#sub anime

[entirelytoooobsessed]

needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post

synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.

warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it

The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.

What a delightful feeling. 

What a human desire. 

“Touch me.” 

The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind. 

“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return. 

“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.

“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is. 

“Your name?” You mutter slowly. 

“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.

Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you. 

You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.

You don’t mind now.

“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back. 

He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.

The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands. 

With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?

“Hmm? Just what?” 

He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you. 

You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.

But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.

Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.

Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before. 

Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.

But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.

He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.

You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.

“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.

 “No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off.  “No, n-no, don’t wan’you  to leave…” 

You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”

He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.

You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper. 

“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”

You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth. 

You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.

The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.

A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.

Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.

“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~” 

His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.

Perhaps…

“Kiss me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”

He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.

“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”

“You know we can’t. You-“

“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”

A losing fucking battle. 

Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight. 

All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.

 And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.

He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein. 

It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips. 

He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using. 

Just like he told you to do.

He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises. 

You’d show him what real ascension felt like.

You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.

To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.

You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting. 

He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”

You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin. 

And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.

In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.

Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat. 

He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.

But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.

So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.

Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.

Like he wants you to.

He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down. 

Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced. 

He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.

And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.

He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.

He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.

For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.

But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.

Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.

But he stops you.

His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.

Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.

"I promise, I will."

And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.

Just you.

"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."

He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.

But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.

To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.

His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.

"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."

He always has been one for dramatics.

His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.

"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.

He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

And he's crying. And he's beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.

"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"

You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours. 

"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.

“Satoru,” And he shakes.

“Satoru,” And he sobs.

“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.

“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.

Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.

Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.

Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.

Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.

"You love me right?"

You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.

But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.

"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.

"Do you love me?"

You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.

"I do love you Satoru."

And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.

But that doesn't matter.

Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.

"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.

“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”

“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”

You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”

#dom reader #sub jujutsu kaisen #dom!reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #sub gojo #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #sub anime #sub gojo smut #sub gojo x reader #sub gojo satoru #sub!gojo #sub!jjk #sub character #sub jjk

[kyunzin]

𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

pairing; puppy!kiri x gn!Reader

cw; thigh riding, grinding, use of good boy and baby (to kirishima)

a/n; this has been in my drafts for ages, do tell me if you think I should add any more cw

puppy!kiri who felt lonely and went on a search to find you in your shared apartment.

puppy!kiri who finds you in the living room sitting under the kotatsu with work spread out in front of you.

puppy!kiri who sits himself down next to you laying his head to rest in the crook of your neck nuzzling into you. you know the position is uncomfortable for him but allow him to stay.

puppy!kiri who when you let out a quizzical hum responds with a whispered “missed you”.

puppy!kiri who after a few minutes of staying by your side starts to fidget and begins to play with the hem of his your oversized shirt.

puppy!kiri who when you ask “whats wrong baby?” answers with “nothing” but continues his actions anyway.

puppy!kiri who slips his hands under your shirt and starts caressing your side.

puppy!kiri who when you tell to stop lets out a defeated sigh but perks up when you tell him to “sit in my lap”.

puppy!kiri who jumps up and turns over to straddle your thighs wrapping his arms around you.

puppy!kiri who leaves a few light kisses to your neck and presses a chaste kiss to your lips then rests his head on your shoulder.

puppy!kiri who after a few minutes can’t help but softly rut against your leg while letting out quiet whimpers at the minimal friction he’s getting.

puppy!kiri who when you tell to “stop, you’re distracting me” and “wait” lets out a high pitched whine but listens and still his hips earning a “good boy” from you.

puppy!kiri who can’t help it begins to move again and earns a swat to his ass and a “stop otherwise I’ll have to punish you”.

puppy!kiri who at the threat of punishment stills instantly and wills his erection to go down.

puppy!kiri who does everything he can to not rub himself against you counting sheep, pinching his arm, taking deep laboured breaths.

puppy!kiri who is rewarded when you finally push your work back rubbing at his side whispering words of “good boy” and “I knew you could do it”.

puppy!kiri who shivers and leans into you as you praise him and trail kisses down his neck.

puppy!kiri who begs chanting “please” over and over again signs of tears welling in his eyes, sounding so desperate you don’t have it in you to deny him.

puppy!kiri who when you say “you can carry on baby, I won’t stop you now” sets a rough pace grinding and pressing himself up against you and rests his head on your shoulder.

puppy!kiri who sucks bruises into your skin muffling his moans while increasing in speed chasing his release.

puppy!kiri who finally breaks and lets out a high pitch moan when you whisper “c’mon baby, give it to me” and “be a good boy and let go for me” because he’s your good boy and will always give you what you want.

puppy!kiri who practically melts into you as you rub at his sides telling him he’s “such a good boy for me” and that “I love you so much” for him to slur out “love you” back.

puppy!kiri who when you make motions to move asks if you want him to do something in return but is refused as you say “as long as you’re satisfied so am i baby, but thanks for the offer”.

puppy!kiri who drapes himself over you as you drag him to the bathroom to get “washed up” and “ready for bed”.

puppy!kiri who is like putty in your hands as you strip him of his soiled pants and shirt placing him in the bath to wipe him down.

puppy!kiri who almost falls asleep in the tub as he feels your hands roam his toned body with care but is warned not to as it would take a lot of effort for you to lift his weight by yourself.

puppy!kiri who once dry and fully clothed pulls you down into bed with him and wraps his firm arms around you tucking his head under yours.

puppy!kiri who falls asleep instantly within the security of your loving arms with you not to long following after.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#✰𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒✰ #sub character #sub anime #kirishima smut #sub! kirishima #bnha #bnha smut #my hero academia #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima x gender neutral reader #dom reader #dom!reader #dom!reader x character #gender neutral reader

[xrcs]

slight sub ushijima + slight femdom reader

authors note – mmm. i love ushijima sm. this boutta be some softcore shit jus to get started.

content warnings – first time (for ushijima). rawdogging. praise. choking. porn w/out a plot. creampie.

ushijima watched as your naked body towered over his. his whole face down to his neck tomato red. how could someone be this beautiful with or without clothes on? his eyes scanned your shape, it’s like you could practically see the hearts as his pupils.

“you ready? jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable with anything. i’ll stop if you want,” you whisper into the shell of his ear. your hot breath tickling his ear love made him shiver slightly. ushijima slowly nodded, indicating that he was ready. for you. the way your lips travelled down his body made him go crazy.

hands snaking down his torso, fingers tracing every crevice of his rock hard abs. sucking and nibbling ever so slightly on his collarbone. “fuh.. fuck,” ushijima huffed, his cock throbbing and leaking pre. all this kissing and licking is already enough to make him cum.

small hickeys form all over his neck and collarbone. he’s your canvas, decorating him with every touch you make. you watch as he lets out small moans and huffs from your attack on his body. shit, he’s never felt anything like this before.

“name, i want– want you now. please, give it to me. i’m ready to be in your embrace,” ushijima breathed impatiently, his brown eyes looking strongly into yours. fuck, you couldn’t even say no. you wanted to give him the best first time, no teasing. just pure love and tenderness.

“okay baby, i got you,” you say while you grab his cock, lining it up with your folds. you’ve honestly been waiting for this as much as him. slowly, you sit down on his cock fully. giving him and yourself a minute to adjust.

ushijimas’ eyes roll back as he felt your warm, gooey insides wrap around his cock. his shaky hands grabbing your hips, holding you down. it was taking everything in him not to just cum right there and then. “goddd. i’m so in love with you,”

you start to lift your body up, dragging your walls on his dick. his head falls back as he sighs in pleasure. sweat rolling down his body, muscles tensing up. even the stretch is making you feel so good. his lengthy cock hitting all the right spots.

“take control of me,” ushijima whispers softly, looking into your eyes lovingly. you moan as you bring your hand up to his thick neck. wrapping what you can around it while squeezing. you can feel his dick twitch inside of you. you heard him utter a little ‘yes’ under his breath.

he feels like he’s losing control by the second. your warm juices flowing down his cock and thighs. ushijimas’ hips slammed up into yours, making you choke out. ramming into your pussy at a fast pace, his eyes are hyper focused on your tits bouncing.

his strong arms wrap around your waist as he abuses your cunt.

“a-ah! shit, ushijima! so fuckin’ good, makin’ me so full,” you moan, making him ram into you swiftly. the way your pussy lips envelops his dick. you’re clenching him so hard that he might just nut. his animalistic groans reverberate throughout the room, clapping sounds becoming more intense.

“again,” he huffs.

“praise me– ngh moree,” his mind is becoming more and more muddled as he fucks into your sweet pussy. drool slips past his lips, all swollen and pretty. “hittin’ it so fuckin’ g– mmm good! good fuckin’ boy,” oh no. he’s getting really close.

you choke him once again, bringing him to the edge. “agh! shit, ‘m gonna cum so hard. you feel so gooood,” ushijima slurs, eyes rolling so far back into his head. his grip on your hips is so tight that it might leave a mark.

you also feel really close. the coil in your stomach might just snap. his balls tighten up, his thrusting comes to a stop. hot, white fluid coats your gummy walls as you feel yourself coming undone too.

small whimpers come out of ushijimas lips, mind all fuzzy and dumb. you two look at each other in pure joy and love. slipping his flaccid cock out of your pussy, his cum spurting out in globs.

you two don’t want to move. ushijima brings his lips to yours and utters three special words..

