your every day simp

Before you can even think to shrill out an answer, Toji’s squeezing his thick, reddened tip allllll the way near the back of your slick-covered walls. Just so big that you can feel the globed end of his shaft probe into your cervix, “Fuh-fuck! Again, Toji?”

“Blame the- the…” He’s strangling out a dark chuckle, scarred lips curling. And oh- to have the Toji Fushiguro stuttering? 

You had him ruined. 

“The mating press?” You’re mewling in answer. 

Only to have his entire sculptured body wrack with a visceral shiver- Toji’s hunching his weight on top of yours until you’re being crushed, until your hamstrings scream, until he’s biting his canines down on the side of your neck just to stop himself from whimpering. “Fucking love it when you s-say that, mama.”

One of his roaming hands nestles on the top of your sweaty scalp, and he grumbles, “Yeah a mating press.” Caging you in. Making you feel every tense n’ twitch of his glissading abs. “A fucking mating press. It makes me wanna fill this hah- pretty pussy with my cum up just ooooonce more.” The other still glues to your tummy, feeling for the bumpy outline of his thrusting cock. “Makes me wanna make ‘er leak.”

“B-but I’m already so full.” You’re whining out through wobbly lips, and you swear that his bulbous mushroom tip only grows fatter at the state of your voice. 

“Mmm—” You knew that lil’ hint of greed in his tone didn’t bode well. You knew that it would have his right hand pushin’ down on your stomach until he’s making his knotted white cum leak out of your pussy like a fountain. Sheening the inner parts of your cute thighs and soaking his happy trail - you just feel so filthy. “H-heh, not anymore…”

“Ngh, oh- oh my god.”

And his strokes are vulgar, like he’s knocking that weepy orifice of his against every sweet spot of yours just to fill you back up again. You were so sensitive after all these hours that only a few whack-whack-whacks of Toji’s long, vein-covered cock makes you drool.

A slimy line of pre glues right near your g-spot and makes him giggle at the mess. “C’moooon, mama, stop makin’ such a oh- mess.” Ruthless, Toji’s thumb snakes down from your temple to push between your swollen lips. “M’just trying to make sure that this…mating press really works, heh.”

Just saying those words makes his ravenous cock throb even harder - what have you done to him?

“B-but I think it already works, Toji—” Case in point; each heavy, sensual pump of his inches only makes your walls splosh ‘round with both cum and slick. Utterly full. Utterly ruined. 

“That’s cute.” He simply states, hazy green eyes on the verge of rolling. Toji plants a ruthless smack on the side of your left thigh, “Now hold up those legs f’me, doll.”

As if you could be bent even further- but Toji Fushiguro finds a way. He always finds a way. Even if his rough, knobbly fingertips are trembling as he’s gripping each underside of your legs. 

Overstimulated, Toji’s veiny biceps flex once he’s folding you straight in half with the curves of your knees hitting your tits. Your face pushing into the crook of his neck, his cock stirrin’ up your insides.

Chanting out like mantra—“Up, up, up, aaaand up-”

Jostling you around like some glorified doll, you’re sure that the globes of your ass don’t even touch the bedsheets at this point. He’s just so big that you can barely even clench - the bubblegummy texture of your walls was damn near rubbed raw on each of his prominent veins. Drilling inside over and over and over-

“Cute—soooo fuckin’ cute how she talks back.” As if to prove his point even further, Toji thumbs down your slivery slit and lets off a noisy slurp. Huffing with primal desire, “Gonna be e-even cuter when I fuck her stupid, though. When I feel- my-” Punctuating each word with a bashing strike into your depths, the flared ridge of his cockhead kisses your g-spot and you bawl. “-doll’s cervix get hit alllll the way from the back.”

Your head throws back with a pitched trill, “T-Tooooji–! Don’t talk like that…”

“Why? Feeling shy, mama?” He’s snickering, “How can you even think of feeling- fuck! shy when I have you like this? In this…this…” 

Mating press…fuck, he couldn’t even say those two words anymore. Trailing off. Eyes glazed. 

He’s jackhammerin’ the prolonged inches of his girth into you like it was the only thing he knew how to do at this point, and Toji’s tough fingerpads wield down on your pussy with a solid spank. “D’you even know what you’re doing to me?” Then he’s spanking your treacly cunt three more repeated times like it’s her fault.

“I- ngh, oh-” All that you can babble by now, your pupils are swirling in comical circles inside the whites of your eyes. 

Each one follows the crazed patterns of his crashing cocktip, bashing in the sponged layer of your cervix. Toji’s deltoids bulge as he bullies your body down just a bit further, and lets his rovering cock smooch the door to your womb—thud!

Fuck. 

Instantly throwing his hazy head back, murmuring something intelligible underneath his breath-

“Wh-what was that–?” You’re panting, eyelids fluttering as you try to steady your vision. Toji was just so pussydrunk that he could barely string together his slurring syllables, he could barely even stop the sloppy slamming of his hips to speak-

“I-I said–” Toji drawls out, and he’s bent so low in this mating press - his all-knew favorite position - that he can kiss your forehead sweetly. Whispering in your ear, “-that Shiu’s gonna be the fucking godfather after this.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Shibuya “Incident”

“Legs here and…your pretty pussy- hah- here-” Rattling off, it was almost sexily methodical the way that he was moving your shaky limbs ‘round with no strain at all. “And I’m…”

A mating press.

Nanami Kento had you pressed into a mating press- and the only thing you can do is arch your back upwards into his dewy touch- he’s just so messy like this. Glasses crushed against your body, blond hair falling over his forehead. Your husband hunches his hulking body into you so that he could suckle on your tits like his favorite candy. “Wh-why the sudden mating- ngh, press, Ken?”

“Because, please-” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging into the skin of your chest, clammy mouth gluing to the nubs of your nipples. “Please- we hafta make sure, my love.”

You’re whimpering, “F-fuck! Make sure of what–?”

And his response is muffled, pearly whites snagged on your areolas, “Have to make sure it takes.”

“Oh.”

Truthfully, Nanami had been restless. Ever since he’d come back from Shibuya all bruised n’ battered, he’d simply bent you into your marital bed and folded your legs in half like he hadn’t even realized what he was doing just yet. 

Like he couldn’t think of anything to say but a low, growling—“C-can’t even control it, sweetheart.” His handsome cheekbones blush all crimson, “Somehow I just want to get you…” Hesitating. Rugged. “-pregnant.”

Oh, he’d been struck with some sort of babyfever.

Still in the half-opened uniform of his suit, he was taken over by some sort of madness that made you trill at the top of your lungs every single time Nanami’s rovering cockhead bludgeoned against the back of your pussy. He might have been gentle, but his aching, red length surely wasn’t.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re sobbing out, legs twitching on top of his shoulders with each passing second. “Th-that explains the hck! mating press-”

“Mating press, huh?” Long, golden lashes blink up blearily at you, he was still tuggin’ on your cute nipples until the skin of your chest was all sensitive. A slight brush of his textured taste buds make you buck- and he’s only pressing a forearm to your throat. “S-so that’s what s’called.”

Naturally, Nanami was leaning his entire carnal weight on top of you until you were manhandled like some lawnchair. 

Until your feet were dangling in the air and he was pushing you into a mating press so sloppy that you’re hearing your dripping cunt squelch from below. Slurp after slurp. The reddened, globular crown of his tip nudged against your cervix and made you sob. “Like this-” Extra tight, his vein-decorated hands lace on top of your scalp. “Like this like this. Fuck! A mating press…s’like this?”

“Y-yes, ngh- oh my god-” You didn’t have enough brain capacity right now to tell him that this was more than just your average mating press. 

This pliable position had his hips spanking down on yours until the skin of Nanami’s pelvis turned red. 

He’s snapping his head down with a slight gasp at the slamming impact, molten eyes widening and widening. “O-oh.” Hard, the lines of his v-line thrash down once more. Probin’ his sultry wet tip so deep between your pussylips that you swear you can feel him enter your very lungs. “Oh, m’in love with this position. In love with how deep it makes you take me- how f-fucking tight you squeeze each time.”

Then it’s like he was insatiable - getting such a gooood look at the way your puffy folds expanded with each inch you swallowed, the way your pussy glistened with each spurt of slick, the way you quivered like you wanted more, more, more-

“Y-you’re in so deep- hck!” You can’t help but wrap your fingers into the silken fabric of your husband’s tie and tug-

And that makes him gasp, it makes him pant. Nanami’s slimy tip wallops the roof of your cunt and twitches—“Yes—!” He keens, guttural and raw. “Like that- roughen me up like that, darlin’.”

You’re gaping- because you’ve never heard your beloved husband speak to you like this before. 

He was at the mercy of your pussy.

