OKAY. i had to grab my laptop bc my little paws saw an opportunity to do something other than dunk on gojo.

first of all. i think gojo is an objectively unattractive character if ur type isn't assholes. this goes doubly if u are an anime only (idk how far / if u have read the manga so i will try to avoid major spoilers). it's not really about his physical appearance but more that his personality is really annoying. he's arrogant, frivolous, and hard to understand.

and i think a lot of people do fundamentally misunderstand his character like all the time. which is normal because that's kind of the point of his behavior. it's like a purposeful misdirection, and most people who know him well can tell you that.

but who really knows gojo? other than maybe shoko, and the principal. who knows gojo forreal? it's not his students. it's really not anyone.

there's this scene from the vol. 10 extras that is probably one of the greatest insights into gojos character. not for what it says, but for what it doesn't say at all.

you'll notice how no one can say anything about him other than the fact he's the strongest. some of his students call him an idiot, and nanami goes as far as to call him flippant and egotistical. megumi feels like he's indebted to him same as yuuji.

but in the eyes of everyone in the universe, the only thing that gojo satoru can ever be or will ever be is the strongest. his whole life has been one long journey to accomplish that. to become a god amongst men.

but gojo isn't god. even if everyone imposes it on him, he won't ever be. and despite how devastatingly lonely that existence is - in the end, he's still trying to accomplish something in order to prevent his tragic fate from occuring again. even when he won't benefit from trying to twist the hands of fate because his time for happiness is well-past.

there's actually very little for gojo to do what he does. no one really respects him or appreciates his effort among society. and yet they impose responsibilities on him all the same with no remorse. he could be cold and unfair and arrogant to his students, but he ultimately cherishes them all and guides them like a real sensei. there's not any good reason for gojo to try changing all of this. he doesn't have the same resentment of a zenin. he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth and could only do what benefitted him.

but he hasn't. and he wont. despite all odds and all misery, gojo is still holding onto hope that things can be different. he is actually very desperately clinging to the remaining sense of humanity he has which is why he behaves the way he does.

in the end, his acting is just that. acting. gojo puts on the mask to put everyone at ease but his life is doomed to be lonely. all he wants is to share that burden and for things to be different. for other people not to suffer the way he did.

it's only natural to write off gojo as a flippant and arrogant asshole. that's his whole thing. but he actually isn't at all, not really. he is the strongest, certainly. but he never really asked for that.

Yandere! Military Contractor x Affectionate Reader

Hmm, I've said before that he's the kind of guy who takes what he wants from you regardless. But no matter how monstrous, he's still a man. Deep down, he wants you to want him back.

The thing that scares him though? The inherent vulnerability that brings. He's used to covering all his bases, used to squashing down his emotions to get the job done - to the point where he's numb and dull to almost anything. Admitting, even to himself, that he needs you in that way? Absolutely not happening.

Even when he was watching you - weeks spent on the roof of the building across from your apartment, hours parked outside your work - he always told himself it was just curiosity. Just an itch that he needed to scratch. He'd feel better once he had his hands on you, that's all. He'd stop thinking about fucking you once he got it out of his system.

Such a great liar that he doesn't even realise when he's doing it to himself. The second he had you - skin on skin, your throat under his teeth - he told himself he'd keep you just a little longer. Just to really work out his frustration. Gotta get his fill so when it's over he doesn't get the craving again.

But he's never full enough.

fem reader

Thinking about incel yanderes – who loves pissing on your pretty face and throat-fucking you to make you swallow before you drown – who makes you wear a nose-hook and a cowbell and calls you livestock, just a dumb pussy on legs – who makes you lick all his digits clean one by one after finger-banging your cunt into squirting – who holds you so tight at night you’d think he’s terrified of letting go – who cums abruptly only a beat after you say you love him – each and every time.

BNHA – Shigaraki, Bakugou

fem reader

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m thinking about the incel who’s never celebrated with anyone…

Only… now that he has you locked up in his house all to himself, He’s going to have you treat him to all those Valentine's cliches he’s missed out on – all inside the comforts of your new home, of course.

It’s early morning, and he’s got his cock inside you before you’ve even woken up. His thrusts are sleepy, and his voice is drowsy as he says he looks forward to breakfast – that he hasn’t had anyone cook him breakfast in bed since his mom on his tenth birthday. He likes his eggs sunny-side up, his bacon crispy, his toast golden, and his coffee just a little sweet for the occasion, plus a small glass of juice on the side.