“i love you,”

XRCS 2023

#ushijima. #ushijima smut #haikyu smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #sub hq #sub haikyuu #anime smut #anime x reader #haikyuu x reader #sub anime #sub character #dom reader #ushijima x reader #XRCS.

[jinniesluna]

MANDARIN PEEL

Hellooooo! I understand that it has been a very, very, very long time since I last posted and I am not dead! A lot has been happeneing in my life and so I have been preoccupied. However, I am here with a piece that has been in my drafts for months 0_0

To make things very clear, I do not condone cheating or disloyalty of any kind, this is simply fiction and for entertainment purposes.

Also I do not have any specific reason as to why it is called Mandarin peels, it was just the first title that came to mind.

Warnings - sub!Armin, dom!reader, modern! Au, college!au, cheating, 

Summary - A game of strip spin the bottle sparks a little lustful attraction towards you, one that Armin swears is harmless. Little does he know, you harbour the same lustful attraction, the only problem is; Armin has a girlfriend.

_________________________________

Lust. That's all it was, Armin swore. Just a small lustful crush that had no meaning and no deeper attraction, or connection.  

The first time Armin noticed this 'lust crush' was the night -three months ago - at Jean's party. Everyone - including his girlfriend and you - in the main friend group was gathered in a close circle, an empty beer bottle in the middle. Initially Armin thought this was going to be a silly game of spin the bottle with the traditional rules but no. It was a game Ymir made up; ask a question and then spin the bottle to see who answers it. If you refuse to answer then you have to take off a piece of clothing. That last part had Armin internally squealing and he would've up and left if his girlfriend hadn't begged him to play. You sat across from Armin and his girlfriend, your posture calm, collected and nonchalant despite the potential stripping. 

"Okay, who's going first?" Ymir claps her hands together and looks around expectantly. 

"I will," it's Connie who speaks first, a playful glint in his eyes. He's clearly drunk which means he has absolutely no filter or sense of boundaries. 

"State your question, then spin the bottle," Ymir repeats the rules and then leans back against the couch.

"Would you rather eat a bowl or Eren's toenails or a bowl of Jean's beard hair," he's trying hard to contain his laughter and complete the ridiculous question.

Everyone groans and complains about him not taking it seriously.

"Connie, that doesn't count. You miss a turn now," Ymir waves a hand at a whining Connie dismissively.

"What? Not fair, that was a serious question, a good question too!" Connie's words fall on deaf ears as everyone ignores him.

"Okay, I'll go," it's Eren. His hand brings the joint up to his lips, inhaling for a few seconds before exhaling a cloud of smoke that twirls and dances in the purple led light. It almost looked like a dream - a hazy, lilac dream.

"Would you rather fuck Connie or Jean," everyone could always count on Eren to cut straight to the juicy questions, he prides himself on his bluntness. Now everyone giggles, aside from Connie and Jean who protest and blush profusely. Eren's hand void of the joint reaches down and grips the cold bottle, giving it a quick spin. The tension and excitement grabs the room by the throat as everyone leans in closer to watch the bottle spin round and round, holding their breaths as it passes them. Armin watches as the bottle catches the light of the led's. Purple, pink, red, green. He watches mesmerised, amused even. Only when he hears everyone laughing and Jean cheering does he realise the question had already been answered, who by, he doesn't know. Next to Eren is Sasha, who is bouncing around on the ground excitedly. 

"Yay, my turn! Okay, okay, are you a sub or a dom?" The question prompts a few snickers from around the group. Nearly everyone knew the other's preferences. The only ones who remained a secret were Armin's, Eren's, Mikasa's and your preference. However, everyone had an idea of yours, since they've previously heard - on more than one occasion- the desperate pleas coming from boys that followed you into bathrooms and empty rooms at parties. But it had yet to be confirmed.

Sasha leaned forward and spun the bottle. Now, Armin focused on the movement, awaiting who it would force to reveal their secrets or their body.

As the bottle slowed, everyone cowered back until it came to a halt. You.

The bottle's reflective nature encapsulated the pink hues emitted from the led lights as it pointed a demanding finger at you.  

Seeing that it landed on you, Armin gulped, curiosity churning in his stomach. 

"Oh shit, you gotta answer Y/N, or take that pretty shirt off," Ymir mused, hand taking the joint from Eren.

You sat there, nonchalant as you played with the fraying edges of the rug underneath you. 

"Easy. Dom." The confidence, authority and conviction in your tone had Armin shivering. Thoughts of you demanding him around flooded his intoxicated mind.

"Fuck, really? You're a dom?" Connie drunkenly slurs, body leaning toward you.

"I could've told you that," Eren breathes out as he reaches for the joint again. 

"Damn, that's kinda hot." Connie mutters under his breath, which is no use because everyone hears.

"Do you like, like, peg guys?" You're sure sober Connie would be absolutely horrified at what drunk Connie is asking.

"Hey, hey, you can only ask one question!" Ymir speaks up.

"I don't mind, really," you shrug your shoulders to further prove your point.

"Yeah, I'm curious too. Are you like a hardcore dom? Do you spank your subs? Or step on them? Oh, do they call you mommy?" Sasha rumbles next to you. You simply smile in amusement.

Conversely, Armin sits tense across the rug from you. He couldn't believe his ears. The thought of you: kind, sweet and seemingly innocent doing such lewd and kinky things has Armin squeezing his thighs together. 

"Yeah, I do a bit of everything. Depends on the mood, depends on the sub," your tone is casual, like you're simply discussing the weather or school work, not your sexual preferences. 

"Of course you have a mommy kink," Eren rolls his eyes as he takes another drag from the burning joint. 

Your leg swipes Eren's in retaliation, but your actions lack any real anger or aggression. 

"Okay, next question." 

Even as people are revealing incredibly kinky secrets and removing articles of clothing, Armin couldn't stop thinking about what you had said. You're a dom. A dom. With a mommy kink. The thought makes Armin's jeans a little tighter. Armin had never pondered sub and dom dynamics before, he simply assumed leadership with his girlfriend. But imagining being under you, begging and crying, makes his heart beat faster and his hands weirdly clammy. 

The round concludes with nearly everyone half naked and blushing at their confessions. Ymir kicks off the next round, asking a more PG question, to which Historia has to answer. 

Once it's Eren's turn again he thinks for a brief moment, before nodding.

"Who in this group would you want to fuck?" He spins it and everyone watches it continuously rotate, catching the ever changing led colours making it appear like a disco ball.

It comes to a stop, pointing right at you. A few "oooohs" are howled. Armin's heart stops as you immediately look up and lock eyes with him. The rest of your face gives nothing away, but your eyes tell a different story. They reflect the look of a predator locking its focus on prey. A deep, feral hunger that makes Armin want to close his eyes, look away. But he can't. It pins him down and forces him to return the eye contact. You raise your eyebrow at him, sending a silent message that he can't quite decipher. 

"Are you gonna answer or strip?" 

Only now do you break eye contact with a blushing Armin. There's a hesitant pause from you, then you take a quick glance at Armin, then his girlfriend.

"I'll strip," you conclude.

"Noooo, I wanted to know who you would want to dom out of us!" Sasha dramatically exclaims. 

Armin watches in awe, and lust, as your hands slide down your torso and rest on the hem of your shirt. You keep your eyes straight as you lift it up over your head to reveal your breast clad in a lacy black bra.

"Goddamn," Sasha's jaw drops at the sight before her. "No wonder you make boys call you mommy, look at them," Sasha's comments provoke several laughs from around the circle. Armin struggles to focus. The sight directly in front of him had him hard. He brung his knees up to his chin to try and conceal it. 

"Holy shit, I would totally sub for you," Connie slurs, his body slightly swaying from side to side. 

"Shut the fuck up, Connie," Ymir exclaims, a pillow colliding with poor Connie. 

"What! You can't tell me you wouldn't sub for her either," Connie points an accusatory finger at Ymir, to which she blushes and looks away.

Despite the loud banter and dull hum of the bass in the back, Armin cannot pull his mind away from two things. 1) imagining you domming him, and 2) your breasts, which he takes several guilty glances at. 

Later that night on the drive home, Armin's girlfriend sat beside him revising everyone's secrets. 

"And, oh my god, Y/N is a dom? Who would've thought. Although, you gotta admit that's kinda weird. A female being the dom, like who would find a subby male attractive? It's so weird." Armin grips the steering wheel tighter, cowering lower into his seat as he keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead. After he dropped her off at her apartment, he sped home and made a beeline for the bathroom. Armin hates to admit it, and never will out loud, but he came so hard in the shower to the thought of you. And again the next day, and the next and nearly every day after that party. 

Which brings Armin to the predicament that he finds himself in. Locked in the upstairs bathroom with you at a party. 

Stupid drunk Connie, thought it would be funny to push you and Armin in the bathroom - with the door with the broken lock - after he saw Armin oogling you all night. 

"Thank me later," he yelled against the wood before his loud footsteps could be heard stumbling away. You leaned against the counter, arms folded as you watched a panicked Armin pace back and forth. 