It’s as if this all-new, lecherous position had loosened his stern mouth, and now it was slick with slobber that gushed every single time your cervix was being bruised by his impressive circumference. A thin line slips from the side of his lips that he smears between the valley of your chest.

“S’gonna take-” He hiccups, pumping you oh-so-full that your ears pop. “Gonna take gonna take gonna take- fuck! Gonna be a-all round and glowing.” Blond brows furrowing, teeth grit. “And m’gonna take suuuuch good care of you, my love. Can be the hah- pretty lil’ mother of my kids, while I take care of eeeeverything for ya.”

His crowned shaft scrapes all the way near the entrance to your womb and you find yourself seeing stars. “Sh-shit, oh, Kento-” Clawing onto his tie, the attire tightens enough to squeeze his airway and make your husband gasp-

“Mmm, spit in my mouth.”

You gape, “Wh-what-”

Oh, you couldn’t hear him? No problem - because all those years of Nanami’s battle-training goes directly into reflexively bending down, down, down until your body n’ cunt scream at the stretch.

His perspired forehead rests on yours, tonality dripping with need. “Spit in my mouth.”

And how could you not?

Not when he was asking you like that. Not when his glassy peripherals were staring into your own like he could just eat you alive. 

Nanami’s parched throat hums at the splatter of your webbed wad of saliva, wetting his taste buds properly. And once you do as he says, his roaming cock twitches- “F-feels like m’gonna cum inside.” Immediately burrowing those cracked moans of his back into your tits.

You’re whimpering, mouth lolling at the feeling of his canines gnawing your nipples raw. “Mmm, oh my god- what’s gotten into you with that today, Ken?”

“Well…” He gruffly admits, the fringes of his teeth trapping your left nipple and tuggin’, “-m’practising for when these tits have actual milk soon, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - FLEXXX

“You- bend- so- well-” Your fuzzy brain barely even has the time to register Geto’s words before he’s drilling each of them in with a rough thrust of his swollen, ruby-red cock. 

Just so fat n’ aching to claim every secret ridge inside of your pussy, he’s not sunken even halfway in before he’s rutting. Furiously. Like he didn’t even care for the way his girthy length was struggling against your tight ring of muscle, Geto pushes down on the undersides of your thighs further and makes you shrill.

He’s marvelling, amethyst eyes flickering at the way this mating press had your pussy all smeared open. All ready. It didn’t matter how much your body stretched and stretched, Geto was just so strong that he had you pliably thrown around like some ragdoll. “You bend so, so well.” 

“Fuck, ngh, Suguru-”

And it was your fault - yours. You were the one to challenge him into folding you into a mating press, and he was more than happy to deliver.

In fact, Geto’s just so impatient that he’s feeling your snug hole clench ‘round his shaft and bucks- knees anchoring down on the springy mattress to get his slick length tunneling deeper. “It’s like you’re- fuck- like-”

Gaze slightly glassy. Expression slightly crazed. 

Geto has to force himself to pull out his entire sloppy cock before he can even manage to speak.

Hot breath heating up your awed features- “S’like this pretty pussy’s been wantin’ to be folded into a mating press for aaaaages, gorgeous.”

And then he’s slamming his rugged, rock-hard girth until the patterns of his veins brand on your cervix. Letting it fill you up till he’s bottomed out, Geto’s dark happy trail rubs the poor folds of your cunt raw, dragging his vulgar strokes out until you’re keening—

“Oh- oh my god-” You’re babbling, tears crinkling from the edges of your eyelids. You’re scrambling to hold onto your trembling thighs, “This position makes me feel so- so…”

“S’okay- s’okay, your Suguru has you.” He snickers from above, the contents of his sentence were gentle but the way he was saying them was utterly mean. 

Just like the way Geto was stickin’ his bulbous tip into you, pouring out drops of pre into each crevice. The squirting sensation makes your poor cunt quiver, wads of syrup oozing out of your entrance and making your pussy weep. You don’t even think twice before roaming your unsteady dominant hand down to toy with your neglected clit-

SPANK!

Only to have it swatted rudely away by Geto’s own.

“S-Suguru- what are you-” Before you know it, one of his knees comes crashing down to pin your hand to the creaking mattress. 

Leaning his weight down even more into the mating press until all the blood in your lower half was rushing to your head, “What did I hngh- tell you, gorgeous?” He purrs, lips twitching into a grin. And every massed inch of his body was collapsing into you, to further bend you cutely. Twisting his thumb ‘round to graze your perked nub, “I said I’ve got you. Look at thaaaat—I can even toy with your p-pretty clit like this, gorgeous.” 

And fuck- did he like seeing that cockdrunk expression on your face.

Did he like having your mouth drop agape with each thump-thump-thump speared way into the back of your cunt. Geto was both long and girthy, and it was maddening to have his curvaceous length molding your walls to his exact measurements - especially in this mating press, that had him filling up nooks and crannies that you didn’t even know you had. 

Your gummy walls clench like you were trying to keep him there- “A-and you’ve got me too now, huh? Locked all in this…fucking mating press- fuck!” Crazed. 

Chuckling.

You’re trying hard to whimper out a response - botched and half-nonsense at this point - when it suddenly hits you that Geto wasn’t even talking to you. 

“That’s right-” He coos, leaning even closer to hear the soft wafting squelches let out from your dripping wet pussy. “That’s right that’s right, you’ve got me- and m’- haaah- sorry for not putting you into a cute lil’ mating press earlier like you deserve.”

And you’re almost shocked because Geto rarely apologizes even to you - rather, focusing on actions and comfort than words. But right now he was pleading to your smeared-open cunt like he’d no sooner be on his damn knees.

“Because you really, really like it- don’tcha?” The sleazy smile slashed across his lips was twitchy, “Like being fucked by me with your legs up? Ngh- this lil’ position to have this cute cunt bred?”

Thrust after thrust, he’s poking your dewy insides with the length of his cock. Letting the bloated ridge of his slit scrape against your g-spot, it makes the man titter to watch you gasp. It makes him groan. It makes his own husky voice crack- “Please- please, Suguru.”

“Don’t you worry now, pretty lady.” The fatness of his thumb bullies between your folds, and before long he’s pressin’ doooown on your clit like some pretty, wet button. The motion lets out such sappy background music- “It’s all that you deserve, isn’t it? All that you- you-”

Splat—! 

You’re looking up through the long, inky strands of Geto’s hair just to find that- oh, he was tearing up now. 

The cadence of his cock was burrowing between your folds at a blurring speed, and each slight thrust with you in this position ran him ragged. Harder. Sloppier. So far gone on your softened cunt, the eager embrace of your walls was enough to make him throw his head backwards and bite down on yet another sob. 

“I-I’m always gonna put you into a mating press from now on, gorgeous.” He fucks you into the exhausted bedsprings until one breaks. Meaning it. “Always.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fever

“Woah…I can see her so clearly like this, baby.” Choso’s mere words make him blush, a lewd scorching rouge that accompanies each flick of his gaze up n’ down your cunt. “It makes me feel…shy.”

And you can barely even breathe around the fatness of his mushroomy tip, teasingly entered between your folds. Your boyfriend lets out a low, grumbling whine just as soon as he pulls back and looks at you in all your entirety - legs on his shoulders, knees hitting your tits, pussy stuffed. 

“Oh- oh!” Choso seems to snap out of his little reverie just as soon as your hips start squirming, and he’s using his superhuman strength to clasp onto your waist and draaaag you backwards into his body. “B-but don’t worry, that doesn’t mean m’gonna- hah- stop.” He looks almost sheepish as he admits, “In fact…I don’t think I even can ngh- stop.”

And he meant it.

“Fuck- fuck, baby—” Oh, you could feel it with each punishing strike of his rock-hard length. 

Choso wasn’t even bottomed out, but you could still feel the throbbing crown of his shaft swat your inner walls. Deeper. Harder. 

With you all laid out, he could see exactly what he was doing to you - and that pretty pussy of yours. With your puffy core stretched oh-so-widely ‘round his girth, “Shit—” Your entrance glistens each time his length was mazing between your clingy walls. “Sh-shiiit, I really don’t think I can ngh- stop, baby.”

Hit after hit, the globe of your ass cheeks now felt permanently plastered to Choso’s v-line. “H-hah, guess I should mention more ‘human sex things’ more- hngh- often, huh?”

He pleads, bottom lip jutting out adorably, “My baby, if you do that I might just die.”

And Choso’s cock was looong- a pretty pink, with a few curly veins down the sides that were burrowing into your gooey walls. The weepy divot of his orifice bludgeons your cervix like his very personal target, and it makes him tug your legs further ‘round his shoulders with a groan.

“Wait, ngh, oh my-” You’re gasping for air- and you swear his strawberry tip was tuggin’ down the sides of your channel. Was growing even bigger—“Cho…” You’re tasting the familiar metallic tang of cursed energy in the air, “-your hck! Powers–!”