After cumming inside you, he tells you not to take too long – that he wants you back in bed, hand-feeding him before the bed gets cold.

When you get back from the kitchen, he’s picked out a romance to watch – patting your place on the bed with a big grin on his face.

The trouble in your chest is a little eased to see him happy. Though it’s sick doing these types of things with your kidnapper – you much prefer acting like his girlfriend than getting your tits, clit, and ass flogged with a leather belt. 

So you curl up beside him like he gestured and hand-fed him like he’d said and laughed and awed at the movie playing out before you as if you were really enjoying yourself. And when he whispers that he’s made you breakfast as well while lifting the tray off his lap to reveal his hard-on, you hold back the wince and crawl under the covers – not a single slight leaving your lips as you wrap them around him and start sucking him off.

He hadn’t bothered wiping it with a tissue after this morning’s first, and so flakes of dried cum and soured bitterness coat your mouth in overwhelming filth, making tears well up and go dripping pitifully down your cheeks – holding back from gagging as you keep bobbing your head all pliantly while using your tongue to lave over his veins.

He sighs in bliss above the duvet, weaving both hands into your hair as he nudges his tip down further into your plush throat, so warm and wet and tight around him, milking him for the meal in his balls. 

He shoots in right down to your belly when your lips kiss his base, petting your cheek while waiting for you to swallow around him. It takes everything in you not to choke on it and puke – but you’ve done it enough times now to resurface only breathless as you lay yourself to rest against his chest.

He says he’s got you a gift after having let you rest up for a little while – and drags a gift bag from under the bed. You receive it, forcing a shy smile – knowing not to expect a plushie and a heart-shaped box of chocolates but hoping for it nonetheless.

“I thought, since we can’t go outside, we’ll just have to make the most out of it in here...”

The contents of the bag make you swallow thickly – wide-eyed and goose-fleshed with trepidation. 

It’s all red – but that must have been the only thing Valentine’s about it…

Red silk blindfold, red ball gag, red rope, red fluffy cuffs, and a butt plug decorated with a heart-shaped ruby.

“And as for your gift to me,” He breaks your stillness, taking your face in both hands as he lifts it to level his – giving your pout a kiss that breaks with a wet smack. “All your holes all day long is all I want.”

You’re a picture. Bite marks on your breasts, a ring of teeth around your sore nipples – also on the inside of your thighs – along with full handprints welting the soft flesh. On your back with your hands beneath you, kept there in their cuffs – legs raised and spread, tied up in the red rope – mouth sucking on your ball, all muffled whining as you wiggle – blindfold soaked a deep burgundy from the tears streaming down your face. 

Your poor ass spread on the plug he’s eased inside, all cutely swallowed around the heart-shaped ruby glistening in the slick seeping from your pussy as he fucks you hard and fast and unrelentingly with a hand held tightly around your throat – moaning Happy Valentin’s Day!

BNHA – Shigaraki, Denki, Deku

JJK – Mahito

HQ – Tendou

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: NSFW, yandere, abuse, incel misogyny, mean shiggy

fem reader

You cry and shield yourself, crawling into the darkest corner of the room. "Please-" You plead – a small shaking hand held up in the slimmest and weakest of efforts – and sadly, all you could to protect yourself.

Your whimpers are never-ending and act like a drill to the heart and everything else soft inside of him – churning his guts and splitting his mind.

He growls. "Shut up-" Grabbing you by the hair and hauling you up and out of your curled state.

"Please, Tomura, please- I'll be good, I promise-" You cry, trying to shelter yourself though without pushing him away – scared to have your wrist snapped in punishment.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth." He hisses, sparing you and your silly pleas no mercy when throwing you down on the mattress – stomach and face first.

"I'm sorry-" You feel your heart jump to your throat, knowing and dreading what is to come but only allowing yourself to twist the sheets in curled, trembling fists in spite of it – cowering as his hand comes down on the back of your head again, keeping you bowed and down, with your hair tugged between his fingers.

He doesn't want to look at your face and therefore shoves it into the pillow instead - feeling the tremors of your cries hitch against his palm. Flashes of your teary eyes haunt him either way, and he growls again, tearing the boxers you'd put on down to your thighs before scoffing – using his quirk instead he lets the dust filter down your legs to settle neatly on the floor.

"I told you to stop stealing my shit-" He repeats, putting a hand down flat on your back – watching the ashes of his shirt reveal your pretty skin.

You start sobbing, then – doing little else. Naked and shivering, you flinch beneath his touch while he kicks your legs apart. Obeying without a word, you spread them wider – offering that which you know he’s going to take like the night before – hoping your willingness is enough to soothe him.