"What if we're stuck in here all night? It's possible that no one will come up here, plus they won't be able to hear us over the music," he rambled on and on, to which you didn't interrupt, just simply let him tire himself out. 

After six continuous minutes of rumbling and pacing, Armin finally came to a stop. 

"Finished now, Min?" He visibly tensed after hearing the nickname. He felt as if he was about to start up again, but not because you were both locked in the bathroom, but because now he's noticing every little detail about you. The sweet perfume wafting off of you, your tight - and short - dress that hugs every curve of your body. But the thing that makes Armin gulp and pants tighter, is the hungry look in your eyes. 

"S-sorry," is all he can weakly stumble out. A tense silence creeps in, threatening to swallow Armin alive. 

"So where's (Armin's girlfriend's name)?" The mention of his girlfriend snaps him out of his lustful trance and back to reality.

"She's home sick. Flu." You nod in recognition.

"She's a nice girl. Kind, sweet, pretty," you speak casually, no malice or fakeness in your words. However, Armin still stands on defence, tense with the subject matter.

"But I guess she does have one flaw." You stop playing with the necklace hung around your neck to look straight into Armin's eyes.

"What is that?" 

A brief look of hesitation crosses your face, but as you notice the way Armin is subconsciously moving closer, breath heavy, you smirk and continue.

"She doesn't fuck you like the whore you are." 

Armin all but screams at your lewd and bold statement. 

"W-what are you talking about? Why would you say that?" 

You push off the counter and Armin stumbles back from where he's standing as you come closer to him.

"Because I know a subby slut when I see one, Min. I see the way you squirm when someone bosses you around. I saw you getting hard, right next to your girlfriend, when I said I was a dom. And I saw the way you blushed when I called you a whore just now."

Armin feels panicked as his secrets are revealed. His eyes dart around, focusing on the broken door, probably wondering if he could kick it down if he tried hard enough. 

"And I would like to give it to you. Give you the treatment you want and need," you lean in closer to him to whisper the next part, "and fuck you like the desperate whore that you are." A shiver pulses through Armin at your words.

"However, I won't because you have a girlfriend. And as much as I want to fuck the life out of you, I can't do that to (Armin's gf's name)." Armin visibly deflated with disappointment. He's conflicted, he really is. He has been dating his current girlfriend since high school, yeah she constantly degraded him - and not in the way Armin likes - but she often made him feel worthless and unloved. Like he was weird and wouldn't be loved by anyone else. Like he was nothing. But ever since he met you he's felt so much: happiness, excitement, purpose, lust. You took the time to get to know him, to listen to what he had to say and reassure him that his opinions mattered. This is when Armin realises that this growing feelings towards you were much more than lust, he liked you. Like really, really liked you. 

"I-I want," he inhaled a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to say, about to allow. 

"I want you to show me." Finally his eyes meet yours. You stare at him surprised and wary, hesitant.

"Are you sure? You know once this happens, we can't undo it, right?" 

"I know. But, I-I really like you. Like, I like, like you and I have for a while now, you just make me really happy and like I matter and -" 

"Armin, hey, it's okay I get it. I really like you too." The surprised and relieved look on his face makes you laugh. 

"You do? Like more than a friend, and more than you know, lust," his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Yes, Armin. I like you, more than a friend and more than just lust. I like you, romantically." 

There's a knowing silence. A waiting game. To see who dives in first. It seems Armin is able to exercise patience better than you as you are first to crack. One hand is instantly around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss that quite literally takes his breath away. Armin hums a weak moan as you pull on the strands of hair at the back of his neck. The vacant hand travels down his chest, brushing over his perked nipples through his thin shirt, eliciting a delectable moan from him, and you make a mental note to lavish his pretty nipples later. You pull away from his lips only to lightly sink your teeth into his bottom lip. Armin's hips roll forward to try to gain friction, a pretty whine being pulled from the back of his throat. 

Your lips press open, mouth kisses down his jaw, neck and you suck down on the spot that has Armin shivering. 

"P-please, gimme more, please I've waited so long," 

Armin feels you smirk against his sensitive skin, before placing one last kiss on the spot.

"Are you getting impatient, pretty boy?" 

Armin profusely blushes at the petname. Your hand slides down his chest and rubs over his hard cock.

"Wow, you're already this hard just from kissing? You really are a whore, aren't you, baby?" The smile on your face is sweet, almost condescending. 

Your hands unzip Armin's jeans and pull them down, along with his underwear, just enough to expose his leaking cock. Armin lets out a high pitched whine as the cold air makes contact with his exposed skin. As soon as your hand grabs his cock, Armin's knees buckle and he has to grip onto the counter to keep himself up. 

"F-fuck, oh god, I'm not gonna last long, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," his voice turns unrecognisable, to both you and Armin, as it rises in pitch and comes out in quick breaths. 

"That's okay, baby. Just enjoy it while it last ,yeah?" You slide down onto your knees infront of Armin. His breath catches in his throat at the realisation. He was fine with a simple hand job, but the fact that you're starting to lean forward, tongue out flat, ready to catch the leaking pearls of his precum has Armin short circuiting. He braces himself for contact, praying he doesn't cum in three seconds.

Your wet tongue licks warm circles around his tip, right hand stroking him while your left fondles his heavy balls. Armin cannot think straight, his mind clouding with lust and you. You. You, who begins to bob your head up and down, cheeks hallowing to suck him in, deep. The pleasure is intense and Armin slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle the loud whines and curses spilling from his mouth.

"F-fuck, feels s-so good," his eyes roll back as you dip your tongue into his slit. 

An idea strikes you as Armin fixates on your breast. You pull away, to Armin's despair, and unzip your dress pulling it down to expose your breast. Armin's cock twitches at the sight and a thick string of precum trickles out of his tip. Your hands proceed to reach behind you and unclip your bra. You unravel it from yourself and place it next to you on the ground. Now Armin is using all of his control to not cum on the spot. He squirms as you sit up on your knees and take his cock between your breast.

"Oh god, n-no, no, please. I'll cum too soon, please," he tries to plead with you, but the hungry look on your face tells him they are futile.

"Cum when you want, pretty. I don't mind," then you squeeze your breast together, trapping Armin's cock between them. Armin lets out a loud moan, borderline scream, as you start moving up and down. The sight of his cock disappearing and re-emerging between your breast is overwhelming. Armin drapes his arm over his eyes to conceal the erotic sight before him, fearing it will make him cum on the spot. The feeling of your soft breasts engulfing his cock is nearly unbearable, but once he feels your tongue lick his tip he screams out. 

"I'm cumming, oh god, I'm gonna cum, I'm sorry," his head falls back, deep breaths escaping his parted lips. You watch as Armin's chest heaves, you see his thighs shaking and it brings a satisfied smirk to your face. 

"Cum for me, baby," as soon as the words leave your mouth, Armin is convulsing with such intensity, you fear he's gonna topple over. 

He shudders under the intense look in your eyes as you stick your tongue out to catch the cum that spurts out of his red tip. Thick strings of Armin's cum paints your breast white. Your finger comes up to swirl it around your nipples, before scooping it up to lick off. 

"F-fuck," that encourages Armin's cock to get painfully hard again. You rise up and Armin pushes forward to catch your lips in a desperate, frenzied kiss. 

"Please let me taste you," he pleads, eyes full with a lustful desperation.

"Where, baby?" You already know the answer but you love to see Armin squirm.

Armin is hesitant to be forward in his answer but his desperation gets the better of him. 

"Please, let me taste your pussy."

You smile and bring your hand to his chin, he nuzzles into your hand. The look of his face, the absolute devotion and need to please you has your core dripping.

"How could I say no when you look so pretty begging?" You lift yourself up on the counter and pull your underwear down, letting it fall to the ground infront of Armin. 

Instantly, Armin drops to his knees and places one hand carefully on each of your knees. 

He looks up at you one last time to ensure he has your permission.

"Go for it, pretty," Armin is quick to dive in, tongue eagerly lapping away at your wet folds. He moans into your pussy, eyes rolling back at being completely smothered by you. You moan out as Armin zeros in on your sensitive clit, alternating between sucking it and flicking it with his tongue. 

"Aaah, just like that, baby," your hand snakes into his hair and lightly pulls at it. This encourages Armin as his efforts increase tenfold, humming against your clit. Armin's hand comes up and he slowly slides a slender finger in. The way your thighs shudder against his head tell him that you enjoy it. He adds another finger, scissoring the two in and out while his tongue spells his name against your clit. Armin's fingers curl as he pushes them as deep as they can go, this action elicts a loud moan out of you. Armin nearly cums at the sound, hard cock throbbing between his legs. His hand hovers over his leaking cock, but he never strokes it - despite how he so desperately wants to. 

"Go ahead  baby boy, stroke your pretty cock while you eat me out," your hand pats his head in encouragement and confirmation.

Armin complies, hand quick to tease his cock. The pleasure causes Armin to let out a long whine, the vibrations elevating your own pleasure. 

"Fuck, baby, keep going. A-aah, you're gonna make me cum," your thighs quiver around Armin's head, voice rising in pitch and volume as he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks hard. His hand increases in speed, hips weakly thrusting up into his tight fist. 