“O-oh, sorry, baby–” He tries to reel his hips back, watching all the while. “Let me just-”

Only to rut all the way back in again.

It’s as if he couldn’t last a single nanosecond without your dewy cunt, steadily getting addicted to the glissading texture of your walls. Choso can feel his skin spark, he can feel the way his blood manipulation technique was going out of control to hone in on the blushin’ crown of his shaft and prolong his inches.

You’re shrilling, feeling his bloated cock swell up even further inside of you. Scouring your snug folds until you nearly couldn’t even take it any more- “It’s just- just this position.”

“The…mating press?”

“Fuck! D-don’t even say the words, please.”

Harder.

Bigger - his aching hot cock was probing your deepest innards like never before. Grunting, “I can s-see you and that preeeetty pussy and- and-” Mashing the thick crown of his cockhead, he can’t control his speed. His thoughts. Not even the way he’s speaking by now. “-and I think m’addicted to mating presses now.”

In the end, the only thing you can do is open your mouth to formulate a quiet coo at your pussydrunk boyfriend- only to have him slam one clammy, open palm down on your neck to stop you from talking.

Choking you. 

“S-sorry, baby, it’s just that your pretty hck! voice makes me…” He’s trailing off with an utterly gaped maw, saliva leaking in excess from one side of his mouth. And you can feel him throb ragingly near your cervix, “-get even harder.”

Somehow managing to wheeze out, “But- ngh- I like that, Cho.” Your hamstrings ache once your ankles pull him in by the back of his sweaty neck, crushing him to you. “Like that you’re inside so deeeep.”

“You…you like it?” Another whiff of jujutsu, another few thwacks of his ever-growing cock.

“Mhm—” You jerk your hips crazily, “More-”

The only response you’re getting for the moment is Choso’s lithe, toned body bending over until his forehead plasters against your own. Staring deeply into your dizzy peripherals when he mutters, “Then- then take it. Take it all.”

It’s an orgasm you didn’t even see coming - just one, two, three sloppy thwacks of his curved cockhead against your g-spot. Even harder.

And he can see the precise moment your high takes over; with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, mouth agape. “Oh- oh my god, nghhh, m’cumming m’cumming—Cho-!”

Having you cream all ‘round his length with your quivering walls was simply heaven. 

Each peak n’ explosion of white-hot pleasure made Choso rover his lengthy shaft, dragging out your high until your throat was hoarse with moans. And just when you thought you couldn’t be even more cockdrunk- he’s bursting into his own high.

Hard. Fast.

Stark ivory bliss flashing behind his eyelids the very second that your treacly cunt’s being painted in the same color. And it was so hot, too, practically taking over your body from the inside out with his webbed wads gluing your walls together. “O-oh.” He crouches back just a bit - for just a second - before spitting straight down your soppy slit.

It adds onto the ropes upon ropes of scalding syrup spraying between your legs, trickling down onto the bedsheets in a puddle.

“Look at that-” Choso rasps out, still jackhammering away like he would die if he spent a second without pounding you through the mattress. 

Sensually, he sticks the pulsating, reddened crown of his cock way past the line of your womb. And you’re just starting to ponder that you should ask him to fold you into a mating press more often when his voice trembles - octaves higher, cracking at the back of his throat. “Do you think it took, baby? Or…do I need to try again?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Jet TWO!

“Heh…?” Sukuna had raised an impish pink brow when you’d started describing your ideal sex position. And the longer you’d gone on, the more parched his second mouth had gotten - flicking his monstrous tongue, salivating. “Humans and their filthy creations.”

Rolling both sets of his crimson eyes, he was then easily picking you up in his arms to sprawl you across the ancient bed. 

“Oh well.” He’s forced to hunch more so than he normally would with his hulking figure, and the King of Curses is just so big that your ankles can barely even lock ‘round the back of his neck.

Two arms keeping them spread, the other two bringing your treacly cunt down to kiss his weepy mushroom tips. He grins, “Guess you’re my filthy human.”

And fuck- Sukuna would never fucking admit it, but it just felt so right to have his thick, probing cocks enter you like this. To have you so whiny and helpless pinned underneath his body, he barely even has to try to slip in a few staggering inches that scrape your walls. 

Puffy pussylips spread allll wide open by his circumferences, there was more resistance than usual and that only made it sweeter. Usually having you ride him with his sheer size meant he didn’t get to see you all squirming and bucking out-of-control like this…

Fuck- just then, Sukuna gasps.

He falters. 

Feeling his throbbing lengths spurt out in thin ribbons of ivory sap, he had barely even put it in before cumming. “Goddammit-” Grumbling, “God-goddammit, s’all because of you- because of this damn position.”

“You’re blaming that?” You’re whining, almost smugly. It feels like a whirlwind to have his dewy webs of cum swirlin’ around your insides - you’d just made the big, bad Ryomen Sukuna cum early. Just from a mating press. 

And then he’s pumping a few of his clingy ounces past your walls with a swat of his girths. Flooding your inner thighs with glistening seed that sticks to your skin, “Oh, Kuna-”

Snickering, one of his cursed fingers flick right where your throbbing cunt was all presented for him like a gift. Your lower half was just so limp that it’s all he has to do to make you gush out in a waterfall of slick - loudly. “Kehhh, like this, huh? So this ‘mating press’ is about heh- mating, isn’t it, brat?” Another one of his four hands smush your cheeks together into such an embarrassing pout, “Then you better take it like a champ, ma.”

You’re all at Sukuna’s mercy, and he was rude about it.

Using the plump, pre-sheened crowns of his cocks like headlights- each mazing pump of his girths have your walls revealing hidden nooks n’ crannies you didn’t even know existed. To fill you up. “F-fuck–!” So sloppy that the wads of his cum mix with your slick to let off slurp-slurp-sluuuurps.

“Oh? So you agree?” For a split-second, you think he’s talking to you- 

And you’re blubbering out something that halfway resembled an answer- “I- it’s-”

“Not you. Her.”

Before the cavern of his second mouth licks its lips and snickers. Sukuna stares down at your wet cunt after a few more lecherous squelches, “See? She agrees?”

Clawing down his bulky deltoids, “Fuh-fuuuuck! Just like that- just like that, Kuna—”

“Hah! The entire castle’s gonna know that they’re getting a fuckin’ heir soon, mama.” Rolling his eyes, he’s gifting your humid pussy with a few more inches. “Well…not that I mind.”

With a few more jabs until the strawberry-shaded globes of his tips were burrowing deeply into the back of your cervix with a splat. It was a stretch so good that you find yourself sobbing, your thighs twitchin’ weakly over his shoulders. You couldn’t even escape if you wanted to- 

Your chin hits the front of your chest and you sniffle, being manhandled all out of shape by his arms meant that you could see your front clearly. Especially the large, thick bulge that was taking shape. “O-oh my god…”

“Huh?” He’s catching sight of it too - that cute lil’ tummy bulge his cocks were fucking into you. Each pap! of skin-on-skin leaving your stomach all bumpy with his sheer size, “Jeez…this- this fucking position. Hell, it’s driving me crazy.”

The slivery slit of your cunt weeps the very second that Sukuna’s cursed tongue slithers out n’ laps at your pussy. Just teasing your bloated folds with the rough texture of his taste buds.

Tittering, “S’drivin’ you crazy too, huh?” Nodding along as if he was just thoroughly in conversation with your pussy, the King swats his rugged fingertips back down on your clit and watches you weep. “Yeahhh—I can tell. So talkative, mama, always so chatty when I hah- fuck you.” From both sets of your pretty lips.

And then he’s turning to you - all wrecked n’ trembling. The lengthy muscle of Sukuna’s second tongue has the audacity to trek up your body and lick at the clogged mess of drool leaving your mouth.

Sensually, lazily, he’s stirrin’ around his pummeling cocks just so. Letting wisps of cum stick against the roof of your cunt, your cervix, every spot in-between. 

Sukuna’s leaning over in the mating press to juuust let his cum-glossed tips poke against your womb, letting out such a noisy squelch from below. “Mmm.” He hums, watching as you struggle to take it all. “Y’know why she’s so chatty right- hah- now, brat?”

“Wh-why?”

“Because she know m’just getting started.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - BIG BOYYY

SMACK–!

You’re unsure who’s whining more at the feeling of Ino’s reddened, scorching hot tip spanking down between your pussylips. 

Letting the treacly syrup of your slick coat his cock till it was all glistening, he’s measuring his fat girth out against your entrance just to make sure you’d be able to take him this way. Because he usually did have you ride, maybe even a sloppy doggy once-in-a-while - but now…

“The- the tiktok said it was like this, pretty. Open those legs up wide f’me.” Your boyfriend’s announcing, throwing your legs over his toned shoulders. 