It isn’t. The hand in your hair shoves you down harder until it becomes hard to breathe, and soon you start struggling again. You guess he likes that, to see you try and fail. He shoves inside you when you’re like that – his own spit doing little to ease the stretch and pain, and you scream despite having no air left to make a sound.

He lets up after a while – allowing you to gulp to smoothen the ache in your lungs while he fucks you raw. He leans over and yanks your head back – rasping at your ear. “Feel that, whore?” Your head burns listening to his dry chuckles, your heart tearing itself apart with disbelief that something so cruel can exist. “That’s your cunt going sloppy wet for me.” 

He shoves in deep and hard, too quick to let you adjust – and the attack makes you jolt and choke on pained moans. 

He scoffs. “You act like you’re not a dirty slut, but cum doesn’t lie. So when I feel you soak me like this- tch- I know for a fact you love it.” He seethes, pulling on your locks some more and trying to angle a little sharper against your womb – enough to make you whine out another pained sob. “You’re nothing but a filthy cumrag… You should be happy I even bother with you.”

He yanks you down on the floor after some time - his other hand gripping his dick in hurried tugs that squelch in the sticky mess of what wetness he’s pounded out of you. 

You keep your eyes closed and await the blow, charting his sounds until he releases that final heavy moan – and soon after, you feel the spiteful warmth from his balls spritz all over your face. You barely flinch.

He pants heavily before letting go of your hair – and still, you don't move.

You just open your eyes again, and he watches them tremble with tears – big and shiny, as you kneel beneath him – your breaths cracked and uneven while you nibble some on your bottom lip. "Thank you." You sniffle, voice thin and softly beaten.

And there goes another sting to his heart, and he scoffs at the bitter aftertaste it leaves in his throat. "Shut up." His hand grabs your face, squishing bloated cheeks tight to make you pout, and you squeeze your eyes shut and let out another whimper. "You don't talk unless I say so. You don't do anything unless I say so-"

Your soft hands brace themselves against his knees gently with shivers, and he feels the immediate urge to kick you away from him – but stops himself.

He watches his cum drip along your tears – upon your cheeks and lips, and the sight leaves him feeling deeply unsettled – the sight of your little face in his big hand and how he barely has one pinky raised to keep it that way.

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, Stockholm syndrome

gn reader

You’re not strong with cursed energy, but even you can feel the many lives Sukuna has basked in the blood of. 

You can feel it in his hands – how it seeps into your bones when he drags his crass fingertips upon your skin, making you nauseous – how a simple little touch has goosebumps springing to the surface and a whimper jumping to your throat. It feels hot, burning with warmth like freshly spilled blood – like he’s smearing it on you in red staining streaks, with the weight of thousands of deaths that make you feel like you're rotting too.

But he calls you the sweetest things, despite his raspy timbre – things like turtledove, angelface, lovebug, spiderlily. And keeps you close, on his lap, sitting skin to skin within his kimono so he can cuddle you tight. His chin resting atop your head and his hands holding you around the waist, sometimes falling to your thighs and further in between them.

That deranged malice he shows everyone else is lost on you. With you, he’s balmy – soft and warm and mellow in that very quiet, studious way. Seeming almost jaded if it weren’t for how he tugs you close to his chest – coveting you like something precious.

Sometimes it’s almost as though he forgets how to communicate with words – rubbing his face into the nook of your neck, kissing you gently – silently asking you to comply and spread your legs wider for him before he has to get ugly with you.

You feel a bit dirty bending to his wishes so easily, but he makes you feel like the most precious little bite-sized thing – touching you there until you're just soaking with sin. Licking those feeble moans from your lips like there’s no sweeter thing. Sinking his fat length inside your heat slowly, feeling you swallow him up – wanting to know every tight inch personally – nudging right against that special place inside you until your thighs quake from the squeeze.

He gets lost in you when he gets far enough to feel your walls ripple around the size of him – how your whimpers turn breathy, and your fingers curl into his flesh with want. 

♡ TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, arranged marriage, anxiety

♡ FEM reader

♡ A/N: Hate this man! Obsessed with him...

He’s not the kindest man. He never has been. When you learned about your arranged marriage, a thought struck you to run away. But in the end, somehow the fear of being caught and killed was worse than being the wife of the guy who’d most likely be the one to do the killing.

