QUESTIONS WITH BF ARMIN 🎀

tomura with a voice kink. having you talk to him so he can get off. he'll call whenever. sometimes, he'll call when you're mad at him, so he can imagine you degrading him and insulting him. he tries to hide it, but he really can't. he doesn't want to. he wants you to know he's pathetically humping his pillow, rutting his cock into the fleshlight...

maybe you do know. maybe you like hearing the small whine in his voice when you say you're hanging up when he's about to cum. his feeble attempts to keep you on the phone so he can cum, but you already hung up and he has to spend the next god knows how long trying to get off without your voice.

Alastor's personal space

SHITTY MEME I SPENT TOO MUCH TIME ON

PEGGING VAL???? sorry recently i’ve just really wanted to make this man cry. like he makes me want to be absolutely CRUEL and MERCILESS!!! just like giving him a taste of his own medicine would be fantastic idk 🤷‍♀️

SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG!! ive been in a writing slump 😭 but im obsessed with writing val! it’s hard but i like trying to figure out how to I wanna characterize the goober

smoke and mirrors

—valentino x f!reader (gendered nicknames like princess and etc, but other than that the reader’s gender is not mentioned)

—includes: overstimulation, crying, bondage, toys

valentino, one of the 3 vees. tall, flirtatious, intimidating, rude.

too rude, perhaps. sure, being a bitch is pretty much a given in hell, but val was way more than that.

he has heels on people’s backs, and claws through sinners’ hearts. sure, demons can regrow limbs and heal scars. but not ones on the soul.

and valentino was an expert at cutting deep.

there's a scar on every one of his employees’ thoughts, his presence unable to leave their minds like smoke stuck to cloth.

no matter how much one washes it, that scent always comes back.

you were his cigarette. he clings onto you, unrelenting as he asks you to stay longer. you usually roll your eyes and dismiss him, but sometimes, you return, letting him indulge in his obsession with you.

he breathes you in, wanting you stuck on his clothes, hoping you stay a little longer, and unable to let you go.

with how much he craves you, you have control. power. one he will let go of when the two of you are tangled in lust, falling onto plush bedsheets with you over him.

he needs you. and you take advantage of that wholeheartedly.

val didn’t complain when you took charge. quite the opposite, actually. your fingers were a fucking blessing amongst this hellscape, and he doesn’t care where they are as long as they’re on him.

but they unfortunately, they weren’t.

“come on, princesa,” his tone was sickly sweet at first. persuading, sensual. fake.

“fucking do something~!” there we go. his true feelings. his tone was getting higher the more impatient he got, sing-songy in a way as he tried not to full-on scream at you. he knew you’d get even more pissed if he did.

you click your tongue in disappointment before hitting his thigh swiftly, provoking a sharp gasp from val as he hisses in pain, but also pleasure.

he couldn’t see and he couldn’t move any of his arms. usually, he’d be into kinky shit like this, but he also likes to be somewhat in control. if he asks for something, he gets it. your average pillow princess behavior. but you want to show him he’s not royalty, and he shouldn’t expect to be treated like it when it was clear he was an impressively shit ruler. seriously, who kills someone else’s employee?

but, even with how much you wanted to take his control away from him, his legs stayed free since you wanted them to drape over your shoulders at some point during the night, but that was for later. you have other things on your hands.

like his waist, for example. thin and smooth, hot to the touch even though he’s supposed to be cold-blooded. he relaxes into your palms instantly, a smile donning his face around the gag as he feels your touch.

his back arches up as he twists himself in an admittedly stunning way in your hands, trying to make himself look as appealing as possible for you to ravage him as soon. but you know his tricks. you won’t fall for his attempts of seduction.

so instead of moving your hands down to his inner thighs how he likes it, you draw them away, eliciting almost a growl out of the man underneath you.

“you really need to work on being more patient,” you tell him, your finger running underneath his chin, making his head tilt up so you can see it better.

even though he was frowning at you, the crimson drool that slipped down his lips made him look too pathetic to be threatening. “you need to work on being faster, amorcita! really, how can someone be so fucking slow—!”

you interrupt his complaints by suddenly getting off the bed, making him stop in confusion and…slight fear. “where—where do you think you’re going!” he snarls, trying to cover his vulnerability with coats of anger.