And you gawk at the way that Ino’s biceps flex as he’s holding onto both your ankles behind his neck. “And then it was like this, and…” Truly, you couldn’t forget that he was so strong- and he barely even realized it. Easily bending you in half like a pretzel, Ino doesn’t even hesitate before making the curves of your knees strike your tits, the ridges of his abs blending against your core. “-I bend you like this. All good, sweetness?”

“Y-yes— fuck!” You don’t know how you’re managing to huff out an answer- but whatever’s left of it is being thrust out of your body the very next second. 

Because Ino can’t stand a single moment seeing you all spread n’ dripping wet for him like this - not a single moment. That is, if he isn’t spreading you with all of his aching hot cock.

And before you can even register it, the probin’ crown of his length finds its way stuffed between your pussylips. Ruby-red tip disappearing past your slick hole, he’s pushing and pushing inside with a strained groan. “F-fuck. I’m not fine- oh, m’not fine, pretty- think m’losing my mind—”

“T-Taku, baby–” Your tongue salivates generously at the ridged lines of his veiny shaft, he was smearing you out so openly without even trying. “-this is called a ‘mating press’, y’know?”

You swear you feel his weepy orifice twitch straight inside you, banging against the sides of your walls filthily. “So…so that’s what it is, sweetness.” Kissing you sweetly, your lips are the perfect way for Ino to muffle his husky whines as he pumps and pumps and pumps. “Whoever created this thing is in fucking hngh- heaven- because I am.”

You’re almost feeling a giggle bubble its way up to your throat, dragging your hand through his tawny locks. “I’m sure.”

“No- no, you don’t get it, pretty.”  He’s pleading with you, almost shellshocked. 

With one hand manhandling your hips to dangle cleanly off of the mattress, the other lacing on top of your scalp to get you to look down where he was burrowing his inches. “Look at me- look at- us.” He’s hissing, hips angling each precise strike to target your sweetest spots. “I can bend you like thiiiis—”

In an instant, the hand at your scalp rovers down to your neck - and he’s draaaagging you up bodily, kissing your mouth. “Or like thiiiis-” Moaning, he’s then instantly changing the pressure on your throat to shove you down deeper into the bedsprings. Curling your spine into the perfect curvature, pinning you down with his bodyweight even further, “E-even like…this.”

He was just so trained with his moves - swift and precise through battle, but right now he was using them to ruin you. Ino was naturally chiselled; all ladder-like abs, firm arms, and a veiny v-line that were all pushing into you right now. 

And with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re yelping as he moves you around- this time, Ino has his meaty thighs coming up to cushion the sides of your hips. 

Blushin’ tip creaming down your cervix, washboard abs glissading down your front. “Oh my god-” You can feel a thrill zing through your body at the blatant show of his strength. He was manhandling you like it was nothing. “Taku- fuck fuck fuck, s’more.”

“More?” His voice cracks, his chocolate irises water at the way your velvety insides keep clinging onto him. “M-more?”

And you could’ve sworn that was a whimper.

Right before his pummeling cock was steeply slamming into you - faster, sloppier. With absolutely no care or rhythm; nothing other than the aim to stir up your insides until each nook n’ cranny was thoroughly stretched. And he was succeeding, too. 

Thrashing the globular crown of his shaft against the very entrance to your womb and hissing out–“More? S’that it? S’this more?” Voice cracked. Tone turning rugged.

“Mmm—” You cup Ino’s blushing cheeks and he whines. Just staring into your eyes leaves the bulbous end of his cockhead weepy, “Harder.”

He echoes, “H-harder?”

“Harder.” 

Grinning, and oh- Ino’s got his hands on you already. It’s like a second, animal instinct the way he’s then clawing down your inner thighs, pushing up your every limb, bending you till your joints were creaking nearly as loud as the bed was right now. 

Thrust after thrust.

He’s gluing the curvature of his mushroom tip against the spongy layer of your g-spot, hard enough that you nearly don’t hear the words that leave his mouth next-

“Next time…” Ino starts off, cute pinkish lips trembling. He stares at you with a dopey grin as his cock stretches you furiously, “-I also saw a hah- tiktok about a thing called a…full nelson, pretty.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Kitty Whisperer

“I-I’m gonna fucking purple hollow whoever came up with the fuck! mating press, sweetheart.” He’s leaning in close- leaning in until you could make out every flicker of blue lightning within Gojo’s eyes, every gleam in his peary white grin. And he hisses, “I can’t fucking stop.”

And he couldn’t - not if he even wanted to.

Though, fuck- Gojo’s thrashing the fat, bludgeoning crown of his cock against your cervix until he’s seeing stars. Until his pale v-line was rubbed all red with slamming impact - Gojo doesn’t think he’d ever want to stop.

It’s like he was in heaven with the way you’re clenchin’ around his throbbing length. Gojo was just so hard that his glazed, bulging tip was bruising your cervix.

And all you can do is drag red, red nailmarks down the expanse of his muscular back. “Oh my god-”

He hums in faux thought, though you could feel the way that Gojo’s strawberry tip was flinching in excitement near your cervix. “Mmmm, I prefer ‘Satoru’, my girl—”

“S-Satoru–!”

“That’s right-” He’s punctuating each n’ every syllable with a hollowing thud! of his shaft, voice running ragged. Pitches lilting. And there’s something in the way he looks at you with widened blue eyes that makes you think he wants to eat you alive. “-that’s right that’s right- say my fuck–ing- name.”

And the thing about the strongest was that he wasn’t just pounding you into the sagging bedsprings - right now, he was sloppily reeling his cock back allll the way until the shiny globe of his tip pulled out with dewy plops! Instead of his usually smooth thrusts- Gojo kept on pumping his long, solid inches from leaking orifice of his length right till his very base. Every single time.

It was simply driving you mad at the carnal stretch, your toes curl every time his vein-covered hilt was stretching out your entrance. “This mating press’s gonna drive me ma-mad.” He’s muttering, teeth grit against your ear. “Gonna drive me fuck! Crazy.”

And several things are happening at once - he’s thumping the spongy layer of your cervix with a particularly rough strike, and your flickering bedside lamp shatters.

“Fuh-fuck–!”

“Shit, your powers…” You’re keening at the shards of glass that are halted in midair - your husband’s limitless was covering the both of you now. “Toru, you’re going out of ngh- control-”

“And how m’I expected to stay in control, sweetheart–?” The white-haired man drawls out, almost mockingly. Pitch finding itself a few octaves higher, he’s dragging the puffy veins of his cock down your walls until you find them helplessly sensitive. 

Trying oh-so-hard to extract yourself from his merciless hold, you’re clamoring your feet off of his shoulders and bucking up the mattress like you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away or slam your hips down for more, more, more. “Not when I- oh! not when I have you like this- fuck! Not when m’fucking you like thiiiiis. You can’t expect me to stay sane when I have you in a fucking mating press, my girl.”

And if you thought that the Gojo Satoru wouldn’t notice your restless little squirming, then you haven’t been married to him long enough.

Because, before you know it, he has both hands glued to your throat pliably draaaaag your body down to thwack against his. Hard. Heaving, “Don’t you dare fucking run.” He mutters, something tremoring in his tone. “I can’t let you run when I have you like hah- this…” Squeezing his eyes shut, lightning flickering behind like it made his body ache animalistically to have you like this. “I should never have let the elders talk me into this- oh, ‘Gojo heir’ my ass- I should n-never…”

He’s trailing off- cutting himself off with a deep groan.

And you’re whining just as soon as his stirrin’ cock pokes against your womb, opening you up in ways that you never thought possible before. “Shit- b-but I like it, Toru.”

“Mmm—” Gojo’s body flinches like he’d just been shocked by a thousand volts- and it takes him a few seconds to register what you just said. “You’re so right.” Raising his bleary eyes to stare dead-on into yours, he’s musing, “Y-you’re soooo right, sweetheart. How else would you have gotten ngh- fucked like this?”

What did he mean by…?

Your husband snickers, rosy lips curling with slight smugness - and it’s only then that you’re realizing you’d just uttered that last sentence out loud. 

Almost predatory, Gojo nuzzles his nose bridge to the crook of your neck. “You wanna fuuuuck- know what it means to be put in a mating press by me, sweetheart?” Slap after slap of his bludgeoning tip left your ears popped, barely able to make out his words. “Means m’gonna fuck a baby into ya.”

“O-oh.” You gape, but the strongest wasn’t done just yet.

“Means m’gonna hngh- reach into your deepest spots.” Right on time, the fatness of his crowned shaft reaches for your cervix and then digs in deep— like he would go even further if he could. “Means m’gonna p-permanently keep ya like ngh- this. L-like—”

And then he’s drooling, mouth open and his lust-filled thoughts trailing off.