Besides… you figured being his wife wouldn't be all that much different from being a maid. You’d no longer have communal chores, but housebound ones. There’d be less to do and you’d be free to plan your own days, which is an obvious upside. There’d be downsides too, of course… you’d no longer have the other maids to rant and gossip with, and instead of answering to the head of the maids, you’d have to answer to your husband—the worst, most ill-tempered employer imaginable. 

Yeah, maybe you should have given running away more thought after all…

♡ TW: implied arranged marriage, anxiety, pregnancy, reader with questionable taste, misogyny, chauvinism, mentions of passed bullying

♡ FEM reader

He’s back happy from another mission. Blood on his clothes from how much he dominated his opponent. And you’re scared to be the one to spoil his mood.

He’s already on you the second he spots you, without washing his hands clean of the death he’s wrought, zealously grabbing into your softer areas with entitled greed, like a dog wanting a treat after doing a dog’s work, mouth on your neck with teeth and hot and heavy huffs as his fingers move hurriedly to undress you. 

It’s not that you’re scared he’ll lay hands on you if you speak up. Despite what people think and say, he doesn’t really do that. Not anymore, at least. No, not since you both grew up and you became his wife instead of the dumb little girl he’d once treat you as. No, though he may be a chauvinist through and through, he doesn’t see the merit in hurting you—not since he discovered that pulling your pigtails wasn’t what he really wanted.

He might still treat you worse, though… if you were anything like certain other women in the clan who’ll remain unnamed as you're not allowed to speak or even think about them, in the fear their bad behaviour will rub off on you and inspire you to do similar stupid things. 

But you’re nothing like that. You’re a good girl, and you’ll remain a good girl, because only a truly good girl deserves to be the wife of the man who’ll inherit the clan. And even though it doesn’t always make any sense, you really want to be that good girl. 

Of course, you know there could be other things for you out there, other freedoms you don’t have access to in here, under this man who’s such a monster to everyone but you. You’re not stupid.

Then again, perhaps you’re crazy, because, despite everything, you quite like being the one. The one person he can stand. The one person he can be bothered with. The one person with the ability to make him happy. It makes you feel special.

But… these news you have to share with him… you’re afraid it’ll put everything at stake.

w.c: 4.3k

genitalia terms: dick, cock, hole, fuckhole, cunt (1 time), pussy (1 time)

WARNING: spit, blowjob, rimming, anal (obvi), creampie, dirty talk, humiliation, filming, degradation, humiliation, nerd!eren, jock!reader, intoxication, may read kinda dubious but it’s 100% consensual, light d/s dynamic, alcohol, weed mention, dumbification, eren compares you to a hentai character one (1) time bc he’s deranged

a/n: i was kicking my feet twirling my locs screaming into my pillow writing this and it shows. also eren has a BIIIIG phat crush on you but i didn’t wanna get too into it… you definitely remember him, probably even sexted him w/o even knowing it was him

Let’s get one thing straight: You're not an arrogant man. Not at all— in fact, you’d consider yourself to be quite humble. This night may be about you and your winning score, but you’re humble about it. Considerate, even. So you feel no guilt when you accidentally spill alcohol on someone’s shirt, explaining that if they can somehow find you on instagram and send a DM, you’ll pay for the laundry and potential damages. The stranger peers at you with a funny glint in his green eyes as his hands pull the wet fabric apart from his skin, his glasses falling down the arched bridge of his nose.

You shrug and wave to your teammates, your football jersey loose on your form as you make way through the frat house’s large interior. Music blares in your ears for the millionth time tonight, the bass rattling your skeletal system with each increasingly tipsy step you take. Grinding, flushed bodies invade your vision, all around you as you shimmy through the sea of bodies to pour yourself another generous shot. Cool, blue rays of strobe lights dance and flicker across your eyelids. Warm, pink rays that caress your cheek like the confines of your safety helmet, the vinyl of your mouth guards. It overwhelmed you at first, so bright and unapologetic as your eyes adjusted and focused.

Somewhere beneath the tranquil hum of alcohol flowing through your veins you can feel your phone buzz in your pocket, rippling through your skin and sobering you up just a little.

Your girlfriend.

She’d been blowing up your phone all night, something along the lines of forgetting her gift for your anniversary— what was a few weeks, anyway? — and how ungrateful you were for yours. She was a good lay, a quick way to resort to getting your dick wet on particularly lonely nights; when you couldn’t stand the sound of silence dancing around your head. But that was all.

You shake the thought of her squawking voice the second you find Connie, surrounded by sorority girls with glossed lips and pink-tinted eyes. Finding solstice in his company, they’re huddled relatively close, knit together in some sort of baked clique. He’s perched over a bong, lighter in hand as he inhales the fumes with muffled haste. Pothead.