"Armin, I'm cumming, aahh," Armin feels your walls clench around his fingers as you cum with a pleasurable moan. The lewd sounds you make send Armin hurderling towards a second orgasm. He ensures to work you through your orgasm, gently sucking on your clit as he shakes through his own orgasm. 

Armin doesn't stop until your hand pulls him away from your oversensitive clit by his hair. The look on his face almost makes you laugh, glossy eyes, rosy cheeks and your juices dripping from his lips and chin. He looks completely fucked out. 

"Are you okay, pretty?" It takes a few seconds for Armin to process your words, but once he does, he weakly nods his head.

You laugh and lightly slap his cheek. This causes a low whine from Armin. You raise your eyebrow at him at the discovery. 

"You are just full of surprises, aren't you?" You reach your hands down to help Armin up from the cold tiled ground. His legs jiggle slightly as he leans against the counter for support. Armin's eyes look down at where his cock and your pussy are mere inches from each other. His breathing picks up again as he imagines pushing his cock into your tight walls. 

"What is it, baby?" Your hand caresses his cheek, forcing him to look at you.

Armin is hesitant to voice his needs, not wanting to overstep with you.

"You can tell me, Armin," your thumb gently rubs back and forth on his cheek.

This gives Armin the confidence he needs as he clears his throat to speak.

"C-can I, I mean c-can we, u-umm-," you press a kiss to his lips.

"Do you want to fuck me, baby boy?" 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

okayyyy, that concludes part one to Armin's fanfic.

Again, I apologise for being gone and inactive for so long. I am still working on part three to my Eren piece, but I will ensure to get that finished and uploaded soon! Pinky promise.

Anyways, enjoy this piece and part two will be up sometime in the near future.

Have a good day or night <3

#dom reader #armin attack on titan #armin arlert #armin thirst #armin smut #sub armin #sub anime #anime imagines #anime #anime smut #armin arlet smut #armin arlet x you #attack on titan #college au #sub aot #sub!armin #sub!attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot season 4 #aot #aot smut

[tytyoi]

What every dominant girl dreams of

#dom!fem!reader #sub characte #sub anime #subby men #dom fem reader #Dom woman

[costons]

Most fucking weirdest Anime I’ve seen yet.

Anime: Prison School (18+) 12 episodes. DUB/SUB

It’s weird but entertaining, if that makes sense. The anime is at an academy, college/university most likely.

#prison school #anime. #prison #school #18+ content #18+ anime #innapropriate #not suitable for minors #not safe for minors #dub anime #sub anime

[mistyyyy]

Officially only taking thirsts on my page.

I am very thankful for all the requests I’ve gotten, but sheesh are they a lot to write 😭. I wanted to try something different!

I’ll reply to your thirsts (yes I reply to anonymous ones as well) and reply with a reaction, or for a razzle dazzle, I’ll respond with a short blurb, who knows, if I’m feeling extra spicy I’ll make it a full story 😗

My fandoms;

Twilight

Avatar (Blue aliens lol)

Anime (check the anime list on my page)

#dom!reader #blackreader #domgirl #femreader #top!reader #sub avatar #avatar smut #twilight smut #twilight renaissance #twilight fanfiction #anime x reader #sub anime #sub!character

[bluuff]

# GLOLUVSYOU !!

tysm for all the 500+ losers following me! /hj ive only written for around a year now and this makes me really happy that you guys like my content (sobs beautifully 🤞🏽) so to thank u guys, i opened my requests, for once lmfao. anyway ty ty tyyy i love u all #GloHas500LosersBitch!!

event is open / closed.

# INFO in short, basically just an event where you guys request n stuff..

request form.

WRITING 4 ANY FANDOM !! 😼😼

a short blab about the synopsis

accepting gn, female, and male reader. (note: i’m not rlly experienced w male readers but i could try n work on that.)

# MASTERLIST !

WHY IN PUBLIC? manjiro sano. (tokrev)

NEW PROPERTY loid forger. (spy x family)

#. . . glo’s event/celebs ！ #STATUS : ongoing. #<(°.°) #milestone event!!! #WOOHOO #sub anime #dom reader #sub obey me #sub tokyo revengers #sub genshin impact

[entirelytoooobsessed]

puppy boys who need their attention on you like they need air to breathe,

who rest their face on your knee after a long day, a meek whine coming up their throat, practically begging for you to at least look at them. with wide eyes as they nudge at you, hands sliding up your thighs and fingers lightly digging into your skin as they reach your hips and ever so slowly pull down whatever is blocking from fully seeing you.

who know better than to touch without permission, pupils blowing wide as they lick over their lips, fixated only by you.

"please, let me make you feel good~"

armin, gojo, denji, yuuta, zenitsu, tanjiro, yuuji, bachira, your fave<3

#ngl i totally wrote this w armin in mind #dom reader #dom!reader #sub jjk #sub demon slayer #sub gojo #sub armin #sub aot #sub csm #sub denji #sub yuuta #sub zenitsu #sub tanjiro #sub yuuji #sub jujutsu kaisen #sub character #sub anime #sub bachira #sub bllk #sub blue lock

[animescreencolle]

Sousou no Frieren E15

#anime subs #sousou no frieren #frieren

[xrcs]

wanima bros + female reader

author’s note – i’m just hoping this gets the attention it deserves cause i put my blood, sweat, and tears into this one right here. these two are so underrated but lowkey sexy.

content warnings: threesome. dom keisuke. switch reader. sub junichi. anal and vaginal penetration. overstimulation. masochist junichi??? titty suckin’. clit play. hair pulling. praise kink. (junichi) blowjob. edging. junichi eatin pussy for like 2 seconds. spittin’ a couple times. fingering.

shit, the wanima brothers have been eyeing you for a while now. junichi may not be able to verbalize it. but, you can most definitely see it in his eyes. his brother also caught on quickly, observing the way junichi would look at you.

it slowly became a competition to see who could be with you first. both of them would show off and exaggerate their moves while playing soccer. scoring goals for you, looking at you while running. nobody would’ve ever thought that the brothers would fight over something.

“bro! watch this,” keisuke yelled, heading towards you. you can’t even lie, you’ve been crushing on them. you liked the attention they gave you, it was so silly. but, the effort was cute. keisuke’s footsteps could be heard getting closer, a wide grin on his face.

junichi was chasing after him.

“yo, how’re ya doin’? i wanted ta’ tell ya somethin’ realll important,” keisuke sang, his playful energy radiating. it quickly diminishes when his brother steps over, his whole demeanor towering over you two.

you laugh awkwardly watching the two brothers clash. the silent argument almost makes you wanna cringe.

they’re being so childish. you clear your throat loudly to stop their conflict. both of them looking at you with those googly eyes they have. the shit-eating smirk that was on keisuke’s face was back. keisuke turns his back to and whispers something into his twin’s ear.

it’s incoherent, leaving you confused. they both turn around, smiling brightly.

“hey.. me n’ bro wanna tell you something,” keisuke says with a sinister look. you honestly feel a sense of nervousness, wondering what they have to say. you cock a brow up as you wait for the words to come out of keisuke’s mouth.

he took a deep breath in, “we– ahem. we like ya. n’ we wanna get ta know ya a lil’ better,” a reddish blush spread across the wanima brothers’ faces. lost for words, you kinda just stand there. suddenly, a wave of courage washes over you.

“you know, you guys are kinda cute. i’ve been havin’ a little crush on you two as well,” you state, face getting hotter as your tongue lets out every syllable.

the wanima brothers’ looked at you in shock, “no way! are ya being serious? that’s what bro said,” both of them felt giddy inside, hoping you’re not just playing some silly game.

“yea, i’m being serious, seriously,” you voice firmly.

let’s just say after that day, you three got REALLY close. & they both had to have you. at the same time.

you’re sat on keisuke’s lap, mind all foggy from all the kissing and licking you three have done.

“junichi, c’mere. wanna teach you how ta really please a lady,” keisuke commanded, junichi came closer to the both of you. his eyes scanned your bare pussy, glistening and fat. jesus, his cock was so hard that it hurt. one of his hands went down to palm his cock, to soothe the pain a bit.

his mouth started to water a bit, cocoa eyes telling a whole story.

“stick a finger in’ere. curl it while in n’ out,” keisuke explained, pointing to your pussy. junichi slowly hovered his finger over your pussy before gliding his pointer on it. spreading the slick, making you whimper.

you wiggle in keisuke’s hold, “don’t t-tease me, jun,” he nodded and stuck his finger, the feeling of your warm gummy walls around it makes him wonder how you would feel around his cock. your eyes flutter shut as he starts to curl him finger.

“n’ add more as you pick up the pace,” keisuke described, biting his lip while he hears the lewd squelching of your cunt. junichi adds another finger, curling his fingers into you faster.

your head falls back onto keisuke’s shoulder, mouth wide open.

“touch- agh.. my clit, jun,” you moaned, feeling yourself slipping away from reality. he’s so skilled even with being a little inexperienced. junichi’s blown eyes search for your clit. maybe it’s the thing that looks like a little button? his thumb comes up to stimulate your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion.

gosh, you don’t know how you’re last. junichi’s already pushing you to the edge. the coil in your stomach becoming more and more bunched up, waiting for its moment to snap. he adds another finger, rolling his wrist while curling rapidly.

your back arches, eyes rolling back as bliss takes over. keisuke fondles with your boobs, creating more stimulation to your body. fuck, you’re close.