Without any warning, Gojo reaches back for a split-second to spit down to your leaking slit. Looking through his long ivory lashes as you gasp, “Don’t act like you don’t like it, my girl.”

“I do I do–” You nod your head fervently- or maybe it was the sheer driving force of each of his thrusts. If it was even possible, your ankles are locking even further surrounding the perspired back of his head. Bliss seeping into your veins. “I like it s’much, want it even more, Toru.”

That renders him speechless. It renders him gawking down at you.

The only thing that Gojo can do is stroke his throbbing cock down your tight channel with drill after drill, “Oh my god-” He’s whispering to himself, pounding into you so hard that your ass cheeks were being pushed cleanly off the bedsheets by now. “Oh my god oh my hah-” 

He’s darting his eyes down to take but a single glimpse of you - all folded in half into his mating press - then averts his gaze the moment his skin starts to prickle with cursed energy. 

“What the…having you like this—” He couldn’t even look at you. “How m’I supposed to even go on?”

The ball of tightness at the pit of your stomach makes you shiver, “Ngh- oh my god…mm, Toru-”

In sensual synchronization with the glutinous swipes of his cock, he’s setting one hand free from your throat. Thumping it against his temple as if to knock some sense back into him- “I-I think m’going insane.” Breathily, he shakes his head, eyes now finally daring to look back at you. “Think m’getting new powers- think she’s…” 

His mouth falls open at the sudden squelch letting out from your soppy pussylips, his dazed eyes focus so intensely that you can feel cursed energy sweep your body. Taking over. 

Until he’s finally muttering, “Y’know what she’s oh- saying to me, sweetheart?”

“What?” You whine, your primal greed getting to the best of you. And now the only thing you can do is perk your hips up to match his feral cadence.

And Gojo cracks such a dangerous, pussydrunk grin. “She says we’re gonna make a baaaaaby—”

With a final, solid spank of his rovering cock, you’re getting run over by your high. And he knew this would happen - he saw it with the power of his Six Eyes - so Gojo wastes no time ramming you through your peaks.

“Cum—ing…” The spheroid end of his shaft makes your toes curl, caressing your every deepest inch through each white-hot spark of pleasure - so hard that your husband barely even realizes when he, too, crashes into his orgasm.

Something bursts. 

Collapsing onto your body with his hulking one, grunt heaving after each splat! of wadded cum leaking into your womb.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” He’s damn-near whimpering in your ear, and the angular position of the mating press made it easy for him to pump your cunt full with as many ounces of seed as possible. Enough so that you’re just spilling ivory syrup from your entrance, forming a ring of sap on his base. “Ohhh yeah, oh yeah, sweetheart.”

Gojo feels the warm, knotted mess and twitches- the bedroom lights had shattered but he could still see. In fact, the entirety of Tokyo didn’t have power right about now. 

He gives an experimental thrust and listens for the sluuuurp- “D’you think if I cum in you again our baby’s gonna be twice as strong, my girl?”

“…”

A/N. I thought I was soooo funny for that jet two joke-

"Julian?"

Speaking of The Mrs. Dillinger.

He glanced up from his desk the moment you entered. "There you are," he said, voice smooth.

"Just the person I need." He tries to make his voice sound professional since he told you that he needs help regarding his programs. But the grin on his face betrays him.

You squinted your eyes but in a slightly playful way when you entered and immediately saw that grin on his face that you recognized all too well. He loves being an unpredictable man, but you can always read him like an open book. He loves and hates it at the same time.

"I need a small favor, love." Julian rose from his chair, holding a sleek black case something that looked far too high-tech to be a casual accessory. He placed it on the side of his desk.

"C'mere." He beckons you.

He glanced at you as you walked towards him. A smirk appeared on his lips, and then he returned his gaze at the black case. "I’ve been designing something new for the programs."

He opened the case with a hiss and a small amount of artificial smoke escapes that made your eyes lit up in amazement.

A bodysuit lay folded inside, a black bodysuit with faint red lines that hinted at the led lights hidden beneath. Even folded, the suit seemed alive, the subtle glow pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

He straightened up, looking at his design proudly as he wrapped a hand on your waist and pulled you closer beside him.

"A newly designed bodysuit by me. It is a promise of power, style, and a little bit of danger. Isn't it?" He stated proudly.

"I need my wife to model it for me."

Your eyebrows raised. That grin on his face and the bodysuit that he wants you to model for him. You know there's more to this. Your wife instincts kicked in.

"You have models for that." You spoke, looking up at him. It's not that you don't want to. It's just that you want to tease him because you can see right through him again.

"Yes," He answered immediately. "But I need a real-world fit test for the new program suit. Who else would I like to see other than my wife, hm?"

"Would you like to see someone else model for your husband?" He asked in a serious tone this time.

It made your breath hitch. He knows your buttons.

"No." You replied in a low and serious voice this time.

"Exactly." Giving you a bit of an attitude when he said that.

"Come on, darling. Humor your husband. You'll look perfect." He whispered in your ear as he takes the bodysuit out from the case, handing it to you.

"The last time I helped you with something, I ended up on a magazine cover." You sighed out.

"Maybe sprawled out on my desk, yes." He said casually, eying you intensely.

Your eyes narrowed, but you felt a bit of a spark of excitement.

Then, you finally wore it. The suit clung perfectly, highlighting every curve and line. That's the view he wanted.

He watched you. Only a small smirk on his face, but then he moved to his desk as he pressed something. The red led lights of the bodysuit roared to life, tracing sharp, glowing lines along your arms, legs, and torso. It made you gasp, and your eyes widened.

His eyes narrowed and lit up with pride and excitement. He's so proud of his creation, and he's so mesmerized seeing you wear it.

"Turn around for me."

"Julian-" You breathed out. Your mind is still processing everything.. This is just.. wow..

"Give me a 360, Mrs. Dillinger. Engineer's order."

You sighed dramatically but obeyed, giving him a slow, teasing spin. His gaze never leaves you. The admiration he feels is turning dangerously close to desire.

His eyes wandered, admiring his design and admiring how breathtaking it looks on you.

"It's phenomenal." He breathed out, walking towards you. His eyes still wandering.

"You are phenomenal!" His voice rose to a proud tone as he placed his hands on your hips, giving your hips a quick squeeze.

You felt thrilled and appreciated. The small annoyance you got in you when he gave you an attitude earlier disappeared just now.

"What a genius." You complimented him with a smirk, your hands came up to rest on his shoulders. He let out a chuckle and turned you, your back facing his desk.

"I think I'll need further testing.." He purred as he slowly walks backward toward his desk, a slow smile curling on his lips.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt like he pushing you down on his desk.

He captured your lips with a hungry kiss, you kissed back with the same intensity. He slid his hand along the back of your knee and raised one of your legs up to his waist.

"Of course you will." You whispered seductively through the kiss.

You wrapped that leg around his waist as he helped you to sit on top of his desk. He slowly pushes your body down on his desk by deepening the kiss. Your hands made its way to unzip the bodysuit, but he then pulled away from the kiss, his hand shot out to grip your wrists firmly to stop you for unzipping the top of the bodysuit.

"Ah, ah, ah.. This," He suddenly spoke as he slowly zips up the zipper again. "Stays. on." He demanded.

With that, you just leaned back. Now sprawled out on his desk while feeling butterflies in your stomach.

His hand detached the lower clothing of the bodysuit, pulled it off along with your panties. He got in between your legs, unzipping his fly while breathing heavily. He glanced at you, seeing you breathing heavily as well. Your chest visibly rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths due to the bodysuit’s top tight fit.

Julian's pants and boxers pooled down at his feet. He lined up at your entrance. You let out a shaky breath, as you ready yourself.

"Should I hold on?" You asked playfully.

He gave you a smirk at that and a playful scoff.

"Let's go slow at first, honey." He whispered seductively with that grin you know all too well on his face.

But what he meant by "slow" is that he's going to let you go through some teasing. He finally slides in his tip, only his tip. He wrapped a hand on his cock and fucked you with only his tip for like 7 minutes now. You had also been whimpering and squirming for the past 7 minutes.

Julian is also just stopping himself from slamming into you. He lets out a low grunt as his other hand toyed with the zipper of the top bodysuit, tugging it down slightly to expose your upper chest.

"Mmm.. That's more like it." He breathed out as he continued only pushing his tip in and out of you.

"Julian-" you whimpered out. "You're going to make me finish too early."

It drew out a moan from Julian, making him push in a bit deeper now.

"Don't I always do?" He shakily breathed out. Both of his hands suddenly gripped your hips, and he finally slammed in with a growl.

He held you in place as your body jerked as he finally slammed in. You let out a moan and arched your hips for him.

"Fuck." He grunted as he started to fuck you with intense concentration that made your palms sweaty as you watch him.