Your hand finds the crown of his head, palm nestled in the bristles of his buzz cut. Noone is allowed to touch Connie’s hair, at least not when he’s coherent enough to stop them. It usually ends in flying fists and bruised cheekbones, but all the man sends your way is a hazy glare. Someone punching the university’s all star just isn’t a good look. Especially when he’s pretty and popular with the public.

“Do that again and I’ll throw this bong at your head.” It’s an empty threat, clear of malice and slurred on Connie’s bitten lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” You steal the smoke exuding from his mouth, swishing the fog in your mouth a few times before blowing it back into his face. “Never again. Scouts honor.”

You shoot back up, mind reeling and posture straightening as a particularly pretty cheerleader hands you a bottle of something you can’t quite make out. It’s brown and rich though, smacking against the glass as you take a swig and chase it down with Connie’s leftover beer of all things.

One thing leads to another and suddenly you’re trapped between sobriety and full on plastered drunk. You remember chugging something sickeningly sweet, despite it leaving a harsh burn in the back of your throat as you took in a deep breath of victory. There were many eyes on you, loud cheers reverberating off the walls as you’re hoisted into the air for your skillful performance and high-fived by your frat brothers. But there are those green eyes again, staring straight through you with a look you can’t quite place.

Not that you can place much. You’re shitfaced.

He smells good, you later discover. There’s a strum of wind as he pushes forward and straight by you, weaving through the crowd like he’s invisible. The swaying of bodies— the sight is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, and it makes his head swim while liquor glides across his tongue, clumsy and inexperienced. He must not get invited to parties often. Or maybe he does, and you’ve just never noticed him.

He’s quite nerdy, some sort of graphic design on his stained shirt that resembles that of a video game or cartoon logo, and a poor excuse of a beard litters his chiseled jaw. And oddly handsome, pale face flushed from the alcohol, pink and pooling at the apples of his cheeks as he stares at you expectantly. But you’re not into men, and all the shots in the world couldn’t get you to even think of advancing with one. He quirks his thick brow in passing, settling back into his seat with a depleting mumble you can’t make out under the loud music.

But the alcohol paired with the sultry music-choice is doing things to you, you can’t help but stare longer than you should when he swallows down his adams apple, throat bobbing as he downs a fruity drink. His tongue darts over his lips, quick and steady as he nods along to the bass. You’re thinking with your dick, pushing past the batting lashes of cheerleaders and curvy bodies of sorority girls until you’re uncomfortably close to the guy who won’t stop looking at you.

“Do you- do you have a staring problem?” You ask, a slight slur to your voice as your face leans in close enough to count the nerd’s lashes individually.

Just to reiterate, you’re not arrogant. In the slightest.

He jumps back in response to the evasive question, strands of hair falling over his glasses as his emerald eyes roam your face. The lines are blurring now, his nerdy, almost irritating face looks kissable and inviting— his parted lips look warm and skilled. You can smell the pineapple on his tongue, sweet and citrusy.

“You heard me,” You hiccup straight into his face, watching his gorgeous features distort into something not even remotely akin to disgust, which makes confusion rack your brain. “Do you talk, or what?”

Your tongue is sharp, much to Eren’s chagrin. You’re too pretty to talk to people like that, especially him. He may look the way he does, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to him like that. It’s not like he can’t recognize a brat when he sees one. Usually, you’re a bubbly team player— everyone likes you, even if they say they don’t. Still, he shakes his head, humoring your drunken irritation. He understands, at least a bit, as he has a natural temper of his own.

Truthfully, Eren has been keeping his eyes on you for the past millennia. It started when he accidentally walked in on your practice, a sunny day that simply got brighter when he saw your face, cheerful and bright as you joked along with your teammates— Jean, Reiner, Levi? Was it? It didn’t matter, his focus was on you.

You and your sinfully tight compression shorts. You and your hands that curl into fists as you grasp at his sheets like a lifeline, as if holding them tight will somehow keep him inside of you, right where he belongs.

You and your stupid football that’d smacked him right in the face at full speed. But it was in his favor, you came running over apologetically as he rubbed away the blooming bruise. Your voice was sweet then, a melodic chirp that he couldn’t stop thinking about since then. He wants to hear it break.

It seems you too always meet at the expense of his dignity. But not tonight.

