“Just The Tip,” He Begs You, His Voice Rough And Deep. “Please, Baby, Just Keep The Tip Of My Cock

stop flirting with the enemy, damn

Yandere Mr Compress (Part 1?)

My first ever fanfiction, enjoy and please let me know if you want more! I may be continuing this.

TW Kidnapping

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It starts off very innocent. You’re walking back to your apartment after a long day at work and you find a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep. Puzzled, but somewhat excited, you pick them up and take them inside, setting them on your kitchen counter. You check the card “Your beauty is like the waves of the ocean, relentless, wondrous, and potentially disastrous to a poor, lost soul like mine.” It isn’t signed. You could, of course, take this note the wrong way, how could beauty be disastrous? But you figure it just came from an especially stricken admirer. You haven’t had an admirer since high school, how could you not find it sweet? Smiling, you set the card to the side and arrange the flowers on your dinner table. It’s a nice gesture, you assure yourself.

A few days pass and you’re unconcerned about this “admirer”. In fact, it puts a little pep in your step, so to speak. So far, you’ve received the flowers, a teddy bear, a box of chocolates, and of course the usual unsigned notes. Nothing too strange or alarming. But today was a little different. You come home to find a small red box waiting for you. You take it inside, eagerly rip it open, and find a gold necklace with a heart pendant. Your stomach drops a little. This is expensive. Not only that, but you were just eyeing it the other day, thinking about buying it for yourself for your birthday next week. But it’s not like anyone would have noticed that, right? Whoever the admirer is, he must have just seen it and figured it would be nice, right? You set it aside, pour yourself a glass of wine, and put it out of your mind.

The week passes without any more gifts. You’re a little disappointed, but also somewhat relieved. Maybe the admirer just lost interest. Anyway, it’s your birthday and you’re going out tonight, so you’re excited. You go on your usual lunch break to your usual coffee shop, order your usual cappuccino extra foam, and walk outside. You always take an alley back to work, it’s quick and it’s not even a dangerous area, there are heroes everywhere. You’re so absorbed in thinking about your work, the proposal is due today, you don’t even notice the man standing in the shadows with a Rorschach mask and yellow trench coat. But his voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re not wearing it.”

You stop in your tracks. “E-excuse me?” you ask, without turning around.

“The necklace.”

Your heart stops.

“You haven’t worn it at all. I thought you’d like it. I saw you looking at it and smiling.”

Run. You have to run. Or call for a hero, just DO something. You open your mouth, but by the time you even think to scream for help, you’re breathing in a chemical-soaked rag. And you’re out.

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When you wake up, you have a headache. You don’t really remember what happened, did you have a bad dream? Did you end up going out with your friends? You look around for some water, aspirin… your phone? Anything? Your mind finally clears and you realize, this is not your room. The bed is huge, probably a king. The sheets are regal, red satin with a maroon fleur de lis pattern. Where the fuck are you? You begin to panic and try to get up, before realizing you’ve been tied to the dark, oak bed frame. Shit.

The events of earlier today begin to return to you. The coffee, the alleyway, the man. He was the one. The admirer. He WAS watching you. You look around frantically, looking for anything to cut the restraints. The room offers no solution. No way out. You can feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes as the bedroom door opens.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn your head to meet the voice, a tall man wearing an orange button up shirt with a bolo tie, black vest, and black dress pants. Even after having the audacity to kidnap you, he still hides his face underneath a black balaclava mask.

“I do apologize for the restraints, but I’m afraid I just can not let you run off. Not when I’ve gone to all this trouble to acquire you.”

“Acquire me?” you spit. “What am I, a Picasso?”

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, like you’re on stage at open mic night. “A Picasso? Oh dear, no, you are so much more beautiful than that.”

You blush, despite yourself, but continue to glare at the man. Who does he think he is? You don’t expect a real answer, but you do ask him, “Who are you?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners?” He says with a smile. He flourishes his hand down into a deep bow, “Some call me Mr. Compress, but you, my dear, may call me Atsuhiro.”

“Relief” (Therapist!Aizawa x reader lemon)

This is my piece for the Two in the Pink, One in the Kink collab hosted by the Sewer Discord server! Giga late but, y’know… life XD Thank you @lookslikeleese​ for giving me the pink notepad idea! And thank you @brttpaige​ for letting me use your work as a cover!

Warnings: Therapist/client relationship, good girl/sir pet names, guided masturbation, dirty talk, exhibitionism kind of (Aizawa watches reader at their behest), reader aggressively hits on Aizawa, mentions of sexual dysfunction, weirdly specific descriptions of therapy, violating the NASW code of ethics (Listen don’t fuck your therapistalsdkjf), reader is insinuated to be experienced.