You threw your head back with a moan. As you looked at him again, his gaze flickers at your body and at your face from time to time as he continues his thrusts. He's admiring how hot you look with the slightly unzipped top of the newly designed bodysuit he made while being in this position. You can now feel his thrusts being sloppy. Your eyes flickered to his face, seeing pleasure etched on his face and his curls starting to get messy on his forehead.

"I love the view." You commented with a seductive chuckle.

He growled, it made his grip on your hips tighten, and the movements of his hips stutter. He slammed in with a final thrust, and there you felt the hot liquid paint your insides.

Damn, he's a sucker for your praises.

You gasped out, wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. It made you finish. Your orgasm hitting you like a wave. A messy moan escaped your lips.

You both stayed like that for a second until Julian slowly collapsed on you, his head resting on your heaving chest.

"Fuck, you're the best." He chuckled breathlessly.

He then lifted up his head, his hair a bit messy as he looks at you.

"Keep it," he whispered, referring to the bodysuit. "My wife deserves the original one. I will name it after you." he added.

"Her?"

Homelander’s voice dripped with disdain as he watched Firecracker spewing her rant about family values and patriotism, all while waving her hands around. She reminded him of a third-rate talk show host. He grimaced, turning to Sage.

"Yeah," Sage responded, standing at his side.

"Really?" he sneered, barely able to mask his disgust.

"Mhm," Sage hummed in affirmation.

"Seems like she fell off her Jet Ski one too many times," Homelander muttered, his lip curling.

Sage, unbothered by his sarcasm, simply shook her head. "No, now that Starlight’s back leading the Starlighters, we need someone like her."

Homelander raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm. And that’s gonna shut them up?" He knew exactly what "them" meant: the endless critics, social media commentators, all the noise that clawed at his mind.

"No," Sage replied, her voice low and cryptic. "She’s going to make them louder."

He shot her a look. "You gonna trust me or not?" she added before he could question it further.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He was growing tired of these briefings, the endless parade of new supes Vought was parading through. But then, his eyes landed on you.

You were surrounded by a group of eager reporters, microphones pushed into your face. Unlike Firecracker, who couldn't stop her loud, brash performance, you were different. You weren't reciting hollow slogans or pandering to anyone. You stood there with an almost serene composure, answering each question softly, with a gentle smile. There was something…sincere in the way you spoke, like you actually cared about the answers, not just the headlines they’d create.

"And what about her?" Homelander murmured, his gaze locked on you as if he were seeing something unexpected for the first time.

"The Pink Dahlia," Sage said, repeating your supe name as though it was obvious. "She’s going to be the new Starlight."

Homelander frowned, feeling a flicker of confusion. The new Starlight? That seemed impossible. No one could ever replace that bitch's popularity, her…adoring fanbase. But Sage seemed to sense his thoughts, elaborating with an almost bored tone.

"The only reason Starlight is liked is because of her sincerity. Her kindness," Sage explained, nodding towards you. "Pink Dahlia is going to be America’s next sweetheart supe."

Homelander hummed, though his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the sight of you. Sage was talking, but he was no longer listening. Instead, he watched as the cameras captured your every move. For a moment, you glanced in his direction. Not out of fear or awe, but with that same quiet softness you gave to everyone. It unnerved him how unaffected you seemed by his presence, by who he was.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

Sage dragged him into yet another pointless debate, but his attention was only half there. He knew she’d eventually let it go once she realized his disinterest, and sure enough, she did. He was quick to pass her along to the vultures—photographers desperate to get the next "supe girl" in their lenses.

As Homelander turned, his gaze landed on Ryan, sulking in one of the chairs at the back of the room. Frustration boiled inside him. He couldn’t stand seeing his son like that, so withdrawn, when the whole world was theirs.

But then, his brow furrowed. You had walked over, leaving the cameras behind. Quietly, you sat beside Ryan, the two of you almost invisible in the flurry of the room. He watched as you offered your hand to Ryan, a gentle smile on your face. His son, who had been lost in his own thoughts, blinked in surprise before hesitantly shaking your hand.

For the first time in hours, Homelander saw the tension leave Ryan’s shoulders. His usual sulk was replaced with something lighter. He listened to whatever you were saying, nodding slowly. Homelanders listened carefully to your sweet words, and watched how they were clearly having an effect on Ryan.

Interesting.

Homelander had too many fucking things going on for his mind to keep circling back to you. It irritated him, gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

First, the rage that boiled up every time he saw those goddamn Starlighter protests. He could hardly walk outside without hearing people chant for Starlight’s bullshit message, waving their signs, spewing their anti-Homelander garbage. It infuriated him. Then there was the constant frustration in dealing with Neuman. She was slippery, always too clever, too calm, and it made every negotiation with her feel like wading through quicksand.

But every time his temper cooled, his thoughts went back to you. You. That sweet, unassuming smile that you flashed so casually, like it wasn’t the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. And then there was your body—tight and perfect in that small pink and green suit, looking like you belonged on a magazine cover instead of here, in this hellhole with people like him.

It made him furious.

How could he let himself be distracted by you, when everything else around him was crumbling? He was supposed to be in control, but instead, he was falling apart. First he let that fucking loser Hughie get away. Then, Ryan—his own son—had the nerve to run off to see Butcher after everything Homelander had given him. After all the time and care he’d put into Ryan, after showing him the world, how was he still not good enough?

It made him sick.

And then... and then there was the other thing. His reflection. The part of him that never shut up, that always knew where to strike. His other self had looked at him and sneered. Told him he was weak, that he was a joke. That no matter how much power he had, no matter how feared he was, he was still nothing.

And maybe it was right. Maybe he was losing it.

So he decided to visit home. The lab. Where they had made him. Where he had been molded into the strongest supe to ever walk the earth. He’d slaughtered every single one of the scientists who had "raised" him. He stood in the sterile halls, the faint hum of the machines still active around him. The silence made him feel grounded, like this was the only place in the world where he could truly be himself.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Not when the image of you—your smile, your soft gaze, your kindness—kept seeping into his mind. You were a weakness he couldn’t afford. And that filled him with even more rage.

And yet the moment he saw your face, all that rage he had been holding onto evaporated like steam. The blood, the anger, the frustration—it all seemed distant as he took in the worried expression on your face.

He had strolled back into Vought Tower like nothing was wrong, though his suit was still soaked in the blood and viscera of the scientists he’d butchered in the lab. It didn’t matter—he was Homelander, after all. No one would dare question him. But fate must have been laughing at him because, of all people, he ran straight into you.

You froze when you saw him, your eyes widening in pure shock at the sight of him covered in carnage. Anyone else would have been horrified, would have run or screamed, but not you. Instead, your lips parted and, with that same quiet softness he had come to expect, you said, “Would you like some help?”

Homelander just stared, his mind slowing to a crawl as the words sank in. He was a god, covered in the blood of men, and here you were, offering help. Something inside him shifted in that moment. He nodded, feeling strangely empty and vulnerable, like a child waiting for instructions. In the back of his mind, he realized this was the first time you had actually spoken to him directly.

His chest tightened as you stepped closer, your eyes flicking up to his with cautious concern. You reached out and gently placed your pink-gloved hand into his red, blood-stained one. Homelander nearly closed his eyes, focusing intently on the warmth of your touch. That warmth—it spread through him, melting away the sharp edges of his anger. No one touched him like that, without fear or calculation.

You led him silently into the elevator, your hand still in his, guiding him like he was something fragile. He couldn't help but glance down at your hand in his, his mind spinning as he tried to commit the sensation to memory. The touch wasn’t just physical—it felt like a lifeline, something pulling him out of the darkness he had been sinking into.

As the elevator doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the building surrounded them, and Homelander found himself focusing solely on you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t recoil. You just held his hand, gently, as if leading him somewhere safe. He didn’t feel like a monster in that moment, not in your presence.

The elevator dinged softly, and you led him down the hall to your floor. The sight was unlike anything in Vought Tower—lush greenery, vibrant pinks and soft petals blooming everywhere. It felt alive, warm. This was your power after all, to bend nature to your will. And it was a reflection of you, full of life, soft but powerful. He was surprised it was even still Vought Tower.

He hadn’t expected you to bring him here. You could’ve taken him to his own floor, left him in one of the pristine, sterile bathrooms of his suite. But no—you’d brought him to your space, a sanctuary. It was so unlike the cold, artificial world of Vought. And so much like you.

Slowly, you guided him to the bathroom. The plants trailed along the walls, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. You looked up at him, blinking those wide, soft eyes of yours. A single word entered his mind: Fawn. You looked like a fawn, delicate and innocent, standing before something dangerous without any idea of what it could do to you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, unable to find the words to speak. Still entranced by you, he wondered how you could be so kind, so gentle, to someone like him. Anyone else would have left him to clean himself up in cold silence, but you…you stayed.

