NOBARAS BACK NEVER DOUBT MY GOAT EVER AGAIN‼️‼️

i feel like suguru never broke the habit of eating candy/drinking soda after eating curses.

like even as an adult with all the cult leader stuff, he still always carried around small candies or lollipops to stave off the nasty taste after eating a curse. especially after you came into his life.

it felt strange to eat a curse only to kiss you with those same lips without something to cleanse his palette. he didn’t want to associate the bitter taste of a curse with your lips, he’d much rather associate them with something sickly sweet.

the sound of crinkling wrappers and soft crunching had become customary, a sort of white noise after suguru had ingested a curse. he always, always leaned in for a kiss after, slipping his dyed tongue into your mouth as you hummed at the sweet flavor laving over your tastebuds, even playfully trying to guess the flavor from the remnants of the sugary treat.

that’s why you watched him expectantly as he finished the remnants of his lollipop, his tongue mindlessly fiddling with the stick for a moment before throwing it away. he raised an eyebrow when he noticed your stare, a smirk gracing his lips.

“is there something on my face?” he sounded too smug to be clueless. you only shook your head in response, that same wide eyed, expectant gaze fixed on his face.

he broke sooner than he would’ve liked, clicking his tongue with a small “c’mere.” he fought back a smile when you came closer, cupping your face in his hands before pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. you pulled him closer, a small gasp leaving him when you sucked on his tongue softly before pulling away completely with a thoughtful hum.

“is it peach?”

he gave you an incredulous look, a small laugh leaving him at your words. god, you were going to be the death of him.

(you were right.)

no words.

ovulation makes me want to write evil, evil things. help.

mdni!! ( ´ ▽ ` )

oughhh thinking abt choso sucking strap. oughhhhhh

cw’s: gn! reader (reader is afab), (very light) dacryphilia, mentions of drool/spit/gagging and uhhh i think that’s it!! ^^

he was a little confused by your proposition at first but he agreed quickly after you explained. if it was something that would make you feel good why would he say no?

“so it’s just… the same way you do it to me?” his voice is soft when he speaks, his hands lightly running over the skin of your thighs as if trying to ground himself just by touching you. he looks so small from this position, on his knees while not-so subtly eyeing the piece of silicone fixed to your pelvis. it was… strange. different. but he couldn’t bring himself to really mind it. if the way his cock was already twitching in his pants said anything, you would say he was just as excited as you were.

you nod in response, bringing a hand up to graze over his jaw. he looks up at you with the small touch, so attentive and hyperaware of every one of your actions. “take it as slow as you need, cho. i don’t want you to overwhelm yourself.” you reminded him gently. he had a habit of getting overexcited and — as endearing as it was — it usually ended with you having to force him to slow down so he could have a chance to recover. cute, but you were worried about him hurting himself in this specific scenario.

“i’ll be careful.” he reassured you, his voice a hoarse whisper as his eyes drifted back down to your strap-on. his movements were careful when he brought a hand up to wrap around the base of your cock, his eyes wide and watching your reactions as his tongue tentatively kitten-licked around the tip. the heady look you were giving him must’ve given him more confidence because soon enough he was wrapping his lips around the silicone of your dick, the tip tapping against the inside of his cheek while he practiced the shallow back and forth motion that had sent his eyes rolling to the back of his head whenever you did it to him.

you hadn’t even realized your hand had moved to rest at the top of his head until his eyes had met yours, snapping you out of the small daze you had fallen into. he looked so pretty, so desperate for your approval even when his mouth was filled with your cock. he made sure to keep his motions slow as he took you deeper and deeper, allowing his throat to adjust to the new intrusion. his hands unconsciously gripped at your thighs, the pads of his fingers creating small divots in the plush skin while he took you deep enough for the tip of his nose to kiss! against the bottom of your tummy.

he held that position, his eyes desperately searching yours for approval while his nose remained smushed against your pelvis. you moved your hand to push his bangs back, a soft groan leaving you when you saw the tears dotting his lashline. “doin’ so good, cho. look so pretty takin’ my dick down your throat.” you swore you could feel the way his throat constricted around the silicone when he let out a small whimper at your words, a breathy curse leaving your lips at the deep, almost shocking warmth that filled your stomach.

you almost whined when you saw him start to move again, your head falling back in an attempt to get away from the sinful view in front of you so you could catch your breath. you could feel everything if you focused hard enough. the tight warmth of his throat, the soft vibrations of his moans when you gripped at his hair, the way his throat tightened with every small gag and bob of his head.

