red rambles #i just wanna post it so i can do my wrapup post for the day and sleep #its nearly 6am! #i gotta write one more fic first #it should be simple. its just gonna be smut. i just have to decide who with #i think im leaning towards vortex and onslaught but tbh i have no onslaught voice so probably not.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

#teepods.writings #thirstee! #rich boy! au #fics. #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[jrb0221]

Tell me why, instead of working on the WIP I started a month ago, I started a new WIP and am now 2.1k words into what was supposed to be a quick pwp, and the sex has only just started??? Why did I do that?

#fic #oops #this is actually my first time writing smut so I’m a little nervous tbh