𓏲⠀bitter&sweet, Florawell ─ Wanderer X Gn!reader .ᐟ ⋆

me and my roomie!

your roommate is obsessed with you! but you're hiding your own dirty little secret.

includes: nsfw! scara, tartaglia and bonus character separately, weird roommate behavior, use of their real names, weird reader behavior, tartaglia's is pretty long, fingering, begging, somno(?), pillow humping, missed tags. the bonus isn't as long as the other ones!

a/n: this was so much fun to write ! suzu helped me decide who to write for so the bonus at the end is dedicated to @hitomisuzuya !!

scaramouche!

"hey, i can't find one of my shirts can I go check your room for it?"

you give him a thumbs up as he makes his way to your door. now, he wasn't entirely lying, he was actually missing a couple of shirts! but, he knows you do all your laundry over the weekend, so your basket should be overflowing with dirty clothes by now. he does a quick check of the hall once more before shutting the door to your room. he's beelining straight for your pile of laundry. he starts rummaging through the trash like a raccoon but finally finds what he's searching for.

the cute panties you wear! the pair he'd stolen a week prior had lost your scent a while ago and it was starting to drive him crazy. he raises the newly acquired pair to his nose and he's twitching in his pants. but this isn't the place for that! it would be kinda hard to explain what was going on if you saw him bent over your laundry with a raging hard-on. so he quickly throws the old pair in and covers it up with the rest of your clothes. he shoves the new pair deep in his pocket before walking back to the living room, loosely announcing he didn't find it and heading for the kitchen.

the house is quiet when scara comes back. too quiet. his last class had been canceled, but you were free the entire day. so where were you? the house is usually filled with sounds of you doing something to keep yourself occupied.

it's the sounds that catch him first. they're..moans? they sound hushed, but they're definitely coming from his room. he peers through the crack in the door and the sight is truly one to behold.

there you are, small fingers tugging at your nipples as you roll your hips against the pillow, his pillow. that shirt he went to "search for" in your room? bunched up between your pretty lips as you try to stifle your whines. he's drinking up the scene, trying to etch this beautiful moment into his mind as hard as possible before clearing his throat.

his arms are folded and he's leaning against the doorpost. the corner of his lips twitch up as your eyes meet his. you're like a deer caught in headlights and his smile only gets bigger as you open your mouth to speak and nothing comes out.

"well, i see where my shirt went."

"open," he commands as his hand grips your jaw. the heavy drop of saliva hits your lolled-out tongue before you swallow. he hums as he's sliding his leaking cock back into your warmth. eye rolling back into your head, you're gripping onto the sheets tightly as he starts ramming into you.

"you slut, fuck, riding my pillow like that, hm?"

the only response he gets is the soft cry of his name. every whine, every cry, and every moan just fuels him further as his hips connect with yours. his hands are pressing your knees to your chest so he can have the best view of your cunt.

"the minute my head hit the pillow, i would've known. you know why?"

you weakly motion toward his bedside table. specifically the drawer where he keeps his... mementos of you. it should've set him off how quickly you knew what he was talking about, but all you could feel was the way he twitched against your most sensitive spots. you're even going through his stuff now? it's just so fun to think about. how you'd peek over your shoulder at the door to make sure he wasn't coming; how your eyes widened when you spotted the contents of the drawer. did you run away right then? or did you press your thighs together because you finally know what he really is.

but you've done such a good job so far of keeping it quiet! so good. that he's going to breed you as a reward for how nasty you are! you're drooling so much at the thought! your hands are dragging one of his towards your throat as you beg him to fill you up.

"kuni, please-, wanna feel you so bad. wanna feel all of you!"

and it's those words that send him over the edge, spilling deep into you as he groans deep into your skin. that action sends you over, as you cum around his still sheathed cock. both of you are panting and burnt out, but he still finds the energy to trap you in a heavy kiss. you whine into his lips in pure contentment.

tartaglia!

ajax is the best roommate! he's funny, caring, and knows how to take care of the house really well. hell, he's paying for all the groceries and at some point he even started paying your portion of the rent!

to top it all off, hes so so sweet! he's planning movie nights, finding games for you two to play and helping you out in the kitchen as you make dinner. his big arms wrap around you as you doze off against his body while you favorite sitcom is playing in the background.

it's too bad it's all just a front though, because in all reality he's waiting for the perfect time to pin you down and fuck you so hard like he's been dreaming of all these months! he can't count how many times he's pressed his ear to the thin wall that divides your room as he pumps his cock to the sound of your voice as you talk to your friend over the phone. the actual conversation is none of his concern; just the way you speak, the way your voice drips out is tugging his orgasm out of him at full speed.

or the way you tempt him without even knowing it. those shorts you wear around the house that just barely cover the curve of your ass? he has to physically restrain himself from pressing you onto his crotch. with your nipples poking through the lightly colored tank top on your body. he's practically gawking at you shamelessly until you turn your attention back to him and he's giving you that almost genuine smile one more time.