If you enjoy this piece, please consider joining me on Patreon for bonus content!

When your psychiatrist suggested it, you were, naturally, a bit hesitant.  The phrase alone could put your nerves on end, so the idea of actually needing it spiked your anxiety to near-astronomical levels.

Weren’t people only referred to specialists in extreme situations?  While your sanity might have been slowly slipping in the absence of satisfying orgasms, it’s not like your life was in danger.

… Right?

In a frantic call to your physician, you were gently reassured that ‘death by female blue-balls’ was not a real thing. Though, she did recommend you see someone about your orgasm troubles, adding that if your quality of life was impacted, it was worth addressing. 

Despite your reluctance, you had to agree. The relentless ache between your legs had become rather burdensome. So much so, in fact, that it was hindering your day-to-day activities. After all, how could you focus on something like washing the dishes when a simple shift in posture had you biting back a moan?

The therapist she recommended to you was male—which she subtly tacked on after giving him a glowing review. And while she assured you Dr. Shouta Aizawa was very trustworthy, and had an excellent track record when it came to solving problems like yours, you remained unconvinced. So, you turned to Google in an attempt to dig up a little dirt. 

You were absolutely astonished by what you discovered.

No matter how diligently you searched, you couldn’t find a single hair out of place. This man had an impeccable reputation. Nothing but 5-star ratings followed him to every site where clients could review their doctors, each one accompanied by raving—albeit, occasionally cryptic—testimonials. 

“Just GO. TRUST ME!” Was the most liked review on one site, followed by: “I always leave his office with a smile on my face ;),” on another. They all had one thing in common: complete and total satisfaction.

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Brought to Heel

….Okay guys, here it is. Honest to GOD I do not feel good about this one. Kinda feel like Christ himself is frowning at me. Sadly, this isn’t even as far down as my head goes when it comes to this type of stuff. But hey, yall asked for it, and here it is. It really isn’t my best work, I didn’t put my heart and soul into it, but it’s fucking smut dude, you’re not here for literary genius.

PLEASE use caution. DO NOT ignore the tags. There is no tenderness in this story. And DO NOT come and bitch at me if you open it up and it offends you. I tag my shit for a reason. If this isn’t your bag of monkeys, blacklist it and walk away. Do not show up on my blog with your hate and shit. I don’t care. DLDR bro DLDR. 

I’ve taken every precaution I can to prevent this from showing up on someone’s feed who isn’t interested including tagging the warnings and using a read more line break to cut off the explicit bits, but for some reason it doesn’t always work. IF YOU SEE THIS AND DO NOT VIBE, SCROLL AND SCROLL FAST. Also might wanna block me or some shit, that helps too.

Rating: fucking R, dude. R all the way. NC17 if you will.

Warnings: Seriously explicit noncon, degredation, implied noncon slavery, Shig is a mean ass BITCH, sadism, threats of death, sexual content, slightly flirtatious Dabi (not for long lmao), crying, intimidation, etc look I’m going to hell, you get the point. 

Working with the League of Villains was a more draining job than you initially understood you’d be accepting. 

It was commonplace for you to work your fingers to the bone for your clients, an endless procession of watching, noting, thieving, and mapping. Quite literally working your ass off as you scouted from a distance until your legs fell numb and your joints protested, letting your feet prickle to a painful tingle as you ran back to your new home base to report your findings. Normally you didn’t mind, as it was the basis for your entire skill set after all, and you were damn good at what you did. If you planned out a siege, robbery, coup or crash, it happened. No questions, no variables. Only results.

Originally, you had been ecstatic to accept his contract. He needed a specialist, you needed a job, and the pay he was offering was borderline too good to be true. Yet, reporting to someone like Shigaraki Tomura has a way of sucking the passion out of you. The longer you worked for him, the more you understood why the League was offering such a substantial pay raise. The man was fucking insufferable.

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'my love' 'my darling''sweetheart' 'baby' oh god

the “good girl” after he cums & before he pulls out is what I live for

forgive me father for i have sexualized an older man

obsessed with that face tops make when they accidentally discover a weak spot of yours or a kink of yours through something they did. that little surprised face and then the WICKED grin and then they say some shit like “oh? so you like this? yeah?” and then they do it again??? it gets to me every time on god

Long black hair ? Anime men ? Kinda cold or crazy ? Boom I simp.

ok but can we talk about possession, praise and degradation all together? because being called his pretty little slut makes me melt every time <3