“i’m leaving if you can’t behave,” you answer, no hint of remorse in your voice. it chills him to his very core, a wave of frost running over his burning body as he stills in panic. you can’t just leave, that’s not—people don’t do that—

but val knows that you will. you weren’t afraid of him. and he knows he won’t be able to make you either. he was too soft on you.

so as a last ditch attempt, he musters up his most suggestive voice, wiggling in his binds as he tries to make you come back with his allure. “oh, come on. i’m always good—wait wait!”

he hears your footsteps getting further, and his words fly out of his mouth without thought. “please, wait—i’ll fucking behave just—don’t…” he breathes in carefully, trying to talk slower. “don’t leave, babe. i… i’m sorry, okay?”

he looks around at nothing, and it stares back at him cruelly as he tries to see you through the blindfold, even if he knows it's pointless.

you know most of his words aren’t sincere, it’s all just out of frustration, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

a sigh of relief leaves him as he feels a dip on the mattress, your hands moving over his torso. a yelp flies out of val’s lips as you tug on the chain connected by the clamps on his chest, the pain both sharp yet pleasing.

“we’ll see about that.”

val didn’t realize how mad you must have been, because the past hour or so had only been torture. the blindfold was already drenched in tears, his chest was over-sensitive to the point that even a breath would make him jolt, and he hasn’t been able to cum once, even when your fingers have been drilling into him constantly and the vibrator against his tip never stopped tormenting him.

“ah—! ah, hah, please—! wa-wait!” he sobs, thrashing in his ropes as he cries, the vibrations getting faster now. your fingers press right against that spot he usually loves, but he can’t enjoy it to the fullest if his cock is so hard it practically hurts. what’s worse is that he couldn't even cum if he wanted to, the ring around it ruining any chance of easy gratification.

“i thought you said i was too slow?” you tease, pulling your fingers out with a loud pop.

“well you fixed that—FUCK! pretty fast—!” val wailed as you entered him abruptly, bottoming out without warning before setting a brutal pace, not giving him time to accustom to you at all. “fuckfuckfuck—! baby, please!”

all he can do is take it, and as you rip the blindfold off of him, you revel in his expression, which was exceptionally different from his usual cocky one.

tears ran down the path of previous dried ones, and his mouth couldn’t even close from all of his noises escaping any time they could. his signature red drool drips out of his mouth and swirls around his teeth. you take caution, knowing what will happen if you kiss him. you don’t want to indulge in him just yet.

he had to earn it.

and he was slowly getting the hang of it. his claws dug into his palms as he shook, the sound of shaky pleas and uncontrollable moans filling the room beautifully. it seemed like he was practically made to be fucked by you, unable to get enough.

even when he’s tired, he can’t help but rock his hips against yours as he begs for more, while also pleading for less. he couldn’t tell what he wanted, because he knew he loved getting fucked by you, but he also hated not being able to cum. it was the dilemma of the century!

“p-please…please—i—hic—i can’t…” his voice slowly starts to get softer as he starts to lose strength. he can’t hold up a facade anymore. he can’t pretend that he’s in control. that this was a gift all for him, because it clearly wasn’t. it was a cruel punishment, and it was served in the way he knows best.

“can’t what?” you question, your hands firm on his hips as you stop him from moving, eliciting a pathetic whine of frustration from val.

“can’t—i can’t wait anymore, please let—ha—let me cum! i’m begging you, baby—fuck—too fast!” those were words he thought he’d never say, considering how much he liked it rough.

which, showed even through his pleas. his eyes rolled back and his voice came around again, gracing you with delightful moans and cries that got louder and louder. it was quite clear this pleased him a lot. but, it was even more certain that this was too much, and for someone so addicted to sex, it was surprising to figure out his breaking point was so easy to find.

of course, it took a long time, but from how much game he boasts he has, it was almost laughable how pathetic he was right now. begging, sobbing, messy. you want to see more of this side of him.

“not yet, val,” you scold him, tugging on his nipple clamps like it was some sort of leash. it was a gentle pull, yet his sensitive self couldn’t help but shriek in response, his back arching into a wonderful crescent.

“i promise—i promise i’ll be good—i’m good i swear!” he whines, looking up at you with his watery eyes. “i won’t be rude to you everagainplease—!”

you know it's a lie. you know he believes it, at least at in this moment, conceding to whatever it is you desire just to get what he wants. his nice act won’t last forever. but for now, with him underneath you, unable to think, drowning in pleasure, suffocating on the desire for you…you decide it’s good enough to warrant a small reward.