he's scrolling through all the pictures he'd taken of you sleeping when the knock at the door whips him out of his trance. the sound had scared him so hard he squeezed his eyes shut! of course it was you. who else would be at his door at this hour? he refuses to answer as you call out his name through the wood. the door slowly opens anyways. he's asleep, you think to yourself as you pad across the floor towards the bed.

it's not new for you to crawl between his sheets like this. on the nights when you're feeling not the best, he always opens his arms (and blankets) to you! so it should be no different now that he's 'asleep'. he can feel your back press against his chest as you try your best not to wake him. he pretends to groan and does his own shifting around until his nose is nestled in your neck and one of his hands is around your waist while the other is laid on your hip.

everything is still for a bit. he savors the warmth emitting from your body and the scent of the shampoo you use overcomes his senses. until you start shifting around. you're probably just trying to get comfortable, but it's been going on for minutes and he's starting to get a little riled up. it seems almost calculated as you push back against him. he's not sure what to make of the sigh that leaves you.

your hand lightly clasps his and you guide it downwards. this can't be real. his body is so stiff right now, but he doesn't want to move in case you stop! with just a little bit of struggling, you managed to get his hand into your underwear. your hand finds the top of his as you move his fingers slightly further down. you're soaking wet, using the pads of his fingers to brush against your clit a few times.

your fingers are moving down softly once again as you push them into your hole. your breath hitches and you feel so good, so soft around his fingers. you're moving them in and out now, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip. but you can only get them in so far before your own fingers are getting in the way.

this is short-lived as tartaglia harshly curls his fingers into you. you're gasping out an airy "ajax!" as he draws you farther into his body with his other arm.

"if you wanted my help, you could've just asked, cutie."

the way his voice is low in your ear makes you clamp around his digits as he finger fucks you. his lips are on your neck now, dutifully marking you up as you squirm against his body. he's grinding into you from the back as he finds that spot that has you arching and moaning out even louder. he's prodding at that spot now and your body starts to shake. the sensation of feeling you cum all over his hand has him spiraling and cumming into his own shorts. you're starting to relax against his chest once more, but he's turning you onto your front with his hard cock pressing against your ass. you gasp at how hard he is, and he takes the opportunity to slip the fingers the fingers that were in you into your mouth. he smiles as you start to suck on them. he's going to have so much fun with you tonight.

BONUS: aventurine!

another nightmare has him sitting up in his bed. he's reaching over to grab his water bottle because of how dry his throat is, but it's empty. he groans as he throws the covers off of him. his eyes widen as he hits the bottom of the staircase. there you are, fingers rubbing messy circles on your clit as your legs are spread across the back of the living room couch. you purr his name, his real name out so beautifully as your eyes are squeezed shut, lost in your chase for pleasure.

"enjoying yourself, doll?"

the voice has you shooting up from the chair. there aventurine stood, one hand on his hip, bottle in the other as he smiled slyly at you. his messy hair signified that he'd just woken up, but he still looked as beautiful as ever. he raises his hands up.

"don't let me stop your fun! keep going."

is all he says as he starts to make his way towards the kitchen. you meekly call out his name and he stops in his tracks, craning his head to the side to peer at you once more.

"help, please?"

his mouth may have been dry, but yours definitely wasn't. you're slobbering all over his length, the nasty sounds coming from you causing him to moan. as much as he loves the warmth of your mouth, he'd much rather experience your cunt. so he's pulling you off of him and signaling you to straddle him.

the stretch is ungodly as you slide fully down onto him. you're bending over to catch his lips in a wet kiss as his hands find the fat of your hips. you're rolling them now, nails raking over the exposed expanse of his chest as he fucks up into you slowly.

he's always hated his nightmares with a fiery passion, but he's willing to let this one go just for tonight.

Mountain Clash

Injured Kinich x reader

Summary: Kinich comes backs to you with blood pouring down from his temple, you tend to him (notes at the end).

————————————————————————

You sit on the ledge of the mountain, rubbing your eyes in slight exhaustion as the sun begins to rise. Just as you expected, Kinich is already up, practically swinging through the trenches and jumping from mountain to mountain. Agility and precision, those were always some of his best attributes. You were always amazed at how Kinich was able to pull his movements off. The grappling hook wasn’t your thing, but you enjoyed watching him use it.

He moved gracefully, showcasing just how much of a second nature to him it was. Not a care in the world crossed his mind at these times you presumed. As he disappears into the distance, you sigh and stand to your feet, stretching your limbs.