“fuck my throat.” his hoarse little whisper cut through your thoughts, his hands holding an almost bruising grip on your thighs. you could only breathe out a small, dumb “huh?” before he repeated himself. “fuck my throat, please… wanna know how it feels when i do it to you.” his hands massaged your thigh like he was trying to persuade you to say yes (as if you’d ever say no to an offer like that).

you nodded eagerly as soon as his words registered in your dazed brain, your breath hitching when he started taking you down his throat again. you let him readjust before starting with slow, shallow thrusts. you had to get used to the new rhythm just as much as he had to get used to the new sensation, but the both of you got the hang of it quickly.

your moans were unrestrained when you started speeding up your movements, choso’s teary eyes and soft gags as he struggled to take you sending you practically hurdling towards the edge. “gonna cum, cho… gonna fill up your pretty throat with my cum.” your words were strained and desperate, your thrusts becoming more and more sloppy as that warmth in your stomach finally unraveled. you threw your head back in a silent scream as your hips pushed forward, your tip bumping against the back of choso’s throat. everything felt warm and deep and oh-so intense, your hips rhythmically spasming as you came down from your high.

you pulled out of your boyfriends throat, your lips forming a small o when you saw the trail of saliva that connected his lips to the silicone. your hand moved to cup his cheek, lightly guiding him to look at you. “you okay, cho? was i too rough?” your voice was hazy from your orgasm but your eyes studied him as intently as you could manage.

he nodded meekly, his hands folded in his lap and pressed against his aching cock.

poor baby… might as well return the favor, right?

had a panic attack last night and was down all day today nd my mom picked me up from work earlier nd got me a new hello kitty plate set nd my brothers got me an album i wanted nd sushi wtf :(

romanticise a quiet life, there's no place like my room

King For A Day tomura shigaraki x reader

NSFW MINORS DNI ive been doing a lot of loverboy shigs on here so hes kind of an asshole but not in a bad way! i tried to keep reader gender neutral again this is smut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT the block button and I are very close. 2.1k words cw: oral and penetrative sex

The hideout’s a festering pit, as always—a crumbling shrine to chaos and despair. The air’s thick with the sour stench of stale pizza, spilled beer, and the faint metallic tang of blood from some fight he doesn’t even remember. The walls are pockmarked with cracks, the floor littered with cigarette butts and crushed cans, and that flickering bulb overhead buzzes like a dying insect. He’s slouched in his shitty chair, a throne of chipped wood and peeling leather, crimson eyes glowering at nothing. His hair’s a tangled mess, falling over his face, and that grotesque hand sits propped on the table like a trophy. He feels like a walking disaster, all sharp bones and peeling skin, but you? You’re the one thing in this hellhole that doesn’t make him want to disintegrate everything in sight.

You’ve been together for months—long enough for him to stop questioning why you stick around, long enough for him to secretly crave the way you look at him like he’s more than a villain with a death wish. Tonight, you’re here for his birthday, and he hates it. Hates the stupid red velvet cake you baked, sitting there on the table with its lopsided “Happy Birthday, Tomura” in messy icing. Hates how you’ve tidied up the corner of the room, swept away the ash and grime just for him. Hates you playing house. Hates how it makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t stand.

You’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with that glint in your eye that drives him insane. Your shirt’s loose, slipping off one shoulder, and those shorts you’re wearing cling to your thighs in a way that’s begging for trouble. He scratches at his neck, leaving fresh red welts, and snaps, “Quit gawking at me like some lovesick idiot. It’s pathetic.”

You push off the wall, sauntering over with a sway that’s deliberate, taunting. “It’s your birthday, Tomura,” you say, voice smooth as sin. “I get to gawk at my boyfriend all I want.” The word “boyfriend” drips from your lips like honey, and he scowls, hating how it sticks to him.

“Boyfriend,” he mocks, voice a jagged rasp. “What a load of sentimental bullshit. You’re delusional if you think I’m that weak.” But his eyes betray him, raking over you—your collarbone, the curve of your hips, the way your hair falls just messy enough to make him want to grab it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, hands settling on his thighs, and he freezes, breath catching like you’ve stabbed him. His jeans are threadbare, patched with holes, and that faded hoodie hangs off him like a shroud. “I got you a present,” you say, low and sultry, fingers inching higher. “Guess what it is.”