“oh—FU—!”

“what do you say?”

“SHITshit—AH! th…hmm!” he trails off into a high-pitched whimper as he feels that ring finally fucking leave, letting him cum for the first time in what felt like years.

“val. what. do. you. say?” you hiss, and suddenly the stars he had started to see turned into warning signs in an instant.

“sorry—thank you! fuck, thank—ngh—!”

you nod in approval, moving your hand down his quivering chest with sudden gentleness. it almost made val want to cry even more, and he was too tired to think why.

yet, your sweetness suddenly stops with a rush of almost painful pleasure running up his spine as you start to thrust again, slow, yet quickly hastening into the frenzied pace from before.

val doesn’t even bother asking you to go slower, sinking into the pillowy smoke of lust once more without complaint as you drive into him relentlessly.

he loves it, the way your presence surrounds him, how your hands get so tight around his hips that they leave marks. everything you do, he loves. so, even as his tears line his eyes once more, and his mouth spews words of forgiveness, he can’t help but want more, for who was he if not with you?

even when morning comes and you two finish, he still yearns for you as he walks out that door in the afternoon, his assistant rushing over to his side as he makes his way to the studio that he knew wouldn’t be able to produce anything that rivaled your touch.

“i like your new perfume.”

“hm?” he looks down at his assistant, raising an eyebrow out of confusion before sniffing his coat. he can’t help but crack a small, uncharacteristic smile.

you seemed to have stuck on him like smoke.

”i do too.”

and he’ll never try to get rid of it.

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @drlucichen @mvskedxrtist @luciferspetduck

me when a character who was completely powerless gains power and proceeds to lose themselves in the intoxication of it before coming to and being horrified by their own capacity for bloodlust

can’t help but think about

Men who look like they haven’t felt the touch of a woman. (they haven’t) They develop a crush on you. Men who look at you with doe eyes, ready to please. Men who will do anything if you asked. Men who shiver when you whisper in their ear. It can be anything, but the feeling of you getting close— fuck they’re goners. Men who imagine you in ungodly ways, all of this new to them. Men who are on the verge of crying because they are so sexually frustrated.

Men who still can’t believe how someone like them (shy, submissive, a stuttering mess) managed to pull someone as confident and bold as you.

Men who whimper when you finally touch them. Guttural grunts and moans, whines and whimpers— all a part of the melody they let out just for you. Men who look up at you with expectant eyes, wanting–no needing you to praise them. We’ve already established that they love your voice, so throw in a ‘good boy’ or ‘you did so good baby’ and their brain stops functioning.

──────────────────

I don't want it if it ain't your touch - West Side // Ariana Grande

I’m in class rn and all i can think about is this.

Ethan Landry, Sub!Miguel O’Hara, Simon Aumar, Harry Potter, Yuta Okkotsu, Tyler Galpin, Bucky Barnes +your favs!

HE IS JUST SO

SOFT

PERFECT

EVERYTHING

PENITENCE

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

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

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

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

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

He should have bled out. He died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Toru, wanna hold her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suguru would be his best man.

Megumi would bring you your rings.

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

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

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

Play with Me!

Summary: Interactive SMUT with submissive Miguel! Choose your path! A/N: me when i forgor Art: Andalusia on twt! <<Prev Next>>

-flip him and ride him! take back what's yours! [SELECTED] -let him do the work! turn off your brain!

You wipe the globs of his cum off your lips before using all your strength to flip him over on his back. It was surprisingly easy, Miguel gasping and shivering when you straddle above him. He instinctively bucks his hips up, his cock twitching against your ass. Miguel’s gaze falls to your hips, hands finding purchase in the plushness of it. But you rip his hands off you, lacing your fingers with his and pinning them above his head. Miguel can’t help but moan, biting his lips and cheeks flushing a deep red at being helpless under you. You lift your hips up as you turn your head to look back. Miguel looks with you, watching as you tease him by sliding down only at the tip before slipping back out. Miguel groans, arching his back and thrusting upwards–a squelching sound of his cock penetrating your saliva and precum soaked folds.