You usually stayed in your own home, yet you ended up tending to a nearby Saurian who had injured its leg. Once the aid was completed, night had fallen. Kinich was a close friend of yours, and deemed it dangerous for you to walk home in the dark. Before you knew it, you were sleeping next to him, with a complaining Ajaw beside you two. He must be with Kinich now you presumed, since your sleep wasn’t disturbed by any hurtful comments.

You were a bit uneasy about sleeping so high up, but Kinich gave you reassurance by explaining you had nothing to worry about. “The mountain is stable, you won’t fall off.” He reassured you.

No one would bother you two while you slept. Knowing Kinich’s reputation as a “cold hearted killer,” anyone with ill intentions would be too afraid to attack him. You knew nothing of that side of him. Of course he was cold in his personality, but you’re wise enough to know the lengths he would go for those he cared for, including you.

“Are you cold?” He would ask once seeing you either curl up or toss in turn in the middle of the night.

The sound of his voice accompanied by a set of drowsiness was soothing to you. You enjoyed whenever he checked up on you in the middle of the night as a result.

Although if you lied about how you actually felt, he’d catch on quickly.

“I’m alright.” You’d say.

Despite the Natlan heat during the day, the temperatures had a tendency to drop during the night. So without even asking, he got up and grabbed a thin blanket he kept for cold nights. He draped it over you gently. The thought of the event still makes you feel warm inside.

“You’re still here?” A voice sounded behind you, snapping you out of your trance as you tidied up. You drop your head in a deep sigh as you recognized the tone. “Begone!” Ajaw shouted as he got in your line of sight.

You ignore him, rummaging around in your bag for something as he spewed insults at you. At this point you were used to it.

“You freeloader! You really expect The Almighty Dragonlord—“ He stopped mid sentence as you held up something to him.

“Will this get you off my back?” You questioned with a sly smirk. In your hand was a pastry, one you knew Ajaw adored more than anything. His pixel hands snatched it from you without a word, only making a slight “hmph” noise in satisfaction as he flew away. You would’ve gave it to him last night, but saved it for when you knew Ajaw would come at you alone.

During the whole encounter, you had failed to notice that Kinich had returned. A smile enveloped your lips as you watched him diving into the more narrow trenches littered with sharp mountain pieces. A daredevil you thought.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull your eyes away from the stunt. Kinich isn’t the show off type, so you knew this had to be apart of some sort of training. Yet with his jumps being so close to each sharp edge of the mountain, it placed fear in you. Those standalone pieces looked unstable to be landing on. He had to know that. Of course he knew that.

Deciding to turn your head away from your friend’s dangerous actions, you went back to tidying the area. Silent Ajaw hovered in the distance. You didn’t notice Kinich’s return until you heard a pair of boots land on the terrain near you.

“What the hell happened to you?!” Ajaw suddenly shouted from where he stood.

First confusion racked your mind, replaced then by a steady income of shock as you turned your head.

“What happened to you?!” You shouted, immediately walking over to Kinich who looked like he was attacked at the temple.

On the left side of his head was a heavy showcase of dark red blood which had soaked his head scarf. He looked out of it, yet still kept that expressionless composure. The only way you could truly tell something was off, besides the blood, was the way he seemed to have trouble standing upright.

“Did you fall?” You questioned as you grabbed him by his arm to support him. You sat him down on the spot he slept in quickly, while Ajaw begun his taunts, again.

“Did you fall on your head AGAIN you idiot?!” He laughed as you took a towel to Kinich’s temple. You pressed it against his skull, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. His body tensed in pain at the brief action, you worried whether or not he gave himself a concussion.

You held onto him by his shoulder as he winced, making sure he didn’t fall forward as you questioned him. “What happened to you?”

Your voice was filled with worry. He didn’t respond at first, taking an uncomfortable amount of time to register your words. Your worry increased tremendously as it seemed as though he tried to gather his thoughts first.

“I hit the mountain dodging a stray Yumkasaur.” He explained briefly as you gently removed the towel. He was still bleeding, and falling forward.

“Lie down.” You said as you moved your hand from his shoulder, placing one on his back, the other on the back of his head. Gently you laid him down on the soft surface, keeping the soaked towel pressed firmly yet lightly against his wound.

Ajaw continued to mock the dazed man, and you considered taping his mouth (which lacked a filter) shut.

You found another towel and pressed it over the original. You considered leaving to call for a doctor, but decided against the idea out of fear of leaving him alone. So with a worried face and heavy sigh, you continued to perform first aid to the best of your abilities.

The night had descended, and Kinich began to stir in his slumber. He can hear a conversation nearby, accompanied by the scent of seasoned meat. When he opened his eyes, he could feel the pain in his head. It was still present, yet it had decreased tremendously.

Turning his weak form in the direction of the noise of Ajaw, he spotted you two near an open fire. You were cooking…with Ajaw yelling at you. Kinich heard something along the lines of “that idiot” and “kicked the bucket,” words you yourself did not take kindly to.