“yeah, bro! now, nibble on her clit a lil’. that’ll make her go wild,” keisuke laughs, watching how you can come undone so quickly. junichi brings his face up to your pretty pussy, his hot breath tickling her. he starts to nibble on your clit, making you help.

the pleasure, the pain. which one feels better? both do. junichi continues to suck and nibble on your clit while pumping his fingers into you. the coil’s about to snap.

“yes, junichi! fuhhhhck, doin’ such a- ngh good job! you’re s-so good for me,” you scream, rolling your hips in order to get more friction. junichi’s cock twitches, leaking pre as your praised him. he almost let out a pathetic whimper. keisuke smirks as he sees that you’re losing yourself in the pleasure.

junichi’s hyper focused, only thinking about making you cum. but, his cock’s basically purple, he really wants to let a load out. his hand starts to move like a vibrator. changing his pace every few seconds. slow, fast, slow, fast. curling his fingers with intensity. he looks up at your expression and groans into your pussy.

just like that, you cum all over his fingers and face. that extra vibration sent you off the charts, the whole room turning white. your ears ring as you finally come down. all senses coming back. your body starts to convulse as junichi licks all the oozing essence on cunt. making sure he gets every single last drop.

“shit– junichi! ‘m sensitive,” you wince, quickly bringing your hand down to pull junichi’s hair. the burn on his scalp felt so fucking good, he moaned shamelessly. you smirk at his reaction, taking notes in your head. keisuke laughed as he watched his own brother almost nut from hair pulling.

keisuke picks you up with his strong, toned arms, “aye, bro. c’mere. want you to support the other side,” junichi gets up and holds up as well, your legs wrapping around his torso. gosh, this is so erotic. honestly, you could just cum from this position that you’re in right now. squished in between two beefy men, that’s what’s called heaven on earth.

they started to communicate with their eyes, nodding at their telepathic statements. you kinda wish you were in on it but that’s just the fun of it. you never know what’s going to happen. you notice that they started to move a bit but you couldn’t look below you to see what was happening.

their slimy tips glide against your wet holes. you clench around nothing as they tease you with their cocks. just as you were about to complain about their teasing, they stuffed you at the same time. leaving you feeling so full as you had to take their girthy dicks.

they slowly started to move their hips, juinichi’s jaw going slack as he fucks up into your pussy. his mind getting all muddled as he panted over your shoulder. keisuke’s grunting in your ear, thrusting into your tight asshole. he’s using everything in him to not cum right there and then.

both of them ramming non stop into your holes instantly makes your mind go blank.

“feels– nmph.. good,” you whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks. keisuke’s quick to lick them off, letting out an animalistic groan. junichi just can’t get his mind off your pussy, his brain repeating ‘pussy’ a million times in his head. it’s like he’s a virgin again, you just feel so good.

junichi whimpers as he feels you clench around him tightly, making him buck his hips into you roughly. you bite your lip as you look into his pretty, glossy eyes. grabbing a fistful of his hair, you yank it. jun’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels the pain turn into instant pleasure.

keisuke growls while rutting into you, biting your shoulder. he can feel every ridge and bump in your hole, only making the experience better for him. shit, even he’s losing it slowly. you moan as he goes deeper into you, balls slapping against your ass and thighs.

“haaah– fuhhhckk, this hole’s real tight. ngh, feels really good,” keisuke groans while drool slips past his lips. you feel like you’re already getting closer and closer to cumming. the intense pounding of both of them makes your body jump up with every thrust.

junichi takes your tit into his mouth to suck to conceal his noises he finds embarrassing. nibbling your nipple while his mind becomes fuzzier, panting heavily why fucking you. the brothers’ look into each others eyes, they’re gonna cum soon.

they can both feel their thighs getting tired. but, that won’t stop them just yet. if one finishes first, they’re the loser. shit, keisuke it in his stomach. he’s gonna cum first. the way you’re clenching around him, the lewd sounds of your voice and your holes are making him weak. junichi chuckles lowly as he sees his brother lose it.

“mmph, gonna cum. shit, i’m gunna cummmm,” keisuke groans as he lets his fat load seep into your hole. his seed coating every inch of your hole. you whimper as you feel his warm substance fill you up. keisuke slowly pulls out, sighing. he passes out and falls on the bed a second later.

you giggle but your focus is now on junichi. his eyes always tell a story, and you can tell that he’s gonna cum soon. quickly, you pull his cock out and push him onto a nearby chair. he makes a confused sound, looking up at you.

“don’t worry, jun. you’re gonna cum eventually,” you whisper while getting down on your knees. your head’s now in between his beefy thighs. you plant wet kisses on them making his cock twitch.

his eyes are begging you to let him cum. it’s like he’s screaming it at this point. you blow onto his tip, making him squirm in the chair. jun’s gripping onto the chair handles so hard that his knuckles are becoming white.

taking his cock in your mouth, junichi moans softly, looking down at you with watery eyes. thank you. that’s what his eyes are saying. he tries to keep his hips in place as you bob your head up and down.

your hot, wet mouth engulfs his cock, making him shiver. he’s about to start crying. he’s so close, let him cum, please!!!

“ngghh– mmpph!” a string a moans and whimpers continue to come out of his mouth. his eyebrows furrowed as he shuts his eyes. gosh, he’s almost there. just a little bit more.

the way you’re swirling your tongue around his length makes him want to burst out into tears. you stop moving your head to tease him, making him buck his hips up. helplessly trying to chase high by fucking your mouth.

you make a popping sound as you take your lips off his dick. he whimpers loudly as looks at you. you start to stroke his cock slowly, looking into his eyes. tears roll down his face again as he feels it in his stomach again.

junichi’s so obvious when he’s about to cum. his moans become pitchier, thighs start shaking, and his tip gets redder. you stop and let go of his cock, making him cry out. his hips trying to find something for his cock to grind on.

the cool air hitting his dick makes his lips quiver, his eyes searching for any kind of mercy in yours. you wrap your hand around his cock again. rubbing your leftover slick all over his cock, making it slimy. your hand’s so soft and plushy, jun’s going crazy.

junichi’s eyes become half-lidded as all he could think about was cumming. his balls start to ache as you keep on playing with his dick. mind going all murky as he fucks up into your hand, shit! he’s almost there again. he can feel it! please let him cum this time!

you let go, again. he whimpers in defeat and tries to grind his length on one of the arm rests of the chair. you slap his thigh, making him wince and look at you with such a pretty, fucked out face. you felt your pussy throb as you saw his expression.

you’re most definitely gonna give it to him now.

“you’ve been so good for me, jun, so good. cum, baby. you earned it,” you say, stroking his length quickly, planting more kisses on his thighs. yes! finally! now’s the time.

jun feels his balls tighten as you keep on going. his muscles tense up as he started to drool. his pink tongue slightly hangs out his mouth, and his eyes are rolled back to his skull. fuck, the coil is snapping.

all white surrounds him while his cock spurts out loads of cum onto your face and hand. you put your mouth on his tip to swallow any leftover cum, making him twitch.

his breathing is fast. you quickly sit on his lap and hug him. playing with his hair as he comes down, humming his favorite tune.

keisuke finally wakes up and smiles.

“let’s get ourselves cleaned up,”

XRCS 2023

#wanima bros. #bllk smut #blue lock smut #sub bllk #sub blue lock #dom reader #sub reader #dom character #anime smut #sub anime #anime x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #junichi wanima x reader #keisuke wanima x reader #sub character #XRCS. #anime x female reader #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x you

[jinniesluna]

A (NOT SO) CLICHÉ STORY: THE PLAYER AND THE NERD

Hello! Here is the long awaited part 2 to the sub! Eren fic. I apologize for how long it took - like three months ¯_( ͡👁️ ͜ʖ ͡👁️)_/¯ - but it is now here. There will be one last part (which will be all smut, oof) Please enjoy <3

Warnings - sub!Eren, dom!reader, f!reader, cringy Eren, college!au, use of petnames (princess, pretty boy), making out

Chapter Summary - Eren continues to woo you into submitting to him, however, after his plan backfires he finds himself in a comprising position.

Word count - 4k

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PART TWO - CHANGE OF PLANS!

There were exactly twenty-five minutes until your shift ended. You stared at the clock like you had a personal vendetta against it, hating every second that passed because that meant you were that much closer to meeting with Eren. That is if he remembered to show up. Which you prayed he wouldn't. Usually you would be angry if someone stood you up when planning to meet, but right now that sounded like the best thing ever. 

Ten minutes passed - fifteen minutes until the predetermined meeting time - when the bell rang to signal a new arrival. You were preoccupied stocking the refill napkins under the counter when you sensed a figure hovering over the edge of the counter. 

"Hi, sorry, I won't be a second," you struggled to balance the uneven piles of napkins on each other, the fragile structure threatening to topple over. 

"Take your time," once hearing that teasing voice you froze. Hesitantly you looked up to see Eren peering over the counter at you in amusement. 