“Your phone is buzzing,” Eren grunts, sliding his glasses back up his nose and turning his head away. His glasses are fogged up, but it might just be saving his pride. He’d rather not get hard in front of the person he’s been fantasizing about for the past few months, not when you clearly had no recollection of him. He doesn’t blame you. “My bad. I’m not, yknow, stalking you or anything.”

“Oh, because staring for hours and stalking are very different things,” You’re staring at his lips now, ignoring the vibration in your hand. The second your phone screen lights up you slam it face-down into your front pocket. There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his voice, like his response is calculated and open-ended. “What if I like that?”

Your eyebrows wiggle, even with the mind splitting sensation of your brain beating against your skull. Almost as hard as your heart hammering in your chest. Eren’s scoff is barely audible over the music, but the comment has his heart racing.

You pull him in by the collar of his t-shirt, fists bunched up in the dark fabric as your lips press against his. It’s feverish and sloppy, your teeth occasionally grazing his own. His mouth is hot and wet, fruity essence on his tongue as it slips past your lips and into your mouth. You’ve never had a kiss feel this good. He nips at your bottom lip, pearly teeth digging into the skin until he feels you make an embarrassingly high pitched noise in your throat.

There’s a twinkle in his teal eyes as his posture straightens, slowly leaning back to catch a breath of fresh air (as fresh as it can get, anyway). You watch him readjust his position, lifting his hips instead of his actual body, practically rutting into the thickening air as he shifts. His bubblegum lips curl into a lazy smile as his fingertips circle the rim of the red solo-cup he’s been drinking from. “What if I like you?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Your phone just doesn’t shut up, does it?” There’s clear agitation in his voice, his arched eyebrows furrowed as your feet carry you somewhere much more secluded. Eren trails behind you, his eyes glued on the mound of your ass as you walk. He has to help you occasionally, without even knowing the layout of the place, just so you don’t fall over. The light shine of your phone screen emits across your hip, and he can see the contact of whoever it is that’s so deeply desperate for your attention.

Too bad it’s all on him.

“I’m a pop— popular man.” You finally respond, shutting the door behind you to what Eren assumes is your bedroom in the frat house. It’s between two other bedrooms and across from three more, with a sizable closet that holds more trophies than clothing.

“Can see why, pretty mouth like that,” The words slip before he can think, but it’s worth it to see the way you oh, so conveniently hiccup in response. The implication of you being some type of campus whore makes your throat feel tight, and you can’t help but twitch in your tight pants. “Talks a lot of shit, though.”

“You talk too much.” Correction: he doesn’t talk enough. But you shut him up with a kiss anyway, hungry and frantic because whatever this is, whatever you feel when you look at him, you don’t want it to end. His hands travel under your shirt, cold from his previous icy drinks, and you squirm under his palms. He spreads goosebumps across your skin, and when his fingers brush the bud of your nipples you can’t help but jolt where you stand.

A malicious grin snakes across Eren’s face, all teeth and predatory as he runs his tongue over his sharp canine teeth. “Been thinking about fucking you for weeks. The whole time we were talking, all I could think about was shoving you down on my dick.”

Oh. Your cock aches at that, which is almost already too much for you, you’ve never done this before. Not with a man, not with someone who looks at you like they’re going to devour you whole. You swallow hard, alcohol dispelling from your body the more blood rushes south, and suddenly you’re on your knees, unbuttoning Eren’s jeans with trembling hands.

The door locks behind you, a small click that only the two of you can hear. You look back up at the nerd, who’s watching you intently with a smirk.

He’s a complete juxtaposition to his appearance— if you were a bad man you’d call him a loser, but he exudes dominance and power. You want to wiggle under his gaze, shifting your weight between knees. Eren’s large hands cradle your face, oddly tender and affectionate as he rubs your cheekbones, slowly sliding them to the sides of your head. He lifts your gaze, forcing eye contact.

His glasses hang low on his nose, clouded from his breath as he lets out a satisfied sigh. You want to pull on his hair, flyaways barely reaching the base of his neck as the rest remains in a ponytail.

“This okay?” His tone is beyond sincere.

“Yeah,” You breathe, momentarily losing yourself in the forest of his irises. Blinking rapidly, Eren removes his hands from your head to free himself from his jeans, his long cock decorated in a small vein that disappears below his head. It’s pretty, arched against his stomach and dripping onto his shirt. The leaking precum makes you wonder how long he’s been hard. “Yeah. This is—this is more than okay.”