“I don’t know how he puts up with you.” You muttered under your breath, Ajaw scoffed.

“He doesn’t have a choice!” Ajaw laughed.

“How do I know you didn’t set this up?!” You questioned in a rage. “Every chance you get you try to get him killed!”

“If only he would complete the job himself then—“

Ajaw went silent at the sound of noise, you turned in the direction he gazed upon. Kinich was sitting up, one hand on his knee as he watched the two of you bicker. The moment Ajaw’s mind had clicked that Kinich was up, he let out a frustrated groan. He had hoped that Kinich wouldn’t have woken up at all.

Springing into action, you ditched the spoon in your hand and moved over to him, delivering questions full of worry as you cupped his face.

“Are you ok? Why are you sitting up you should be lying down? Are you in pain—are you hungry?”

He had his gaze fixed on you, analyzing your face and its features. You were so close to him, closer than ever before as you examined him. Every question you asked was going through one ear and out the other. Kinich had a habit of getting lost while staring at you, yet it was always from a few feet away, never so close.

The color of your eyes, he always knew them, yet they were so prominent from this close proximity it caused him to flush. Your hair type, the color, it was mesmerizing. The way you looked at him, whether it was with a warm hearted smile or concern in your eyes, it made him feel protective over you.

“It’s healing.” You speak to him as you lift the bandage to take a look. “Are you dizzy? You should eat something.”

Kinich is silent as you turned towards the food you had prepared, taking a bowl to scoop the heavenly aroma into.

When he got a closer look, he realized you had made a stew from resources in the area.

“I tried with what I had.” You revealed, handing the plate to him.

“Thanks.” He spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

You smile at his kind words, watching as he mixed the soup in the bowl.

“We should visit a doctor in the morning.” You said as he began blowing cool air onto the steaming dish.

“I’m alright.” He reassured you nonchalantly before taking his first taste.

Your face twisted in utter confusion. You’re one hundred percent certain he almost crushed his head, yet he says he’s alright. “You bashed your head into the side of the mountain, I’m sure you’re concussed.”

The food was absolute heaven to him as he continued eating, mumbling words in between.

“I’ve fallen plenty times, you don’t need to worry.” He spoke calmly, only catching your finger in the corner of his eye before you poked his injury.

He drew his head back immediately with an audible groan from the pain.

“I’m taking you to a doctor.” You speak, no room for argument.

He’d never admit it to you directly, but he found your stubbornness for him cute.

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Tumblr, thank you for the love on my last Kinich fanfic, and for over 300 followers <3. I really appreciate it!

Anyway, high school is actually killing me and I get little to no free time. I was trying to get this out earlier but I’m still kinda late (I’m so sorry). Anyway…this is what I’ve been working on since before 5.0 dropped. Apologies for any incorrect info! I’m still catching up!

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

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

♡ FEM reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be stupid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sloth is a street urchin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gluttony is a five-star chef. 

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

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

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

And taste you, he most certainly does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Must be madness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Envy is your enemy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

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

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

What did you just say? 

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess? 

No way—that can’t be it, right? 

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

"What the fuck did I just do?"

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

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

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lunchbox. 

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

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

“For me?”

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

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

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

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

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

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

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

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

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

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

Greed is your clingy childhood friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touching kny men's frogs by accident

Pairings: Sanemi x fem!reader; Giyu x fem!reader; Rengoku x fem!reader; bonus: Tengen x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Warnings: Not smut but it's getting heated y'all, heavy inspiration from apothecary diaries hehehehe, enjoy babes

I didn't feel like writing for quite some time and would totally appreciate you showing some love and support 🤍

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“I can’t fucking stand you”, you hiss through gritted teeth, body feeling like exploding any given minute.

Out of all the people around you, why does it always have to be him you’re assigned with? Why not Giyu, why not Rengoku? No, it’s always the asshole himself, the devil in person.

“Join the club. I can’t stand you either, but at least I’m having fun with it”, he jeers back, the veins on his forehead almost popping.

If there’s one thing he hates more than anything else on this planet, it has to be you. Sanemi’s eyes glare you up and down as you walk in front of him, feet stomping onto the ground demonstratively while you make your way to the mansion you were assigned to.

No, that’s not true. If there’s one thing he hates more than anything else on this planet, it has to be that you hate him.

“Let’s just get this shitty mission over with”, you mumble under your breath.

Fuck, you’re almost able to feel his gaze burning through your back while it takes all your focus not to trip like an idiot. You hate to admit it, hate to even think about it, but somehow…

Why does the way he holds his sword have to be so damn attractive? Why does his voice force your heart to skip a beat, your knees to feel oh so weak? Why does it have to be him, the guy who hates you more than anyone else? You’re nothing but a fool for falling for him so hard. God, you really need to pull yourself together. Maybe telling yourself over and over that you hate him as well will finally force some sense back into your brain.