You scramble to stand up, a little embarrassed to be caught off guard in a compromising position. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Eren chuckles at your annoyed tone, "you told me to meet you here, princess."

"I said at three, it's only two forty-five." 

"Well then, I guess I'll just wait for you." Eren flashes a wide smile at you, leaning forward.

"Go sit down then, I just need to finish a few things," before waiting for a response, you turn around to retreat into the kitchen. As soon as you are out of Eren's sight you grip the counter out if annoyance, eyes shut and lips parted to release deep breaths. Something about Eren annoys you to an extent that you can hardly describe. His stupid cocky smile, the playful hint in his eyes, his damn manbun and those stupid muscles. Oh. Oh. You realise something that deeply disturbs you. You find Eren very, very attractive. Eren, the cocky, unfaithful and arrogant dude that has slept with half the girls you know and who lacks any sense of commitment. Sure you never denied the fact that he is easy on the eyes but you feel attraction towards him. You realise your attraction runs deep, in a way that makes you feel a strong need to see him crying and begging underneath you. To watch him fall apart under your touch and whine for you to please let him-

"Hey, Y/N," the sudden intrusion startles you, causing you to jump three feet in the air. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Your co-worker - a kind lady in her late fifties- approaches you with a warm smile, hands up in feign defence. 

"Seems like you were deep in thought, you didn't hear me call out the first time," she muses.

"I can take over now," she claps her hands together to reinforce her readiness.

"I still have ten minutes left on my shift."

"Don't worry about it, I see you have a handsome young man waiting for you out there," she raises her eyebrows suggestively. 

You blush a deep crimson, unsure of how to respond.

"See you Thursday. Have fun while you're young, love," she pats your shoulders and then gently pushes you towards the doorway, encouraging you to leave. After retrieving your belongings, you make your way out into the main area of the store.

Eren stands to the far left of the counter, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. You approach him with a slight grimance on your face, the image of him fucked out beneath you nagging at your conciousness. Upon your arrival Eren quickly switches his phone off and turns all of his attention towards you. 

"Ready, princess?" The pet name makes you scoff, the urge to choke him overwhelming. Now that's an idea.  

You walk past him and up the stairs to reach the second level of the desert shop. You feel a little uneasy as you can feel the burning of eyes on you as you walk one step at a time.

The stairs open up onto a large floor with scattered tables and chairs, grand windows exposing the naked trees and passing strangers. A young couple - presumably teenagers - occupy one of the tables, huddled close and sharing a cake. You internally smile at the wholesomeness of the scene before you. They look so in love.

"I give them a week, two if I'm being generous," Eren leans down to whisper his uncalled for opinon into your ear.

"Not everyone is incapable of maintaining a long term relationship, Eren."

"Are you referring to me, Princess?" 

His voice makes him appear offended but his face lacks any sign of actually being hurt by your words. 

"Yes." You deadpan, which causes Eren to smile in amusement.

Before you can reach out for your chair, Eren's large hand grasps it and obnoxiously pulls it out, free hand dramatically gesturing for you to take a seat.

The stubborn, petty side of you wants to slap his hand away and pull out the chair yourself but you sit down while mumbling a thank you, nevertheless.

As soon as you are seated you take out your laptop and notebook from your bag.

Upon seeing this Eren laughs, "what are you doing?" 

The look that manifest on your face is a mix of confusion and slight irritation

"What do you mean?"

"Are you actually gonna do work right now?" 

The question leaves you dumbfounded.

"Um? That's the whole point of us meeting right now."

"And here I thought you were just trying to spend time with me," he leans his cheek into his palm, elbow resting on the table.

The confusion on your face is overrun by irritation.

"If you're just gonna play around, I'm gonna go," you reinforce your threat by standing, to which Eren straightens up, his teasing demeanour wavering.

"Hey, hey, I was just joking. Damn, you're really gonna make me work on a school project in my free time? Weeks before it's due? You are cruel, aren't you?" 

"Cruel? Oh, you have no idea," Eren quirks his brow in curiosity, internally debating what your words were alluding to. No words are spoken for several minutes as you set up a document for your and Eren's planning and research.

"So, I was thinking that I could cover areas one through to three, and you do four through to six. That is, if it's okay with you." 

Eren takes slow blinks at you, clearly not listening to anything you were saying. 

"Eren?" 

"Sorry, what was that?" He flashes a teasing smile.

An audible breath is inhaled by you, you have to remind yourself that this is for your education. 

"I'm just kidding, princess. Wow, you're really cute when you're mad." 

A quiet laugh is heard from two tables over, from the young couple that stares amusedly at the two of you. 

"Oh my god, they are such a cute couple," the girl whispers to her boyfriend. 

Upon hearing this your face instantly screws up. 

"Did you hear that, they think we're a cute couple," he leans forward, long strands slipping from his messy ponytail and fanning over his forehead. You almost reach forward to brush them away out of instinct, but very quickly stop yourself when you see how Eren eyes you up and down.

"We are clearly not going to get any work done, why don't I just share the project with you and we meet up another time," as you begin to shut your laptop and pack it away, Eren grabs your wrist.

"Hey, hey, sure we don't have to do work now but why don't we just hang out, yeah?" A strong 'no' hangs heavy in the back of your throat but for some unforeseen and unbeknown reason, you find yourself placing your hands flat on the table and nodding your head.

"Fine. But not for long, I have to get home to feed my cats," your arms cross in front of you defiantly and an annoyed pout pulls at your lips. 

"Oh, you have cats? I'm more of a dog person," Eren's hands retreat back to the edge of the table, fumbling with a sugar packet he plucked from the container in the middle of the table. 

"Well, I guess that's another thing we don't have in common." 

"Oh yeah, and what else don't we have in common, princess?" 

"Work ethic. Priorities, loyalty," you whisper the last one out of pettiness, and you know that was low of you but at this point you have little to no energy to play nice with Eren.

"What was that last one? Loyalty? Pfft, you're insinuating that I'm a player, right? Princess, all of the girls I've been with all come to me knowing what they're signing up for. That's on them, not me, sweetheart." Eren speaks in a nonchalant way, as if discussing his favourite ice cream flavour.

You scoff at his dismissiveness and arrogance. The urge to choke him while riding him increases. You're sure that would put him in his place, make him shut his pretty, but annoying, mouth. 

"Awe, are you jealous? If you wanted me to fuck you, you could've simply asked," Eren leans forward, loose strands of hair falling over his face. 

"Oh please, it wouldn't be me getting fucked," you snarl, arms folding over your chest, a heavy look in your eyes. Eren instantly leans back in surprise.

He lets out a breathy laugh, "and what does that mean?". 

Now it's your turn to lean forward, your hands rest on the table in front of you in a casual manner.

"It means, you wouldn't be fucking me, princess. I'd make sure to put you in your place and shut that pretty mouth up." 

The air becomes thick with tension. Eren cannot believe his ears. It seems that his perception of you; studious, innocent and a subby brat (just like every other girl he toys with) was wrong. The confusion and something unreadable drains from Eren's face and is replaced by his usual cocky smirk. Eren just figures you must be extra bratty, someone that's gonna put up a fight. 

"Ha ha, nice joke. We both know you don't have it in you to dom," Eren leans closer, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, "you're just another little brat that needs to be fucked into line," he sits back, a satisfied smirk on his face. He felt victorious, like he hit a nerve. That was until he saw the look on your face. It instantly makes his stomach drop and his smirk falter. Your bottom lip is pulled under your teeth as you try your hardest to suppress your laughter. Your eyebrows are knitted together in a baffled manner. You really cannot believe that this guy, Eren Jaeger, manages to have tons of girls swooning over him. His arrogance and cringe inducing words make it very hard for you to understand the appeal. 

"Okay. For the sake of the project, I'm gonna give you my number and then I'm gonna leave, okay?" Eren's cold eyes blink in confusion, he cannot comprehend the situation at hand but once you slide a napkin with your phone number scribbled on it, he finally snaps out of it. Despite how much he wants to grab your hand and yank you back down, he also doesn't want to appear desperate. No way will he, Eren Jaeger, be seen begging someone to stay with him. Especially a brat like you. As he watches you pack up your things and give him a quick smile before leaving, he realises something.

There was no way in hell he was going to let you get away without submitting to him. Even if it takes all year, no one tells Eren what to do. 

-------------------------------------------------------

A couple days go by with no word from Eren. You haven't seen him around campus and haven't had the shared class with him, yet. You have a feeling today that will change as you enter the hallway leading to the lecture room and are bombarded with gossiping girls. Without even hearing their conversation, you just know that they are talking about Eren. With the way they are giggling and slightly pushing each other's shoulders in between said giggles. It seems you were right as you walk past them and catch wind of their conversation.

"Oh my god, I knew you were up to something when you disappeared! I wouldn't have guessed you all up on Eren Jaeger!" One squealed to her friend, linking her arm with the others.

"Please, it was more like he was all up in me, gosh, his reputation does not do justice, the man is a sex god! I swear he's the best dick I've ever had," you cringe at the information you really could've gone your whole life without knowing.

You quickly turn the corner to escape the squealing girls and push open the heavy lecture room door. 

______

However, an important part of the conversation was missed by you as the following words would've been of great relevance. 