He sneers, but it’s shaky, his pulse hammering under your touch. “Probably some sappy trash I’ll hate,” he mutters, scratching harder at his neck. But when your hands slide up to the waistband of his jeans, popping the button with a flick, his words falter. “The hell are you—”

“Wrong,” you cut him off, tugging the zipper down slow enough to make him squirm. “It’s better. Tonight’s all about you, birthday boy.” Your voice is a tease, a promise, and it pisses him off how much he’s already hooked.

He snorts, but it’s weak, his hands twitching at his sides. “What, you gonna kneel there and worship me or some crap? Don’t waste my time.” His tone’s venomous, but he doesn’t push you away—not when you peel his jeans down, not when you hook your fingers into his Minecraft boxers, a gag gift Spinner got him months ago, and yank them off too. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, and he hisses, head tipping back against the chair.

“Fuck,” he growls, voice raw. “You’re such a goddamn tease.” He’s a mess—pale skin flaking, scars crisscrossing his arms, that wild hair half-hiding his glare—but you don’t care. You’ve seen him at his worst, and you’re still here, kneeling like he’s some kind of king.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slow and firm, and he groans, a low, guttural sound that makes your stomach flip. “Happy birthday, Tomura,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the tip, your lips brushing over the salty bead of precum. He tastes sharp, bitter, like desperation distilled, and it’s intoxicating.

His hips jerk, a snarl ripping from his throat. “Don’t—shit—don’t fucking coddle me,” he snaps, but it fractures when you drag your tongue along the underside, tracing the thick vein that pulses there. His hands fly to your hair, fingers knotting in it, not gentle but frantic, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you lie, smirking, and then you take him into your mouth, slow and deep, until he’s nudging the back of your throat. He chokes out a curse, hips bucking up, and you hum, the vibration pulling a wrecked moan from his chest. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, and he’s unraveling—every twitch, every shudder, every filthy word spilling from his lips is yours to claim.

“Goddamn—fuck—you’re too good at this,” he rasps, voice trembling as he thrusts into your mouth, rough and needy. You dig your nails into his thighs, leaving red half-moons, and he groans louder, head lolling back. This is about him—his pleasure, his breaking point—and you’re determined to push him over the edge.

You pull back, just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lapping at the slit until he’s panting, thighs trembling under your grip. “Like that?” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin, and he tugs your hair hard, a growl rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t get smug, asshole,” he snaps, but it’s toothless, his control slipping with every wet, messy slide of your lips. You take him deeper, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, and his breathing turns ragged, desperate. “Fuck, you’re—shit—gonna make me—”

He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. You feel it—the tension coiling tight, the way he throbs against your tongue—and you pull back just enough to pump him fast and hard, lips hovering over the tip. “Come for me, Tomura,” you whisper, and he snaps.

He comes with a guttural snarl, hot and thick, spilling over your lips, your chin, dripping down your fingers. You catch what you can, swallowing with a grin that’s all teeth and triumph, and he’s shaking, chest heaving, sweat slicking his forehead as he glares down at you. “You’re fucking vile,” he mutters, but his eyes are wide, dazed, like he can’t believe you’re real.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, climbing into his lap before he can catch his breath. He’s still hard, slick with spit and cum, and you straddle him, grinding down just enough to make him hiss again. “Only for you,” you say, kissing his jaw, his neck, the rough patch under his ear where the skin’s cracked and dry. His arms wrap around you, clumsy and tight, pulling you against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Get off me,” he grumbles, but it’s half-hearted, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your hips. You smirk, nipping at his earlobe, and he groans, shifting under you. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Good,” you say, sliding off him just long enough to tug your shirt over your head. His eyes follow the movement, hungry, and you toss it aside, kicking off your shorts next. He’s still slouched in the chair, cock twitching against his stomach, and you climb back into his lap, bare now, skin pressing against skin. “Ready for round two?”

He snorts, but his hands are already on you, rough palms dragging over your thighs, your waist, up to your chest. “You’re insatiable,” he mutters, but he’s pulling you closer, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. His tongue’s sharp, invasive, tasting the bitterness of himself on you, and it’s a mess of spit and heat that leaves you dizzy.

You guide him to the bed, a rickety slab of springs and stained sheets in the corner of the room. He stumbles after you, shedding his hoodie as he goes, revealing the lean, scarred expanse of his chest—pale skin stretched tight over bones, marred with old cuts. He’s not pretty to most, not by any stretch, but he’s yours, and in that moment, you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. You push him down onto the mattress, straddling his hips, and he glares up at you, crimson eyes blazing.