Will it? Or maybe, just maybe telling him about those things might help. Maybe you need to get this off your chest, maybe you need to feel him rejecting you to finally move on. You clench your hands into tight fists, heartbeat picking up in an instant. Yes, you just have to do this. There’s no way you’ll be able to act like that forever. And after that, after he rejected you like the asshole he is, you’ll definitely be able to hate him like you’re supposed to.

“Sanemi, I really have to-“

But just when your courage took over, you aren’t able to complete your sentence. A pair of razor-sharp teeth shoots just barely past your throat. An animal? A demon? You didn’t even realize that the sun is already fully set, didn’t even hear this lower-ranked demon coming. A dangerous mistake that right now, might cost your life.

“Watch out!”, Sanemi cries out behind you.

Images start to blur and overlap, you feel your body falling towards the cold hard ground. Are you dead, injured? Time seems to stand still, the only thing you’re able to do is pressing your eyes shut.

Until you land.

Softly.

“(y/n)…”

You clench your hands even harder, body not able to comprehend what just happened. You were on your way to the ground, without any doubt. How is it possible that you landed so softly? Did the demon eat you, eventually?

“Can you just…stop?”

“Sanemi?”

Immediately, your eyes dart towards the sound of his whiny voice.

Underneath you.

Sanemi Shinazugawa is lying under your very own body, trapped between your legs, kept in place by your hand.

Your hand…What is that soft feeling? A frog, maybe? You squeeze a little tighter. To be honest, you never really touched a frog-

“(y/n)!”, Sanemi cries your name in a way he’s never done before, his cheeks so bright red that it leaves worry lines all over your face.

“Did you catch a fever? No wonder considering that cold wind you’ve made earlier while training. I told you over and over that-“

“Your hand”, Sanemi presses out.

“Remove your fucking hand.”

Your hand? You shake your head in sheer confusion. What on earth does this have to do with your hand?

While one of your palms rests flat against the cool ground, the other still holds onto that squishy but somehow comforting thing. Your eyes wander down your own arm, searching for what might be a frog.

You swallow hard, hand snapping away in an instant.

God, you want to die. Right here on the spot. Without any last words.

Is this really, did you really touch him…there?

“It wasn’t a frog”, you mutter in sheer horror while lifting yourself off the boy underneath you.

“A frog!?”

“I…I thought this was a frog! Why didn’t you tell me earlier that I…that I touched you there!?”, you cry out in nothing but horror.

“Why the hell did you think it was a frog, idiot? I definitely don’t feel like a frog”, Sanemi gives back while grabbing your arm.

“And stop wiping your fucking hand like you just touched something dirty!”

“I…I need to go now”, you announce in a haste.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You really touched Sanemi down there. Sanemi Shinazugawa, the boy you always hated. No, the boy you secretly love.

And that’s definitely worse.

“Stay right where you are, (y/n)…We…We still have this stupid mission going and I don’t wanna get scolded by Shinobu for scaring you away”, the white-haired man mumbles, the pressure he puts on your wrist now becoming more gentle.

“Right.”

Get yourself together. Acting like a dumb teenager doesn’t help the situation either. As if nothing happened, you straighten your shoulders and start walking towards the estate again.

An uneasy silence begins settling between both of you, Sanemi just strolling by your side without even looking your way. Fuck, this is so awkward and strange. What are you supposed to do? Not saying a word until the mission is over, talking about the weather?

“Thank you for saving me from that demon earlier”, you blurt out without thinking twice.

“I’m still not over the fact that you called me a frog…”, he mumbles while shaking his head.

“What else was I supposed to say? I really thought it was a frog!”, you try to defend yourself.

In the split of a second, you find yourself pinned against a nearby tree.

“A frog, huh? No problem, I’m gonna show you it’s anything but a frog”, he hisses though gritted teeth.

„S-show me what?“

Giyu Tomioka

„You need to listen to your surroundings. The only thing you’re fighting with are your eyes”, Giyu explains briefly while putting a blindfold over your eyes.

Word of protest get stuck in your throat. No, it took you way too long to convince the water hashira to train you. To be exact, a couple of letters from Sakonji and you begging on your knees. You’ll definitely won’t risk him turning his back on you again over something as stupid as a blindfold.

“You need to focus on your other senses as well.”

Like the sound of his calm voice that makes your heart skip a beat? Or the faint smell of grapes that sticks to his clothes and tingles your nose?

“I said focus”, he warns you.

You blink into the darkness and straighten your shoulders. He’s right. You’re here to get trained by the water hashira and not to pine after him. You have to prove yourself. You have to show him you’re worthy of his time.

“Go.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. With a swift motion you dart forwards, follow the sound of his steps. You furrow your eyebrows while desperately trying to focus on the ever so slightly crush of branches underneath his feet, your bare skin eager to feel the tiniest brush of wind.