Your nails dig into the back of his hand, Miguel groaning and writhing to run from the pain. He looks up at you with hazy eyes, glossy and foggy with desire. He pants softly, hearing his heartbeat in his ears and he licks his lips. Miguel feels you slip off of him, a plea hanging on his tongue.

“Please, please, please, no, no, no, no…” He babbles, his words slurring and voice cracking as he begs. He shakes his head, sweaty strands of brown wavy hair stick to his temple and forehead, a slight bead of sweat resting on his furrowed eyebrows. 

Ever so gently, you slip on and off of him—but only his tip. His poor swollen, aching and creaming tip. Miguel slams his head back into the pillow with a frustrated moan. Crossing his wrists together, you use one hand to keep them pinned above his head while your other—now free—hand to place over his abdomen where the patch of his happy trail is.

You can feel his muscles contracting underneath his warm skin, caving in as you slowly tease his tip. 

Miguel continues to babble and complain. “Not enough.” He says, swallowing the drool that would’ve escaped his mouth. He begs for more, weakly tugging against your hand that keeps him pinned. His chest heaves up and down, his hips bucking.

Your free hand comes up to pinch his nipple, Miguel crying out, his body shivering. 

“Stay still.” You mutter, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” He sighs shakily. Miguel hums when he feels your lips on him, his toes curling and uncurling as he tries to focus on not thrusting up into you.

“I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, I promise.” He whispers desperately.

“Mm, you said that before…” You mumble and lift off his tip with a wet shlick.

Miguel purses his lips, arching his head up and veins popping out his neck. He exhales slowly and through his teeth with a hiss. 

“I-I know, I know—“ He groans. “But I mean it this time, believe me—“ Miguel watches as you lean down to where your noses are just barely touching. You could feel his soft but jagged breathing.

“Te lo juro, mi amor. Swear on it, just fuck me, please.” He whimpers. “Take me, use me. I just need you.” Tears well up in his eyes, his heart pounds wildly in his chest, body twitching with anticipation.

You uncross his wrists and lace your fingers with his. You bring them down so that he’s resting his hands by each side of his head. Using that, you anchor yourself to sink down on his cock. 

He chokes, eyes casting downwards to watch your pussy stretch to accommodate his size. Miguel’s entire body tenses, forcing himself down so as to not shove up inside you. He kind of likes this though—your tight hole taking all of him and sliding down easily. 

Still, he pants under his breath, wheezing and feeling the blood rush throughout his body. His hands squeezed yours as he let out a whimper, teary eyes meeting your hazed ones.  His pathetic moans rang out while you slowly fucked yourself on his cock, your lips capturing his. Miguel screws his eyes shut, weakly kissing back as your tongue invades his mouth. Miguel quivers underneath you, his cock throbbing and twitching against your walls.

He knows not to speak, the complaint about speed on the tip of his tongue. Miguel whines weakly with each agonizingly slow roll of your hips. He can feel you pulsating and gripping him.

You on the other hand, let go of his lips, watching them plump up ever so slightly from making out. Your mouth trails along his cheek and jawline, the soft feeling making Miguel’s body twitch. He flexes his fingers, breath uneven while you play around with his nerves.

Your mouth reaches down to his collarbone, wrapping around his skin to suck and bite on it. Miguel arches his back with a plea of your name, his cock throbbing and bucking against your walls. Your hands squeeze his, to remind him of who he is–what he’s supposed to do. Miguel turns his head, trying to bury his face in the pillow as best as he can. He knows one look at you–your eyes and how they darken at him, wanting and waiting to devour him and his sweet reactions– and he’ll explode. He feels your hips raise up, your wetness coating his aching and hard cock–beads of precum dribbling out– and he quivers. You tease his leaking tip, fucking yourself on the engorged weeping top while Miguel squeezes your hands tightly enough for his talons to come out and gently pierce your skin. Your lips suck around his nipple, your tongue flicking and swirling around the nub which makes him arch his back with a whine. His hips buck up, forcing his dick to penetrate you again and it prompts you to moan and bite down on his nipple. He cries, feeling an electric shock shoot down to his groin. You keep pinning his hands to the bed while you begin to rut your hips against his, moving between a fast and slow pace that sends his heart racing and complaints falling from his lips. The slow build up is enough to make his balls tighten, blood rush down to his throbbing length. He huffs and he puffs, chest heaving with each breath, sweat dripping down his brown skin and hair slicked to his forehead. Still, he has half a mind to hold his hips while your ass smacks down with each slap. His legs shake and he makes the biggest mistake of looking at how your pussy wraps around him. Your cunt swallows every inch of him, a glimpse of a wet, sticky mess before enveloping him again. His eyes bob up and down as he watches you work to chase your high, his lips parted and cheeks hot to the touch. His vision is cloudy and he lolls his head up to see the pleasure etched on your face. Perfect lips bitten between your teeth right before squeaking or moaning when the blunt head of his tip nudges against your sweet spot. Tits bouncing and he wants nothing more than to bury his face in them–he’s desperate to please you again, to make you cum faster. The image–the want– is too much for him. Miguel cries out with a piercing scream, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as his fangs pierce down into his bottom lip to minimize his sounds of pleasure. His body trembles with each wave of his orgasm, thick spurts of his cum shooting inside your tight walls and then dripping out of it. His cream flows down his length, coating his cock and balls with his own mess.