“Don’t think you’re in charge here,” he growls, but his hands settle on your hips, guiding you as you sink down onto him. He’s hot, thick, stretching you with a slow burn that makes your breath hitch, and he groans, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, rocking against him, slow at first, letting him feel every inch. His fingers dig into your skin, bruising, and he thrusts up, rough and impatient, setting a pace that’s more battle than rhythm. “Fuck, Tomura—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, but his voice is strained, breaking as he slams into you again, deeper, harder. His teeth graze your shoulder, biting down just enough to sting, and you moan, hands bracing against his chest. He’s relentless, all sharp edges and raw need, but there’s something softer underneath—something that shows in the way he watches you, eyes flickering with something he’ll never admit.

The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, the creak of the bed, his ragged breathing and your gasps. Sweat beads on his forehead, matting his hair to his face, and you lean down, kissing him again, tasting salt and smoke. He slows, just for a moment, hips rolling instead of thrusting, and it’s almost tender—almost—until he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

“Thought you said this was about me,” he snarls, but his hands are shaking as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. “So take it.”

You do—every brutal, perfect thrust, every growl and curse that spills from his lips. He’s a mess above you, hair falling into his eyes, lips parted as he pants your name like it’s a weapon. You reach up, brushing the strands away, and he falters, just for a second, something raw flashing across his face before he buries it in your neck, biting down hard.

“Fuck—Tomura—” you gasp, nails raking down his back, and he groans, loud and broken, hips stuttering as he nears the edge again. You’re right there with him, heat coiling tight in your core, and when he reaches down, rough fingers adding to the intensity. You shatter, crying out his name, and he follows, spilling inside you with a shuddering moan that’s half-sob, half-snarl.

He collapses on top of you, heavy and trembling, breath hot against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you moves—just the sound of your mingled panting, the distant hum of the generator. Then he rolls off, sprawling beside you, one arm flung over his face like he’s shielding himself from the world.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You laugh, soft and breathless, turning to curl against his side. “Worth it,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He grumbles, but his arm slides around you, pulling you closer, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your spine.

Aftercare comes naturally, even if he’d never call it that. You slip out of bed, ignoring his half-hearted protest, and grab a damp cloth from the bathroom. You clean him up first, wiping the sweat from his brow, his chest, the mess between his legs. He twitches, sensitive, but lets you, crimson eyes tracking your every move.

“Stop fussing,” he mumbles, but he leans into it, letting you drag the cloth over his scarred hands, his cracked knuckles. You kiss each one when you’re done, soft and deliberate, and he scowls, yanking his hand back.

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” he snaps, but there’s no heat in it—just exhaustion, and something softer he can’t hide. You clean yourself next, quick and efficient, then crawl back into bed, tugging a threadbare blanket over both of you.

“Too late,” you say, resting your head on his chest. His heartbeat’s still fast, erratic, but it steadies under your touch. He doesn’t reply, just buries his face in your hair, muttering something incoherent about how annoying you are. But his grip tightens, possessive, warm, and you know he’s not letting go.

The cake’s still there, untouched, a sad little lump of red and white in the dim light. You don’t care. This—him, wrecked and sated, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline—is the real gift. Happy fucking birthday, Tomura Shigaraki.

this is like 99% smut and I wish I could say sorry but it's not my fault tomura's birthday aligned with my ovulation week lmao.

hiii just here to say that hiromi would get on his hands and knees and kiss at ur heels just to prove that he worships the ground u walk on

baby, my phone!!

college student! tenko shimura x popular! reader

my first ever smau aaaaa!!! this is a quirk-free college au teehee (for my sanity pls note each of these conversations take place like days/weeks apart. pls.)

pt 2!!

cw’s!!: one or two kys/die jokes, dry texter tenko (i luv him), gn! reader, and the fastest burn you’ve ever seen (i have no patience)

now playing…

money, money, money!!! by abba

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

okok so my beautiful bsf (luv u @monouser) introduced me to a japanese custom called kozukai and said “nanami.” so i said sir yes sir and now we’re here!!! ^.^

cw’s!!: fem! reader, family issues (rude comments :[), and petty husband nanami!!

wc: 1.1k (eeeeeee!!!!)

kento nanami had always considered himself to be a very sensible man. he had a stable income and occupation, a beautiful home, and was generally very mature and well-mannered.

until someone messed with you, then all of that carefully curated sensibility was thrown out the window.