But before you’re even able to detect him, you feel his hand roughly slapping the back of your head.

“You’re not trying good enough”, he comments calmly.

That’s it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. You turn around as fast as possible, your arm on its way to hit him.

Now you have Giyu, now you’re finally able to strike back.

Your hands hold onto something when he forces you around swiftly.

And then you hit the ground.

“What the hell was that?”, you bark while yanking away that stupid blindfold.

But when your eyes meet his, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Giyu? Are you…alright?”

His cheeks are bright red, a thin coat of sweat covering his forehead while he stares at you with widened eyes. What is going on? Is there something behind both of you?

“(y/n)…”

He breathes out your name like a prayer, a minor whimper escapes his oh so beautiful lips.

“Hey, your worrying me. What’s going on?”, you question, eyes scanning him up and down.

Until your gaze wanders to your very own hand.

That rest just where his private parts are.

“Oh!”

Immediately, you stumble backwards while wiping your hand against your uniform like the idiot you are. How the hell did you not realize that you were touching him there?

“I-I…I’m so s-sorry! It wasn’t on purpose!”, you cry out immediately.

You’re screwed. What if Giyu thinks you’re a disgusting freak, a pervert? You never touched a man like that in your entire life, never knew what it would feel like. But…you never imagined it to feel this big. No wonder though, Giyu definitely seems like the kind of guy who keeps his secrets to himself.

“(y/n), can you…stop staring at me like that?”, he mumbles.

Your dirty eyes widen when you start to notice that you were still staring at his pants.

“I’m so sorry!”

“I think I need to go for a few minutes”, he announces awkwardly while getting up.

“What? Please don’t leave, I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself! I will be more careful, I will make sure something like this n-“

“(y/n), please just stop talking. I need to calm down. Now excuse me.”

“But Giyu, please don’t leave me hanging! I don’t want us to stop training, there’s still so much you need to teach me-“

“I need a couple of minutes to…take care of something.”

“To take care of something?”, you repeat visibly confused.

What on earth does he have to take care of now? His very own hand wanders to his pants, adjusting what looks like a visible bump.

A bump.

You swallow hard.

“Oh.”

Instinctively, you turn around, your cheeks now bright red.

“O-okay. Got it. Sorry”, you mutter.

Kyojuro Rengoku

“(y/n), stay by my side!”, Kyojuro instructs you while dashing down the dark forest.

Your heart pumps rapidly, mouth already tasting like iron. To be honest, you are exhausted. Exhausted of running, exhausted of fighting, exhausted of this cruel night. What time is it? When will the sun finally rise again? The only thing that keeps you going is him. The man who runs in front of you and shields you from demon attacks as often as possible.

Him, Kyojuro Rengoku.

“I can’t do this anymore”, you mutter when your sight already starts to get foggy.

Kyojuro turns around, eyes springing back and forth between you and the army of demon who dash behind both of you.

What now? He can’t watch out for you while killing off all those demons. No, he’s forced to wait until help arrives. Otherwise, you might get hurt. Or even worse…

He shakes his head ever so slightly, eyes focusing on what’s in front of him. Kyojuro was never the type to hide like a coward, but right now, this might be your only chance.

“Follow me.”

Gently, he grabs your hand and drags you behind him, dashing towards what looks like a small cottage at neck-breaking speed.

“Kyojuro, what are you doing?”, you question in sheer confusion.

He managed to leave all those demons behind, now running straight towards the cottage in front of them. What is his plan?

“We will hide until help arrives”, he explains briefly.

With a swift motion, he opens and closes the door behind your trembling figure, eyes darting around the room without a real aim.

Until they land on a closet.

“Hiding? But-“

“I’m sure Uzui will arrive within the next few minutes. But with you injured like this and countless demons chasing after us, I’m not able to defeat them by myself while still making sure you’re fine”, he explains briefly while gently shoving you into the closet.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat when he pushes himself inside next to you and closes the door, so close that you’re able to feel his breath tickling against your cheek.

“Thank you for thinking about me”, you breathe into the suddenly so private space.

“I always will, (y/n).”

A warm feeling spreads in your stomach as well as your now pounding heart. It’s hard not to fall for a perfect man like him. Him who engulfs you with the sheer heat of his body. Him, who has never been this close to you before. Him, the man you love since the first time you saw him.

Your feelings threaten to overpower you just like your dizziness. In the search for hold, you adjust your body in the tiny space, hands searching for support.

A minor whine fills the otherwise quiet place, coming straight from Kyojuro’s lips.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself as well?”, you question, now pulled out of your trance.

You didn’t even have the time to think about Kyojuro with all those demons chasing after you. What if he got injured? How careless of you to not check on him sooner.

“No, it’s just…You’re squeezing my pelvic area”, he presses out.