The feeling makes him quiver along with the soft thrust of you pressing down on him. He gasps for a deep breath as he looks up at you, mouth dropped open and begging for a kiss.

And so you lean down, capturing his lips into a heated kiss. He moans in delight, trying his best to lean up and deepen it. Your lips drag off his to kiss down to his chin and jawline. Your mouth caresses the shell of his ear.

“Can I trust you?” You hum. 

Miguel, in his haze, nods. His voice croaks as he speaks. “Yes…yes…” 

Your hands leaves his, Miguel unclenching his grip and he relishes in the feeling of your hands running down his chest. 

“Don’t touch me.” You whisper and then place your hands firmly on his stomach, lifting your hips and slamming back down.

Miguel chokes on his moans, grabbing onto the pillow underneath his head and digging his nails into the fabric. He screams, chest arching up but he feels you hold most of him down with your hands as you begin bouncing above him.

He shouts curses and whines, rolling his head back all while shamelessly moaning. He writhes behind you, his cock sensitive after just cumming inside you. He whines your name pathetically after each slam of your hips, your warm cunt surrounding him in a wet squelch.

It’s painful but it feels so good, he can’t help but grow aroused once more—the pleasure is dizzying. 

You use him just like he said he would, slipping on and off his cock with abandon, grunting and sighing as he fills you over and over. You can feel the stretch of his length as it grows hard again, his tip nudging the same G-spot over again. His leftover cum spills out of you slowly, sticking to your pussy and connecting it to his lap in a heap of white slick. Skin slaps against skin, each thrust sends a wave of ecstasy to your core that makes you clench around him.

Miguel’s legs shakes and he sobs, eyes unfocused while his balls tighten up to cum again.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum, oh God.” He babbles, screwing his eyes shut and moaning to the heavens. 

You press down on his stomach and he instinctively caves in, another wave of pleasure washing over him. “Wait.” You pant, halting your bouncing to grind your clit in him in circles.

Miguel uses it as a breather even though the build up of a climax has faded painfully. His red, sweat stricken face falls onto your body on top of him and he curses himself over not being able to touch you. 

He watches numbly as you grind on him, feeling his cock inside you, throbbing and twitching to cover you with his seed again. 

Miguel is snapped out of his haze when you pick yourself up again, leaning over him and gripping his shoulders for leverage while you bounce on him.

“No! Wait!” He cries out, thrashing his legs, toes curling and fingers practically tearing his pillow apart.

He can barely hear the slaps of skin echoing throughout the room while you ride him, using him as your little toy. Your hips and legs ache but you feel so close.

The bubble within you pops, your nails scratching his skin and leaving marks while you shake and moan his name. You feel your face heating up as your climax reaches its highest point. Cumming around him and dripping your juices down his length. Your pussy throbs rhythmically, clenching and unclenching around his shaft.

Meanwhile Miguel cums right after you, bringing his hand to his mouth to bite on, his fangs piercing through skin. But his moans are louder, garbling out your name and his entire body shakes. His vision goes white and it’s a slow way down from his orgasm. His cock aches painfully as it shoots another load inside your wet pussy, painting you walls and flooding down into more of a mess between his legs. 

Miguel heaves, numb and weak as he blinks lazily. His eyelids are heavy but he feels content. You move his hand from his mouth, jaw slack and two pricked holes around his thumb—a bit of blood on his lower lip. 