You nodded quietly, as if you understood, then turned to the bath, filling it with warm water. He watched you bite your lip in thought, and all he could think about was biting your lip himself. His gaze lingered on your mouth, and for a split second, he imagined pulling you close, feeling that softness against his own. But instead, he remained silent, his breath heavy as you carefully and gently began to undress him.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with such care. You didn’t fumble or stare, didn’t sneak a lustful glance as you removed his suit piece by piece. You were entirely respectful, your touch light, focused on the task. And when you led him to sink into the bath, your hands still guiding him, he realized that you weren’t treating him like Homelander. You weren’t treating him like a god. You were treating him like…a person.

The warm water surrounded him, washing away the blood and grime. But what made him feel truly clean was your touch. You knelt by the tub, peeling off your pink gloves, and began washing him with your bare hands. He could feel your skin against his, the warmth of your palms gliding over his body.

He had to fight to keep from shivering. The sensation of your skin on his—bare and vulnerable—sent a wave of euphoria through him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. This wasn’t lust. This was something deeper, something far more dangerous. He was intoxicated by you, not because of what you were doing, but because of who you were. The softness, the care, the genuine kindness…it was all so foreign to him.

And as you worked in silence, cleaning away the blood, he realized with a start that he never wanted this feeling to end.

Homelander couldn’t take his eyes off you as you washed him. Every gentle stroke of your hands sent a ripple of pleasure through him, and though his eyes begged to close, he refused. He needed to see you. To watch you, to take in every movement, every touch. Your fingers slid through his hair, and for a moment, he almost gave in—almost let his eyes flutter shut and just melt into the sensation. But his gaze stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

You could feel his stare, that much was clear, yet you didn’t say a word. You just kept working, silent and serene. And it started to bother him, gnawing at him. How could you be so quiet, so unaffected by his presence? He needed to hear your voice again. He craved it, like a drug, something to soothe the irritation building inside him.

“Talk to me,” he said, the words slipping out in a petulant tone he hadn’t meant to use. But he didn’t care. He wanted your attention, your words, your everything.

Your eyes met his, wide and curious, like you were studying him, trying to figure him out. You tilted your head, and once again, the thought struck him—fawn. That was what you reminded him of. A fawn, delicate and gentle, standing before a predator without realizing the danger.

You pursed your lips, thinking carefully about what to say, and for just a second, Homelander finally closed his eyes. He wanted to focus solely on your voice. Nothing else mattered. Just you.

“I named myself Pink Dahlia because my favorite color is pink,” you began, your sweet voice filling the room like music, “and dahlias symbolize love and devotion.”

His eyes snapped open.

Love and devotion. The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot, shattering every other thought. You kept talking, explaining something about flower meanings and other potential supe names you’d considered, but Homelander didn’t give a fuck about that. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was love and devotion.

It was a sign. It had to be. You were made for him. There was no other explanation. How could it be a coincidence that the one person who treated him with kindness, who looked at him without fear, had chosen a name that embodied exactly what he wanted from you? Exactly what he needed. Love and devotion.

His chest tightened with the realization, his mind spinning with the possibilities. You would love him. You would be devoted to him completely. It was inevitable. Fate had brought you into his life for a reason.

As you continued to speak, your voice soft and calming, he stared at you, consumed by the thought of it—how perfect it would be. You, by his side, loyal and loving, filling the void that no one else could. The world would bow before him, but you…you would worship him in the way he craved, in a way no one ever had.

You were starting to seriously piss him off. The way you acted, pretending like nothing had happened between you, like the connection between you wasn’t so strong it practically vibrated in the air. You carried on as if the two of you didn’t share something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. It was infuriating.

Then again, if you had acknowledged it—if you’d brought it up and confronted him about it—he probably would’ve blown a fucking gasket. His control was fragile enough as it was.

But trying to talk to you? That was a whole other level of frustration. Every time you looked up at him with those soft, gentle eyes, and gave him that sweet, unassuming smile, all the words in his head vanished. Just gone. Like you had some kind of power over him that even he didn’t understand.

So, he did the only thing he could think of to get you closer—he forced The Deep to move, ordering him to sit somewhere else, so that you could sit right next to him. He wasn’t subtle about it, either. He didn’t care if anyone noticed. As long as you were close, that was all that mattered.

Then came the Vought V52 Expo, and Homelander could feel the agitation building inside him. He needed to talk to you, to make you see what was right in front of you, but the timing was never right. On the bright side, things were going well with Ryan. He was bonding with his son, teaching him to stand up for himself, to say no when he needed to. It felt…good, like he was finally getting through to him.

But by the time they got to the V52 Expo, the agitation had grown into something much sharper. His eyes tracked you across the stage, watching as you announced your new environmental awareness project—the Dahlia Project. Fans were cheering for you, screaming your name, and you looked so damn perfect up there.

You were smiling, waving to the crowd, talking passionately about your cause, and the noise of the crowd was deafening. But all Homelander could think about was how you hadn’t even looked at him once. Not a glance. Not a dedication. Nothing.

He watched you with cold, calculated eyes, trying to keep the growing frustration in check. You were good at this, at drawing people in, making them adore you. But how could you not see that you already had him? That no one else in the crowd mattered compared to him?

And as the fans continued to cheer, his grip tightened around the milkshake he’d bought for you. He needed to speak to you. To make you understand. And the longer you went on, the more he realized—this wasn’t just about getting closer to you anymore. It was about making sure you knew that you belonged to him.

Homelander was standing with Ryan, guiding him through yet another lesson in asserting control. Ryan had been eager to "help" people, to really understand what that meant. So, when Homelander saw an opportunity, he called over Adam—the Vought employee who had been making his assistant visibly uncomfortable with inappropriate advances.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed skeptically, his young face twisting in uncertainty as he looked at the assistant. “Um… is he making you uncomfortable? You can tell me. You won’t get in trouble.”

The assistant bit her lip nervously before nodding, her voice hesitant but honest. “Kind of… yeah.”

Homelander raised an eyebrow, turning his attention to Ryan. “Ryan, what do you think we should do about that?”

Ryan hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He still hadn’t fully grasped the power he held, and Homelander could sense his uncertainty, the hesitation that made his own patience wear thin. With a sigh, he glanced away—only for his eyes to land on you, walking past with that usual air of calm about you.

“Dahlia,” he called, his voice a little sharper than he intended. “Come over here.”

You looked up at him, eyebrows raised in that sweet, expectant way that only made him more agitated, and walked over without hesitation, your eyes scanning the scene as you assessed the situation.

“What’s up?” you asked simply.

Homelander smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and gestured to Adam. “Adam here has been making some inappropriate advances toward his assistant. What do you have to say about that?”

Even Ryan turned to you, waiting for your response. Homelander watched you closely, studying the way you furrowed your brows in genuine concern as you looked at Adam.

“I think,” you said carefully, “that there’s no excuse for making someone else uncomfortable. And it’s even worse when you know you’re doing it.”

Homelander’s smile widened at your answer. It was perfect—clear, direct, and moral, just like he expected from you. There was a subtle pride in the way you spoke, and it fed into his own sense of approval. You were playing right into his hands without even realizing it.

Your words seemed to be the push Ryan needed, as he turned to Adam, his voice gaining confidence. “Apologize,” Ryan commanded, the hint of authority in his tone surprising even himself. When Adam hesitated, Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Now.”

Adam stated an obviously insincere apology, and Ryan, growing bolder by the second, looked at the assistant. “I want you to slap him.”

Homelander’s gaze snapped to you, watching intently for your reaction. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you seemed to consider the situation with a quiet thoughtfulness, your expression showing no sign of discomfort. You didn’t object or look shocked—in fact, there was a hint of agreement in the way you nodded lightly. You understood the need to make a point, to assert control.

Homelander couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not just in Ryan, but in you. The way you navigated the situation with clarity, how you stood by his side and reinforced his lessons without even realizing it—it only confirmed what he already knew.

You belonged with him.

The moment his resolve truly snapped was at Tek Knight’s party. Everything had already spiraled out of control. A-Train and Firecracker were nowhere to be found, MIA at a critical time. And when it was time for the big speech to the GOP donors, Sage was acting as if she’d had a fucking lobotomy, leaving Homelander to take over.

The minute he started speaking, they questioned him. Him. They criticized him as if he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room, as if he wasn’t Homelander. His hand twitched, and he was one second away from lasering through every single one of those smug, entitled bastards. But then Neuman stepped in, pulling the conversation back on track and rallying the support he was seconds from obliterating.

He stalked away, seething. And that’s when he saw it—him—one of the donor’s sons talking to you. But it wasn’t just talking. He recognized the look in that guy’s eyes, the casual leaning in, the way his hand brushed against your arm like it was nothing.

Homelander’s chest tightened with a slow, burning jealousy, the kind that clawed at him from the inside. His grip on the glass tightened, but for the moment, he held himself in check. Barely. When that loser touched your arm, though, that’s when it snapped. His entire facade shattered.