“W-what?”, you shriek, instantly removing your hand.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought I was holding onto a knob!”, you try to explain in an instant.

“(y/n), you are killing me”, he suddenly mutters with unusual low voice.

“I do…what?”

In the matter of seconds, you find yourself trapped between his strong arms, the heat radiating from his body threatening to burn you alive while your glossy eyes stare at him through the darkness.

“I had my eyes on you for quite some time now. If I’m being honest, I developed feeling for you a long time ago.”

Feelings? Kyojuro Rengoku developed feelings? For you? You have to be dreaming, hallucinating due to blood loss. But the pressure of his hands against your back is real just like his breath that caresses your face gently.

“Kyojuro, I-“

You aren’t able to finish your sentence. The split of a second is all it takes for the doors of the closet to swing open.

“Now, look what we have here. Two lovebirds cramped into a tiny space with (y/n)’s hand…Oh, I might have interrupted something here”, Tengen jeers at both of you with a dirty smile plastered onto his face.

“Get away from here right now!”, you cry out along with slapping his shoulder roughly.

“Embarrassed because I caught you?”

“You didn’t catch us! This was…an accident.”

“And accident?”

“An accident”, Koyjuo confirms.

“You can’t fool me, lovebirds. But for now, let’s focus on those demons”, Tengen comments dryly while drawing his swords.

Bonus: Uzui Tengen

“You need to help me”, your beloved husband presses out through gritted teeth, his face twisted in pain.

“Yeah, sure I’ll do anything!”

You have to blink a few times against the wave of panic that threatens to take you over, Uzui’s blood sticking to your hands uncomfortably. You need to get yourself together, need to focus on helping your husband after this rough mission.

“Press your hand against my leg and stop the bleeding”, he chokes, his head now resting against the rough ground.

“Okay, I can totally do that!”, you mutter.

There’s no time to waste. As fast as possible, you press your trembling palm against the warmth of his body, your eyes scanning his face for any reaction when a sudden whimper escapes his lips.

“(y/n)…I always love when you touch me there, but right now, I need you to press your hand against my leg.”

“Oh!”

Immediately, you remove your hand from his groin and press it onto the gaping wound on his leg.

“I guess that was habit.”

"Well, now I'm horny and injured...", Tengen mumbles under his breath.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like what I came up with <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally you suck it up and start to ask around.

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

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

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

"Hello Mx. (Y/n)!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod with a soft laugh.

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

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

Iguro's nose twitches behind bandages.

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

Just like his owner.

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

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

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

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

In a good way.

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

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

Speak you idiot, he thinks.

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

You're confused by his words.

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

"What are you talking about?" You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Iguro hummed in response.

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

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

You shouldn't be thinking about him that way!

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, neither of you try again.

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

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

"Making fun of me now?" He mutters.

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

He's going to be sick.

Iguro is genuinely going to be sick.

You might as well.

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

"You got a new haori," Iguro says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not. And you know that.

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

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

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

It must look inappropriate.

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

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

lowkeyartist!sukuna who makes videos in his room to post on his instagram. Most of it is just him making new tunes that would most definitely be sampled by an artist sooner or later, while some are covers.

But I think what people mostly know him for is the different lady - or ladies - they see in the background sleeping in his bed. His name on twitter grows hectic whenever they see the girls in the back in some of his videos, slamming and dragging his name. Regardless, he stays radio silent on it.

It’s not until a song that had used one of his vids for a sample went popular and he begrudgingly goes live on instagram for his first Q&A due to popular demand. The questions flood in when his fans realise it’s not bullshit and he actually is there to talk with them.

And, like true Sukuna signature, there’s a mystery lady in his sheets behind him. The live notices immediately when he shifts a little to the edge giving them a glimpse of you, almost like he wants them to see.

“Does it wobble? Don’t make me end this live,” he says sternly, trying to subtly read questions that aren’t about you behind him in the chat. He finds it funny how the whole internet has been in an uproar this past year due to your constant impulse on making your hair look different every other month - different girls, like he’d ever, the thought makes him scoff.

“Why do you bring over so many girls? what do you mean? It’s just one,” he teases, his head turning over his shoulder to peek at you - yep, still sleeping.

His taunts to the questions have everyone on edge, and you’re just peacefully in dreamland. His scowl deepens when he sees many people question his honesty on the last answer, so he finally breaks and he reveals the long awaited truth.