“Open,” It’s more of a command than anything, Eren’s very hands on, his fingers slipping into your mouth to pull at the corners of your mouth. Your tongue covers your teeth, your mouth watering as his salty fingertips graze your tongue. His other hand is busy working at the head of his cock, twisting smooth circles over the slit until it crashes down against your tongue. Again, and again, and again. “Good boy.”

You find yourself drooling on your jersey, sucking in a deep breath through your nose as his tip rests on your tongue. He goes slow at first, letting you suck on the tip while his fist roams his shaft. You’re a big boy, he knows you can handle much more than just the head— even if he is thick. Your eyes water immediately, gagging instinctually as he shoves his dick deeper into your mouth. “Say thank you.”

Before you can pull away with an answer, both hands return to the back of your head, holding you in place. He encourages you to breathe through your nose, cooing at your inexperienced efforts to catch the drool escaping your mouth, and even goes as far as to wipe one of your tears, “Gonna thank me? F’letting you be such a good, warm n’ wet hole for me?”

You feel yourself nodding, blinking hazily as he rocks in and out of your mouth. There’s a sound you don’t recognize coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, and it has you whimpering on the mouthful of cock. You don’t mean to make such a pitiful noise, but it feels so good, letting yourself go a little brainless over a cute boy.

You slurp loudly— not on purpose, but it earns a throaty chuckle from the man above you. He pulls out to let you breathe, his cock slowly sliding up your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit. The tears in your eyes spill unabashedly, your face nearly crashing against his dick.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

You want to groan, to bang your fists against the wall because he’s being so mean. He knows what you mean, you know what you mean. Regardless, still focused on his cock just inches away from your face, you moan against nothing. It’s a light noise, breathy and quiet but effective enough to make his cock jump. “Please, please— I mean- fuck, thank you for letting me be…yours.”

Eren tuts, feigning annoyance as he grips your chin between his fingers, digging into the soft skin so you’re actually focused on his face. You smile into his palm, eyelashes batting against your cheek and he just can’t help but spit onto your cheek.

“What, d’you just go dumb the second you see some dick?”

You’re barely listening, instead grinding against the fabric of your jeans because his touch treatment has you feeling some kind of way. “Does your girlfriend know her boyfriend’s a cockslut too? Does she know other boys spend their nights getting your holes wet, fuckin’ you in the same bed?”

It’s much easier to hear the vibrations in your pocket now that you’re alone, the only barrier between you being the muffled music on the other side of the door. Eren’s hand leaves your jaw, and you have no complaints when he helps you to remove your jeans.

The jersey can stay on, though. He wants to fuck you in it.

He pushes you into your bed, watching you bounce in the mattress in nothing but your jersey, and helps himself into solely his birthday suit. You’re just as exposed, seemingly moreso, as he pulls your bottom half into his lap. It’s an odd position, not anything you’re used to, maybe your exes and past hookups— but never you.

Eren hunches over, his breath tantalizingly close to your hole. First, he licks a fat stripe across the surface, holding your thighs open when they threaten to instinctively close. You can’t prop yourself up on your elbows at this angle, your feet dangling over his shoulders while he holds you up. The nerd is stronger than he looks.

His tongue is hot and wet, and you feel yourself clenching when a glob of spit lands on your hole. He massages it in with his ring and middle finger, and your body finds itself squirming against his touch. You expect fingers, one at first, maybe, then another. But instead he uses his tongue, lets it dip inside and lap at your insides. Eren looks hungry, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he spreads you open and holds you there with an iron grip. A punched-out “Eren!” leaves your lips the second his tongue is lapping you up, leaving tingles up your spine and smog in your brain.

He kneads his fingers into the fat of your thighs, nipping occasionally where your skin folds into your ass, just to get another choked whine out of you. And, oh, you whine. The intrusion isn’t unwelcome, in fact, the feeling of Eren’s face slick with his spit as he tries to get his tongue as deep as he can into you makes your toes curl. You fist your bedsheets, finding comfort in the pillows you’re pressed into, and go as far as to hold yourself open for the man while he goes to grab something.

“Oh, baby. You shouldn’t have,” You shiver at the sound of his dark chuckle, and squeal when his ring finger finds a spot next to his tongue. “Look at that. Hole’s leaking. You just sit here and look pretty while I fuck it on my tongue, hm? Think you can do that?”

“Mhmmm, mhm, yeah! I can— I can do that, ‘Ren.” You sound like a bitch, with your nose buried in your pillow as you moan with every brush to that special spot inside of you. Your cock jumps against your stomach, leaking into your belly button and down your chest. Your jersey is ruined, but so are you, especially when Eren rubs your cock once, twice—

Holy shit. You’re cumming.