You smile weakly, shakily pulling yourself off him to which Miguel groans at. His cock flops out of your pussy, glistening with all types of bodily fluids. He whimpers, his tip still leaking some leftover cum.

Your hands gently caress up and down his sides to soothe him. He looks peaceful, even a little tired. Yet, he still reaches out for you, hands trembling until they plant themselves on your waist. His thumbs gently caress your stomach, slowly sliding up to cup your breasts and squeeze them teasingly. A soft smirk is on his face when you squint down at him, Miguel innocently resting his hands at your waist. 

Maybe just one more round…but I guess it’s time to sleep…

a/n: i was not fully aware of what i was writing if im being so honest

taglist: @envyjmoney @howabouticallyou @pxtched @babyprofessorsharkpalace

I FUCKING LOVE HIM.

❝ in which your boyfriend satoru gojo subconsciously seeks your comfort ❞ ❦ cw ; f!reader. fluff. ❦ words ; 738

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The sound of footsteps walking through your apartment sends a jolt of fear straight up your spine, until-

“Satoru?” Blinking in confusion at the sight of your sorcerer boyfriend, you sigh in relief. Of course you know he can teleport but showing up out of the blue like this is a new level, even for him. “You scared the shit out of me,” you breathe out with a shake of your head.

“Sorry, baby.” Satoru heads straight for your living room, plopping down on your couch with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. There’s a tear in his jacket and his blindfold is nowhere to be found, which is unusual for him. Though, so is teleporting to your home without warning.

“I wasn’t expecting you so I don’t have enough food-” you pause, glancing back towards the kitchen, “-did you want to order something?”

“Sure, anything’s fine.”

You tilt your head, examining his expression though you can’t gleam anything about how he’s feeling with his eyes closed. Still, this isn’t like him. He’s too quiet. Too unenthusiastic. He didn’t even greet you.

“How does sushi sound, then? There’s this place just around the corner that just opened-”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Satoru interrupts, his tone snappy enough that you recoil slightly, blinking at him as hurt flashes across your features. You may not have been together long, but he’s never once so much as expressed unhappiness towards you. In truth, you’re not sure what to do.

Your lips purse as Gojo leans forward, raking his hands over his face before resting his head in his hands.

Oh. Oh.

You approach him slowly, taking a seat beside him on the couch. He doesn’t react, thumbs pressed to his temples. You flick the light switch behind you, letting the room go dark as you gently lay your palms over his, urging him to drop his hands from his temples as you press a kiss to his forehead.

His breath fans your forearms as you adjust to carefully lay his head in your lap, his legs hanging over the arm of the plush furniture. Running your fingers through his hair, you massage his scalp as his hair cascades over your thighs.

Comfortable silence settles between you as he relishes in the moment, his muscles gradually relaxing. The harsh furrow to his brow begins to slack, his expression going neutral as he leans his face into your body.

He didn’t think about it when he teleported here, it just felt right. He knows now it’s because he craved your comfort, your touch, and he didn’t know it yet.

“I’m so, so sorry, pretty girl,” he sighs, burying his face into your torso as he blindly reaches for your hand. He finds it with ease, a feat of his six eyes surely, and brings it to his lips, lingering in a kiss against your knuckles.

“I forgive you, Toru, it happens,” you tell him. “Headache?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he sighs, gripping your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.”

“I told you I forgive you,” you tell him, a sympathetic smile on your face. His blue eyes flicker open, squinting even in the darkness of the late evening as he struggles through his headache. Still, relief swirls in his eyes when he sees the sincere look on your face.

Although he has a habit of pushing your buttons and riling you up, those are things you’ve always loved about him. You’re well aware of his status, of just how little respect is directed towards him as a person rather than an instrument of destruction. Now, looking into his gorgeous cerulean irises, this is one of those moments where you can see just how human he truly is.

“Still up for sushi?” He asks, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. His head still pounds, evidenced by the faint tension in his forehead, but it’s tolerable with you at his side.

You return his smile, nodding. “With dessert,” you insist. His grin widens and you giggle at the sight, glad to have your boyfriend back.

Large palms pull you down by the back of your neck as he kisses you softly, his lips moving with slow and pure intentions as he conveys his love for you. “Now you’re speakin’ my language,” he hums against your lips.

Satoru needs comfort sometimes too, and you’re grateful he chooses to seek that in you.

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