see, when you had first mentioned the off-comments your family made about your relationship with him, — as much as it irked him — he urged you to brush it off. why should their opinions matter when the both of you are happy and healthy? you agreed (albeit begrudgingly), and simply moved on with your life. and honestly? everything fixed itself up for a while. your wedding went without a hitch, not one complaint or aggravating comment from any of your family members. you knew better though, that it was only a matter of time until it started again but worse. the calm before the storm, if you will.

of course, you were right.

as soon as you mentioned the new living arrangements to your family, it was nonstop. “you? a housewife? you could barely clean up after yourself when you were younger!”, “don’t you think that’s a little fast? you barely know how to cook a proper meal!”, “good luck to your husband, he’ll need it to deal with you.”

the next time you told your husband about the mean-spirited comments, there were tears lining your pretty eyes. as always, he was soft in his comfort, gently reassuring you that you didn’t need to do any of those things for him to be satisfied. “that’s a sad way to think.” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. “you’re not indebted to me because i chose to marry you. i take care of you because i want to. because i love you, do you understand?” when you nod, you think that’s the end of it. you and your husband love each other and that’s all that matters, end of story.

kento nanami was a sensible man, so of course he wasn’t planning any sort of revenge on your family. he was mature and stoic and well-mannered so when he suggested a family get-together at your shared home (“just formalities, my love. don’t you want them to see how happy we are?”), you didn’t even blink an eye. your husband wasn’t easy to anger. even if he was, he wasn’t one to act on it.

kento nanami was uptight and stubborn and sardonic in the best ways possible. but more than anything, your husband was petty.

kento had a plan when he walked up to you and the small group of family members you were speaking to. the conversation seemed to be going well at first, with them complimenting your home and gushing over the two gorgeous rings on your finger (he couldn’t help the small swell of pride that bloomed in his chest when you gave the diamonds a loving look). he had seen the way you tensed after something one of them said, a strained little laugh leaving your lips as your shoulders deflated slightly.

that’s when he swooped in, one of his hands resting against your hip while he pressed a kiss to your cheek. you gave him a soft smile, the spark of grateful relief in your gaze obvious to only him. “apologies for the interruption, my love. i just wanted to check in.” he muttered by your ear, giving your hip a small, reassuring squeeze. he knew your family was watching the interaction, probably wondering what he was telling you (he couldn’t care less).

he turned to your family once you assured him you were okay, giving them a polite nod of acknowledgment before turning back to you. “you look gorgeous in that dress, love. it was the best option out of the ones you showed me, i’m so glad you bought it.” his voice was pointedly louder than before, a detail only you caught that caused your brows to furrow slightly. what was he doing?

your family nodded along to his words before doing an almost comical double-take. “you bought it? with what money?” your brother was the first one to speak up, pointing (quite rudely, in your husbands opinion) directly at you while scoffing skeptically. your cheeks heated slightly in embarrassment, your lips parting to rebut his words until kento beat you to it.

“with her money.” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. your gaze moved between the two men, trying to gauge whether or not you should step in. “your husband gives you an allowance?” there was a barely restrained grin on your brothers face, the cruel giddiness only growing when you didn’t immediately respond.

“she gives me an allowance, actually.” your husband spoke up once again, the narrow-eyed look he sent his way making your brothers brows furrow. “it’s more common practice amongst businessmen, so it’s understandable that you weren’t aware.” kento sounds a little more smug now. “she handles all of the finances, including my allowance. i’m honestly quite useless in comparison, i simply go to work and come home.” he added, his thumb tracing a senseless pattern over your hip.

your brother was practically glaring at the self-satisfied look your husband was wearing. but of course, your brother never knew when to stop, even if it was a losing battle. “oh, of course, because my sister is the person to trust with all of your finances. right.” his voice dripped with venomous sarcasm, his eyes rolling as he spoke.

“don’t talk about my wife like that.” your husband said suddenly, his eyes narrowed into a glare directly aimed at your brother. the two men gave each other the stare down for a few moments while you and your other family members looked between the two of them with wide eyes. your brother was the first to concede (obviously), storming off with a petulant sort of huff. the rest of your family was quick to follow (after giving you and your husband a polite nod, of course. who would dare disrespect you after the show your husband just put on?).

kento turned to you with a sheepish look after they left, the aftermath of his initial aggravation finally hitting him. “too much?” he asked softly, carefully watching you for your reaction. you only shook your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

it’s safe to say your family hesitated in their unneeded comments after that day.