“That’s it, come on, give it to me.” Your jersey catches it all, right over your reserved number and embroidered nameplate. Your brain is too fried for you to care, tears streaming down your face as your hole flutters on his tongue and fingers. Sensitive now, moreso than you were before, you whimper and shimmy in Eren’s lap, simultaneously moving toward and away from his touch. He keeps you where you are though, staring at your blissed out face through clouded glasses and licking his lips like he’s just finished eating the best meal he’s ever had. And as if that’s not enough to have you cumming again already, he places an open-mouthed kiss to your puffy hole just for good measure.

“You felt so soft on my tongue, fuck, I almost busted right on you,” His cheeks are pink, and the rosy shade blooms down his neck and disappears into his chest. He pulls you forward by your wrist, sucking on your tongue and licking over your lips so you can taste yourself. He’s gonna be the death of you.“Bet this hole’s gonna be even softer. Nice and warm while you take my cock. Gonna let me cum inside? Pump that soft cunt full until it’s all creamy and used?”

He’s so filthy, so unashamed. The nickname doesn’t go unheard, and despite the slutty moan that you let out in response, part of you wants to pinch him just for that. Damn Eren and his shameless mouth! But you nod anyway, an everlasting stream of ‘yesyesyes’ floating in the air as he lines himself up to finally give you what you’ve been gagging for so prettily.

Eren just can’t help himself. Not when you’re folded up and presenting yourself to him like this. Not when your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and you’re letting out such pretty sounds. Sounds that belong to him. Plus it’s not all on him, you’re the one with an unlocked phone. You’re the one with space in your camera roll.

He’s sure the camera is shaky, maybe even a little blurry, but he makes sure to get your face in it, fucked-out and crosseyed as he pounds his dick into you, keeps you steady with his hand on your jaw. A string of precum connects you together, pooling at your ass and Eren’s thighs as his hips crash down, yours convulsing upward to meet him halfway. It’s a bit half-assed on your part, but who’s gonna blame the guy getting fucked stupid?

“‘Ren, you’re,” You sob in disbelief, eyes rolling along with your hips. “You’re— ohh, you’re fuckin’ me.”

He smiles down at you, feral and heated as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. He never seems to stop, always chasing that feeling of you clamping down on him even when you’re almost too sensitive to take it. “That’s right, I’m fuckin’ you. Just how you like it, hm? Right in your fuckhole. S’what it’s there for, right?”

“That’s—“ Absurd? Vulgar? Objectification? It’s hot. It’s hot and you know it, Eren knows it, and your dick sure as hell knows it too because you can feel your next orgasm coming. “Yeah. N’my fuckhole.”

He makes a pleased sound in response, groans and pants joining your moans when he speeds up, his slow and deep strokes becoming fast and hollow, pounding that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over and over. “Should train you to take this dick.”

“Hold on,” Despite looking straight at him you can’t understand what he’s saying, not until his glasses are placed over your eyes and you’re blinking away the prescription blur. You struggle to collect yourself, wailing as you reach for his free hand that begins to nestle between your jawline and your neck. He squeezes affectionately, lets you cry and arch on his cock while he breathlessly sighs, “You look straight outta my favorite hentai.”

And, technically, you’re making a sextape now. A tape that showcases closeups of his cock disappearing deep inside you, pummeling your puffy hole until it carves the shape of his dick into you. Until only Eren can fit, big and thick and unbelievably deep. A tape that has you, a popular and well-known straight jock, crying on the dick of a guy you just met.

“Eren, m’gonna… ‘Ren—” You may as well scream, your body tensing as you spray across your chest — when did your jersey get bunched up enough to expose you like that? — sticky cum shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body ablaze. He doesn’t let up, castelon eyes narrowed as he fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, milking himself for all he’s worth. “Inside, wanna be full, I deserve it, please, Rennie.”

He bounces you a few times, watching you fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you. It’s the nickname that gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. It’s clear you feel proud of yourself for making him tremble inside you, and Eren takes the opportunity to scrapbook the memory.

I have decided this happens right after the patronus drawing

For @chiocchi! 🥰

E | Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Tags: Underage Sex, Tom Riddle Raises Harry Potter, Grooming, Age Difference, Time Traveler Tom Riddle, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Praise Kink, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcrux Bond, Soulmates, Chan, Pseudo-Incest, Explicit Sexual Content Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle

Wordcount: 2,133

[Beloved]

Harry loves his soulmate. What does it matter that they're father and son?

Beginning

Coincidence