In his mind, that small touch was a violation. You belonged to him. Whether you knew it yet or not, it was already decided. And this idiot was crossing a line no one should ever have the nerve to approach.

His reaction started subtly—at first. His smile stiffened, his eyes narrowed with an icy focus. He moved toward you with the kind of charm that made people believe he was still in control, but inside, he was already a storm waiting to break.

Homelander slid smoothly between you and the man, a calculated smile plastered on his friendly. “Everything alright here?” His voice was polite, but there was an edge, a tension simmering just beneath the surface.

You blinked up at him, surprised but unsuspecting, nodding lightly. “Yeah, of course. This is Jason Wilson, the District Attorney’s son. We’re just talking.”

Just talking. Homelander’s smile grew tighter. Logically, he knew that. But logic had no place here. The jealousy gnawed at him, irrational, violent, and all-consuming. Without hesitation, he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that left no room for doubt. “We wouldn’t want things to get inappropriate, now would we?”

Jason froze, his eyes widening slightly, clearly unnerved by the sudden shift. Homelander’s stare bore into him, a silent warning not to take another step, not to even breathe in your direction. Jason stammered an awkward excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Homelander alone.

You frowned up at him, clearly confused by the sudden shift in his mood. “What was that about?”

Homelander didn’t answer right away. Instead, his grip on your waist tightened, enough that you’d feel the strength behind it—enough that you couldn’t pull away easily. He quietly steered you toward a more secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone, his lips close to your ear. “You shouldn’t let people touch you like that,” he said, barely keeping his rage in check. “Not when you’re with me.”

You blinked, utterly confused, your brows knitting together in that way he both adored and despised. “I don’t understand. I’m not… with you.”

His jaw clenched. The words stung, hitting him harder than any physical blow could. You didn’t understand yet. You didn’t see what he saw, didn’t feel what he felt. But you would. You had to.

Homelander let out a hollow chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t understand. It’s fine, I’ll forgive you for that.” His tone dripped with condescension as if he were talking to a child. He then pointed between the two of you, his expression hardening. “You and me—we belong together. Which makes you mine.”

You stared at him, completely lost, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The confusion in your eyes only seemed to amuse him further. You were so oblivious, so innocent, and it both frustrated and thrilled him. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice soft and uncertain. “I thought you were interested in Firecracker.”

Homelander’s face scrunched up in pure disgust, his lip curling as if you had just said something vile. “What? No. Ew. No.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, looking around as if there were hidden cameras capturing this bizarre moment, half-expecting this to be some kind of elaborate joke. “Oh.”

Then you turned back to him, your wide eyes filled with genuine surprise, lips pouting slightly as you asked, “You… like me?”

The way you said it—so innocent, so utterly unaware—made his chest tighten. Like wasn’t even close to what he felt for you. He needed you. You were everything he’d been waiting for, the one pure thing in a world full of filth and betrayal. But the fact that you couldn’t even comprehend why someone like him would be interested in you… It only made his obsession stronger.

He smiled, soft and almost tender, his previous irritation and jealousy melting away in the face of your cluelessness. “Like doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver through the air. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an unsettling focus. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”

He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture intimate but laced with possessiveness. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, still confused, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But in his mind, it was already decided. You were his—had been from the moment he laid eyes on you. And soon enough, you’d understand that too.

Homelander cupped your face as though you were the most delicate thing in existence, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone capable of such monstrous strength. His heart raced as he leaned in, finally close enough to taste the softness of your lips—something he’d craved for what felt like an eternity. He could already imagine how perfect you’d feel, how right it would be.

But before his lips could meet yours, your hand quickly covered his mouth. "Wait," you said, eyes wide with sudden embarrassment.

His eyes snapped open, irritation flashing in them, his impatience barely concealed. "What?" he grunted, his voice muffled by your hand.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, avoiding his intense gaze as you finally explained, “My lips… they’re poisonous.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, and you removed your hand, looking even more embarrassed. “They contain a toxin,” you said softly, as if confessing a dark secret. “It gives anyone who kisses me a high, raises their heart rate until they get a heart attack… and die.”

A heavy silence followed as you waited for his reaction, expecting rejection or disgust. But Homelander’s eyes gleamed with something entirely different. Instead of pulling away, he just shrugged as if the danger you posed was trivial to him. "Fuck it," he muttered with a smirk, his hands tightening around your cheeks.

Before you could protest again, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that bordered on madness.

The moment your lips met, Homelander let out a low, primal groan of pleasure. The sensation of your mouth against his was everything he’d imagined—and more. He could feel the toxin you had warned him about seeping into his bloodstream, but instead of fear, it only fueled the euphoria rushing through him. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his desire consuming every rational thought.

The high from your poison made him feel invincible, like every dark, twisted part of him was being set free. The world outside—its chaos, its disappointments, its endless betrayals—faded into nothing. All that mattered was you. He felt light, weightless, as though he could fly to the edge of the universe with you in his arms.

And as the toxin worked its way through his system, the sensation of bliss became all-consuming. He didn’t just want to kiss you—he wanted to devour you, to possess you completely, body and soul. Every kiss, every taste of you, made the thought of losing you unbearable.

He deepened the kiss, his grip on your face tightening, every muscle in his body screaming with pleasure. He didn’t care about the risk, didn’t care that you could kill him. In that moment, he belonged to you, utterly and completely, and he’d die a thousand deaths for this feeling. The darkness inside him surged, but for once, it didn’t feel like a curse. With you, it felt like freedom.

Homelander had never been high in his entire existence, but if this was what it felt like—well, it was fucking spectacular. Every nerve in his body buzzed with euphoria, his muscles relaxed in a way that felt almost foreign to him, and everything around him suddenly seemed amusing, even absurd. He laughed—really laughed—as he flew the two of you back to Vought Tower, the wind whipping through his hair as if the world itself couldn’t touch him.

When he landed on your balcony, a wide grin stretched across his face, a rare glint of pure joy in his eyes. You looked up at him, bemused, as he stumbled slightly, his usually poised demeanor replaced with a boyish charm. He couldn’t stop smiling. “How long does this last?” he asked, his voice light with the toxin’s effects.

You chuckled softly as you led him inside, your touch warm and steady while his hands wandered over you, unable to keep still. “Max? Maybe two hours before the average human dies,” you murmured with a teasing smile.

He let out a breathless laugh, his hand still brushing against your waist, intoxicated not just by the toxin but by you. “How many people have you done this to?” he asked, voice low as he buried his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. It was almost possessive, his need to absorb every part of you.

You leaned back slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Two… high school boyfriends.”

Homelander’s hands slid over your body, but then something caught his eye—a small jar on the kitchen island. His gaze sharpened instantly, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?” he asked, tone suddenly playful but underlined with a dangerous edge as his fingers drifted toward the jar.

He could feel the tension in your body before he even turned to face you fully, sensing the shift in the air. His smile twisted into something more predatory as he turned to you, eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of menace. “Look here,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “since we’re now officially together—”

“Officially?” you murmured, your eyes slightly hazy from his intoxicating presence, a dreamy smile playing on your lips.

He scrunched his nose in a mock expression of annoyance. “Yeah, officially. And there’s one thing you should know about me—I hate secrets. Can’t fucking stand 'em.”

You flushed, your face heating with embarrassment as you shifted on your feet, clearly reluctant to answer. “It’s… nipple cream,” you mumbled.

Homelander raised an eyebrow, his expression uncharacteristically patient, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “I can see that,” he said, his voice slow, almost mocking. He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But why do you need it?”

You hesitated, then looked away shyly before finally answering, “I lactate.”

For the first time in a long time, pure shock crossed Homelander’s face. His smile faded, replaced by an unreadable expression as your words sank in. Lactate? He couldn’t process it at first, the information almost short-circuiting his mind. “What?” he asked, his voice lower now, the question almost a growl.

You swallowed, explaining softly, “Just like how some plants and fruits produce milk… ever since I got my first cycle, I’ve been producing milk too.”

Homelander’s throat went dry, his eyes dropping instinctively to your breasts as his thoughts spun wildly. “Only during your cycle?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” you admitted, your voice softer still. “Every single day since I got my cycle.”

A long pause hung in the air between you, the weight of your revelation settling in. Homelander’s heart pounded, and for a moment, the effects of the toxin couldn’t compare to the sheer awe and hunger he felt. His gaze drifted back up to meet yours, and something primal flickered in his eyes.

“Oh,” he murmured, a slow smile creeping back onto his face, but this time, it wasn’t just euphoria driving it. No, this—this was something deeper.

Somehow, impossibly, you had just become even more perfect in his eyes.

Reader's Aesthetic

(only her supe name is Pink Dahlia)