"Yeah, but when he came I'm pretty sure he moaned another girl's name," the girl folded her arms over her chest and pouted at the embarrassing memory. Her friends gasped and leaned in closer, angry and interested to know who could be occupying the great Eren Jaeger's mind.

"Whose name?" 

"I'm not completely sure, but it sounded like Y/N? I don't even know who that is!" 

_______

As if spoken into existence, Eren sits leaning back in his chair, mindlessly scrolling on his phone. You take your usual seat next to your friend and prepare for the class. Of course, with Eren around it is not a simple task. The burn of someone staring at you is making your skin itch but you try to ignore him. The professor walks in and the lecture commences. Usually, you would be focused and attentive throughout the entirety of the lesson, but a nagging voice in the back of your head keeps informing you that there are a pair of cold, piercing eyes staring at you. You give in to the voice and to no surprise you make contact with the aforementioned eyes. Eren smiles and lazily waves at you, you give a tight smile back, but from the fire in your eyes he knows it is far from friendly. Another hour passes before the professor finally comes to a conclusion, encouraging everyone to do the project and to remember to stay hydrated. Quickly, you pack up your things and rush out the door amongst a sea of students, hoping to slip out before Eren can stop you. 

It seems to be futile as Eren's musky scent clouds you as his hand lightly grabs your shoulder to turn your body towards him.  

"Hey, Princess. How about we work on the project today?" His question genuinely shocks you. Eren, the Eren, wants to work on the project. However, you know that there is something behind this as you don't miss the mischievous glint in Eren's eyes. 

"Sure, we can go to a cafe nearby or -"

"I was thinking how 'bout we do it at your place? You know, I can't focus in a loud environment, it's distracting." There it is. You just knew there would be a catch, an ulterior motive to Eren suggesting you both work on the project. (A.N please remember to not invite strangers into your home! Stay safe people!)

You scoff at his suggestion, the damn nerve of this guy, just inviting himself to your apartment. 

However, the irritation subsides and now you see that there is a hidden opportunity in this. A chance to finally knock him down a peg - with some pegging - and put him in his place. 

"You know what, sure. When are you free?" Eren's eyebrows raise in surprise, he is probably surprised that you compiled so easily and didn't put up a fight. But he is not about to let this opportunity slide.

"I'm free now, princess," his smirk is teasing. You smile, a real one this time, as you think that soon he won't be so smug. 

"What a coincidence, so am I."

"Well then, shall we get going?" Eren gestures his hand in front of you to encourage you to lead the way. 

"Follow me, pretty boy," the instant the pet name leaves your lips Eren is stunned. No one, no one, has called him pretty. Handsome, hot, sexy, even attractive are more common adjectives used to describe him. The pet name makes him blush and his smug smirk falters before he picks himself up and chuckles, pretending to rub something off his face to hide his red cheeks.

Luckily, the walk from the campus to your apartment is very short. The air between you both is quiet, however, it is thick with impending tension. You walk a step ahead of Eren, a smirk on your face as you plan out all the things you're going to do to him.

As you enter your apartment, Eren can feel the air shift. It makes him slightly on edge as he can't quite place what this building feeling is. You pay no mind, simply just venturing into your apartment and welcoming your cats as they curl around your ankles in greeting. 

"Hello babies," you coo and drop down to pat them. Eren watches in amusement, the tension he was feeling melting away as he reminds himself of his plan. His plan to finally make you submit to him, to make your bratty ass beg and scream under him. You approach Eren with a ball of fluff in your arms. The grey cat in your arms growls and hisses at Eren.

"Awe, he doesn't like you," you chuckle and let your cat run and hide from this scary looking stranger. 

"Pfft, this is why I don't like cats," he grumbles, lowkey offended by the cat's reaction to him.

"Hey, no cat slander here," you scowl at Eren, hands on your hips.

"You are just so cute," Eren muses, finger booping your nose. The action reminds you of your plan. 

"Well, should we get to work then?" The lack of reaction from you has Eren confused but he doesn't mind it. Instead he just follows you as you walk through the open living space and into a room - that turns out to be your bedroom.

Eren takes a moment to take in his surroundings, standing at the entrance of your bedroom and slowly looking around. He notices the sweet scent that fills the room, it smells of you. Sweet vanilla and your perfume. It makes his mind foggy, being completely surrounded by you. He is pulled out of his trance when he hears the bed make a quiet creek as you sit down in the middle, patting the space beside you. The image - you on your bed, beckoning him to join you - has Eren smirking. The bed dips under the weight of Eren's body. He's sitting so close you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. 

"Is this where the magic happens?" He pats the soft bed under his palms, eyebrow quirk  in a teasing manner. 

"If by magic you mean school work, then yes," you reach over and retrieve your laptop from the bedside table. Eren huffs in both defeat and amusement at your comment. 

"Huh, you're no fun, princess," the bed quietly groans as Eren lays back on it. This change in position is almost too much for you. Seeing Eren laying flat on his back with his hands behind his head, eyes bright with mischief and desire. You could almost straddle him and get to work right now. But no. If you want to teach Eren a lesson, you have to be patient and wait for the right moment. 

"Stop calling me princess. And sit up, how are you gonna do work while you're laying down?" You gently slap his thigh to encourage him and the slight sting makes Eren jolt up. His face is burning bright red as he stares at you with a look of utter shock. The reaction only causes the burning inside of you to double. 

"That got you up, here read through this and tell me what you think," you try to act nonchalant as you pass Eren a small stack of highlighted and annotated notes relating to the assignment. With a shaky and uncertain hand, Eren retrieves the notes. He clears his throat in an attempt to regain some self control and composition. But as he's staring blankly at the notes - none of the information processing - all he can think about is the way your eyes darkened as you slapped him. The way the pain felt almost like pleasure and how he could tell you were only giving a glimpse of your strength; of what you could do. His eyes constantly flicker to you as you type away at your laptop, highlighting and annotating research. 

“What?” you say without even a glance at Eren. That causes Eren to straighten up and put his confident act back on. 

“I’m just getting bored here, princess. I mean, there are way more fun things we could be doing right now.” Eren drops the stack of notes beside him and shuffles so he’s closer to you. 

Let the plan commence. 

“Oh really? Like what, hmm?” you slide your laptop away from you and Eren is almost surprised at the fact you seem to be playing along with his finactics. Nevertheless, this only fuels his ego and so he places a light touch on your hand that slowly makes its way up your arm, stalling on your neck before finally cupping your cheek. You almost want to laugh but try to look at Eren with doe eyes. You want him to believe that he has the upper hand here, the control. Provide him with a false sense of security before turning the tables and teaching him his lesson. Eren smirks as he sees the innocent and compliant look in your eyes. 

There we go, I knew you were just a bratty sub, he thinks to himself. 

“Let me show you a fun time, princess, yeah?” Eren starts to rise, pushing you down on the bed until you are flat on your back and he’s hovering over you. 

“How?” you ensure to bat your eyelashes as you feign an innocent and naive look. 

“Like this,” Eren leans down and kisses you. You are surprised at how softly he does it, but then as you start to kiss back he hums in approval and deepens the kiss. His hand slides from your cheek to your neck where he places light pressure there. His tongue slides across your bottom lip before slipping inside your mouth. His mouth tastes of vanilla and it is honestly a little disarming just how good it feels. Now you understand the hype around this playboy. He knows what he’s doing. You pull away from him to catch your breath, as well as slide further up the bed until you're near your headboard. You beckon him to you and he complies with a smirk on his face. He slots himself between your thighs and slides his hand up your waist. Now that you can feel his confidence growing you start to push back a little. Eren moans into your mouth as you bite down on his bottom lip before running your tongue along it. You suck his tongue into your mouth while grinding your hips up into his. Eren shivers at the pleasure. You pull away from Eren’s lips and look at him with a dark look of lust that makes Eren’s breath hitch. That innocent and submissive look is long gone and now Eren begins to understand what is happening. However, he is too late as you flip him onto his back. Eren is disoriented by the sudden change of your demeanour and his position. His wrists are pinned down on the bed by your hands. 

You look down at Eren with a dominant and confident look that only makes his cock harder. You chuckle a little at the look of disbelief and surprise on his face. 

“Now, let me teach you a little lesson, princess,” you whisper into his ear before kissing down his neck. 

Oh shit, Eren thinks to himself as he feels his grip on dominance slip away with every kiss you place on his skin. 

This is only the beginning of what you have planned. 

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Please bare with me as I now try to write a very steamy and passionate smut scene that perfectly encapsulates how badly I want to fuck Eren up.

I hope you enjoyed it and please, have a good day/night <3

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TAGGED -

Finally, here is part two! ( ͡◡ ᴗ ͡◡)@hobilluvvr

#dom reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x y/n #sub eren #eren jeager smut #eren smut #sub aot #sub anime #sub!eren #sub and dom #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #aot smut #aot season 4 #aot fanfiction #eren yeager

[vampirel0re]

Me and Him fr

#obsessive yandere #yandere core #yandere boy #yandere manga #yandere meme #yandere girl #yandere #tw yandere #obsessesion #obsessive love #anime #animeart #ftm nsft #ftm sub #nsft concept #nsft art #animecore #edit

[rinhaler]

hey hey, ik ur requests are closed so im gonna leave this till u open them back up,

imagine Yakuza Boss!Toji bucking his hips into you, bored out of his mind at his meeting, you’re cute whimpers and whines for him to slow down slightly amusing him as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, all this happening while his most trusted subordinates watch as he fucks into you at this meeting, while you just sit on his lap babbling about how good he feels until he finally makes you squirt, causing him to stop the meeting and kick everybody out so he can abuse your little hole some more, wanting to see you squirt for him more. :3

I feel like I went a little off script and I threw some Shiu in there too bc we're all sluts for Shiu right?? Bon apetit!