“It’s just one girl because it’s my fiancé, we’ve been together since I started this shit,” he leans back in his chair, relief flowing through his veins now that everyone knows, “why does she look different all the time? My girl’s just impulsive.”

baby, baby - ft. kinich

synopsis - mornings with ur boyfriend and his annoying lizard

includes - 0.4k wc, short and sweet, gross disgusting fluff, sfw

a/n - first fic, I really really hate this, no one talk to me I'm going to hide in a hole gulp

the natlan sun creeps through the curtains of you and your boyfriend's small, shared cottage, causing your eyes to slowly flutter open. your mouth feels dry as you wipe the dried drool on the corner of your lip, grumbling as you roll over, reaching for your boyfriend. yet, you only feel the slightly wrinkled silk of your sheets.

suddenly the bed feels colder at the loss of whatever contact you had fallen asleep with. kinich's your shirt draped over your body paired with sweatpants does nothing to quell the shiver on your skin. sure, you were used to kinich waking up first, but archons, did you hate it.

you sigh, sitting up before standing, your legs feeling like jello as you wobble to the living space. you enter to the sight of kinich wearing your pink "kiss the cook" apron, the one in which mualani got you as a gag gift for your birthday.

he swats ajaw away from the knob of the stove, the latter trying to turn it just to burn the pancakes kinich was working oh so hard to prepare for you before you woke up. but alas, it was futile.

you were awake.

and you were giggling.

his eyes widen as he turns his head back, just to see the smile that he loves so much. the one that constantly reminds him just how much he cares about you unlike any other.

"kinichhh!" you coo, rushing up to him and pulling his cheek. "you look so adorable!" you smile, showering his left cheek with as many kisses as possible.

he huffs, "it was supposed to be a surprise," kinich sighs as he glares at ajaw. ajaw simply shimmies away before disappearing, the effect of a few tiny pixels springing out from his departure. kinich sighs, seeing your stupid lovesick grin before moving the pancakes to a plate.

he spreads butter, syrup, and your preferred fruit onto the pancake, putting two small dollops of whipped cream on it soon after before using his fork to feed you a bite.

archons, the flavors just melt on your tongue. he's always been a great cook, but the way he cooks pancakes.. making the middle light and fluffy with a light crisp on the edge before perfectly topping it with precision, care, and love..

"yummy.." you sing, your arms wrapping around his neck. the morning ends with you two sat at the dining table, sharing a breakfast as you discuss your plans for the day with each other.

❤️

KISSES- breathless, kisses.

...you make him feel many things, but being breathless is one he makes you feel...he makes you feel breathless something you can't make him feel...

Slight power bottom wanderer? Credits [mint.tan] insta

...wanderer...

He doesn't know what gotten into you, you say that you miss him, you're just tired. But you'll eat him whole at this rate!

Encircling your arms from behind around your darlings waist, shoving your face in the crevice of his neck. "What the fu-" he tries pushing you away, at the start that is. He always does, acting annoyed as if he isn't enjoying himself.

"Ah- mhm..I told you don't do that..." Soft noises as you kiss the electro symbol on his nape. His groans of annoyance turning into breathy giggles. he tries to hide them so hard.

Soft giggles as you kiss the sides of his face, biting softly at the flesh of his cheek.

Turning around in your arms as his encircle you, "I want one here too." In a whisper is how he voices his desires, his lips are cold, so very cold. He's a lifeless puppet after all. He's cold, and- he doesn't need to breathe.

You- on the other hand...

You love making your darling cry out for you, whine, and be just so shaky to the touch for you. But, to your dismay, you can't make your darling breathless. That's the one thing he beats you at every time.

You might press him back against the counter, but as he pushes against your lips you can't help but be pushed back yourself.

It's like he's restless, the yearning for touch and want is being completed after a painful 500 years, he doesn't want to part, he wants to do this for yet another eternity.

Trying to pull away, he seeks you out immediately again, grabbing at your collar as if he would let go, so would you slip from his fingers,

"mhm-, ah!" Grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking it back, panting breathlessly "my darl' you-..might not need to breath- but I do- hah." Soft giggles erupt from his throat, Ah- he loves seeing you breathless. Just for him.

Caelus titjob pspspspspspsps

psppspspps i gotchu nsfw caelus x reader, boobs, titjob, face cum

i doubt caelus has a specific favorite body part. you ask him what it is now, he'll tell you it's thighs, ask 15 minutes later and he'll tell you he loves your ass. but hell never deny the love he has for your tits! he'll have you stand in front of his mirror as he just fondles them, pinching and kneading at the soft flesh as he just watches in awe.

it's that same awestruck look he has on his face while he thrusts between your tits, watching closely as you push them together for him to fuck up into them. and it just feels so good! you look so good too, mouth hanging open to let your spit drip onto his tip.

it's so messy, your spit mixed with his precum all over the valley between your tits and upper chest. he groans, eyes never leaving the wonderful view below him. but your knees must be getting tired from the hard floor, so he gets you on your back instead!

and you're still holding your tits together as he's almost straddling your chest, cock still dutifully fucking between your boobs. he definitely likes this more, because when his orgasm starts to shoot out, he's painting your face with ropes of his cum! you try to protest, but he just slaps his length against your face a couple of times to shut you up </3.