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, possessiveness, slight jealousy, slightly mean toji, dom!toji, exhibitionism, public sex, oral fixation, squirting, daddy!kink, DDLG esque?, pussy spanks.

words: 1.6k

“She shouldn’t be in here.” Shiu comments, his boss gives him a passive stare before looking in your direction. You sit politely with your hands in your lap and a shy smile, looking awkwardly around the room full of terrifying men. “She shouldn’t be listening to the shit we’re discussing.”

“I shouldn’t be listening to this shit, either. What the fuck do I pay you all for?” Toji responds, putting his arm around the back of your seat as he scoffs. “She’s needy, she needs constant attention and I know all you filthy fucks have got your eye on her so I don’t want her out of my sight.”

Shiu groans, but stands to his feet. You feel bad, really, you know what an inconvenience you are but you do try your best to remain demure and out of the way. But he’s right, you’re needy. And to be honest you’re a little afraid. Since you’ve become Toji’s plaything you’ve got a target on your back. You know with all of the security and loyal men at his disposal the odds of anything happening to you are slim. But still, you know it isn’t impossible.

Toji’s second in command leads the meeting in the board room, and you are engaged and silent as he speaks. It’s something about a territory dispute. You don’t fully understand but you know it’s illegal and dangerous. And you begin to whimper as they discuss resorting to violence.

The sound catches Toji’s attention. It seems you’ve been paying more attention than he has. He’s got more money than sense, and that is why he keeps Shiu around. But he can read you like a book. He knows when you’re happy or sad, angry or scared. And now, he sees how hard you’re trying to hold in the fear you feel. He knows what always makes you feel better, though. And he’s bored out of his fucking skull.

He shows no care or consideration for his audience as he lifts you from your seat and into his lap. Shiu stutters a little as he watches Toji manhandle you, your legs spread apart over his own before he touches under your little miniskirt. He smirks, kissing your shoulder when he feels your naked flesh.

“Good girl, no panties, jus’ like I told you.”

He doesn’t see a point to you wearing panties, he told you that after your first encounter. He told you he’d be keeping you around and you were his perfect little girl. And perfect little girls don’t need panties.

“Perfect little girls just need to keep their cunts wet for their daddy’s.” that is what he told you.

Your face flushes with heat when you realise if anyone in the room is brave enough to look they’ll see your dripping little slit. You aren’t sure how brave Toji’s men really are, though. But Toji is bold and uncaring and he knows what he wants. Always.

You gasp, softly, stealing a few gazes from the men in the room. Shiu is busy trying to keep the meeting on track and keep everyone focused. And it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He knows your pussy like the back of his hand, too. Because Toji loves to show you off. But he’ll never share. But his second in command knows better than most what your cute cunt is capable of. It’s a novelty to him, now. Why would he steal glances when he knows his generous boss will brag about you in private to him?

You fall forwards, little hands slamming against the table top as Toji rams his cock into you without remorse. He holds your hips, pulling you down until the back of your thighs smack against his. His fingers squeeze into your doughy skin, sure to leave bruises as he’s often one to do. Any fear that you’d felt at the thought of the men surrounding you committing acts of violence are a distant memory, now. You’re too busy trying to steady yourself through daddy’s onslaught.

“P-Please, fuck, please… daddy! S-Slow down!” you beg, a smirk sprawls like wildfire across his face as he listens to your desperate pleas.

“No no no, you don’t tell me what to do,” he reminds you. A light slap coming down on your clit as he continues fucking up into you. “Stop thinking, just take it, princess.”

Shiu sighs, his focus wavering as you continue to moan and yelp through Toji’s never ending fucking. He lights a cigarette for himself and then hands one to Toji. He takes a hand away from your hip to bring it to his lips, and Shiu proceeds to light his and then his own.

He continues to speak as if nothing is happening. He’s so calm and collected, but it’s no wonder. Toji is a man he’s known for as long as he can remember and he knows all of the complexities that come with him. Not to say that you are complex. You’re probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him, truthfully. But it isn’t as much of a distraction as it seems to be for the rest of his subordinates.

Toji chortles when he watches Shiu slot his thumb into your mouth, his other hand still holding his cigarette with no care to where the ash lands. The lackeys are even more confused, now, do they share you? Toji isn’t the type to share, no, but he isn’t going to chastise Shiu for doing what he needs to do to get through his meeting.

Besides, you look quite cute sucking on his thumb. He always thinks you look cute when you’re sucking on something, though. You hold onto Shiu’s wrist as you suckle on his thumb. And you hate that he won’t give you any attention, especially when you’re blinking up at him with pretty, wet eyes. Doesn’t he want to admire how cute you’re being for him?

You begin to act up, mewling loudly around his fingers as you try to get him to look at you. But it only ends in another wet slap on your pussy from Toji and a particularly rough cantering of his hips. He pulls you back towards him, your shoulder blades cushioned by his pecs as you’re pulled into him.

Shiu wipes your saliva from his thumb onto his blazer and gives you a passive glance before focusing on the men in the room again. He snaps his fingers in a bid to command their attention.

Toji, however, is fixated on you. His sharp canines ghost over your jugular. Your heart rate quickens and so do the shallow breaths escaping your throat. He silences you, his hand smothers your lips as he continues to nip and bite softly with ease. It’s exciting, and terrifying, because you know he could tear out your throat if he really wanted to.

“Did I just hear you beggin’ for another man’s attention, princess?” he whispers, his large palm pushing your legs further apart before repeatedly slapping down against your firm clit. “Is daddy’s cock ruinin’ you not enough, hah? Because I’ll stop, right now, and you can forget about cumming for a while. A long fucking while, darlin’.”

You muffle your protests through his smothering palm. Of course he’s enough! You got carried away, that’s all. He’s more than enough. You don’t need anyone else’s attention. Just him. Only him.

“Heh, that’s what I thought.” he laughs, harshly, licking a fat stripe up your neck with his wide tongue. Tears spill from your eyes as he continues to pound into you, gritting his teeth with each squeeze and stifled moan he’s suffocating with his hand. He wraps his free hand around your torso and drills upwards into your slippery heat.

Your moans become louder as you reach your peak. He repeatedly nudges your sensitive insides in the most beautiful way and forces you to clench and wince and fucking scream through your nostrils as he drags your orgasm out of you.

And eyes begin to turn white as they roll into the back of your head. Your body turns limp as his touch forces an orgasm from your body. Your body is wracked as you violently shake through it, your cunt squirting all over his lap and onto the floor below. He moans, boisterously at your display.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by the men in the room, either, as the sound of gushing water hits the ground below.

Toji bends you over the desk, carnal desire flooding all sense that he has. He pushes your head down so your cheek is squished against the table. You look up at Shiu, blinking pathetically. And now, you do have his attention. Toji hisses, flipping your skirt up to reveal your plump ass. He has no doubt his men will find it difficult not to look.

“Everyone out, now.” he commands, his men readily jump to their feet and begin to filter out of the room. Shiu stubs his cigarette out on the table top, not even an inch away from your nose and he prepares to leave. “Not you. Stay.” Toji orders. Shiu chuckles, weakly, and takes a seat.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” he asks, tucking your hair behind your ear as he watches your fucked out face continue to swallow Toji’s cock again and again. “Sorry I couldn’t give you any attention, angel. That meeting was a disaster, huh?” he smiles.

“This isn’t your pleasure, Shiu.” Toji informs him. “She jus’ likes it when you watch.”

© 2023 rinitxshi

#💌 — luxe mail #📨 — requests #toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #anime smut #female reader #sub reader #jjk x fem!reader #tw age gap #tw possessiveness #tw jealousy #tw exhibitionism #tw daddy kink

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 #mgonna be outta commission for 18-20 business weeks #kiddin. #shota aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shouta aizawa imagine #aizawa headcanons #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #anime x male reader #x male reader smut #bnha x male reader #x male reader #x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #x sub male reader #aizawa x y/n #shouta x you #shouta x reader #mha x male reader #mha x trans reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #aizawa x you #aizawa x male reader

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: lovecraftian/cosmic

#disclaimer i don't agree with or like the person of hp lovecraft but to make it easier to categorize the sub-genre #but it does also go by cosmic horror as well #horror #horror movies #lovecraftian horror #cosmic horror #horroredit #moviesedit #filmedit #cinema #horror cinema #horror aesthetic #i used ones that have inspiration or are direct stories #a cure for wellness #the beyond #event horizon #alien #evil dead #dagon #annihilation #re-animator #call of cthulhu #color out of space #the dunwich horror #from beyond #the haunted palace #edgar allan poe title but hp lovecraft story #in the mouth of madness #necronomicon #the resurrected