"My Own Death Does Not Frighten Me. But Yours? Oh, That Is My Greatest, Deepest Fear."

prrrr......i was thinking of this with Sidon too but.......being carted off to Gerudo with a few other potential partners for the king of the desert to choose from, having been drawn by lot or just voted by your village.......and even though the position is highly sought after and it would be a fabulous opportunity for wealth and power to be his spouse, you're more interested in visiting the city and getting to explore Hyrule outside of your hometown, so you figure you'll just do your due diligence and leave once he chooses someone.....but your plan is quickly foiled when Ganon takes one look at you and becomes so endeared he's on your heels constantly, buying you anything you glance at and offering you trips around the desert to explore his homelands.....and you think he's just being kind, because he puts on such a good front to seem reasonable yet strong-willed.....but then the other candidates start disappearing, they all start departing from the city and aren't being replaced, and you only realize what's happening when you're the only one left.....and the king has you dressed in Gerudo jewels and finery befitting a royal bride 🤭💕

Imagine Vampire!Barbatos tho....

Who else would be his perfect doll master but you? He will cook for you, brush and stylish your lovely hair, dress you up. Treat you like a princess 80% of the time, the other 20% he's feeding from you and letting his dark side take over.

Vampire!BARBATOS x gn!Reader, 1.2k words, nsfw. Content warnings: canon-typical vampire behaviour, possessiveness/jealousy, pet names, spicy towards the end—it's not really dubcon but it might come off that way. ♫ [ Song Rec ] | m.list

You feel his eyes on you as soon as you step into the ballroom of Diavolo’s castle. These fancy events always make you feel nervous and out of place. You usually spend the night together before these events so he can help you prepare, but last night you stayed at the House of Lamentation instead as his duties to Diavolo kept him busy.

His bedroom (and yours) are filled with the exquisite clothing he’s bought you, and he sent you instructions earlier with which clothing he wanted you to wear for him tonight. You bathed with the products he gave you too—he claims that the custom recipe he has made for you enhances your natural scent.

(He enjoys bathing you personally so he can massage you with his firm hands while he teases you with gentle touches, a playful reminder of how he'll reward you later if you behave.)

Every accessory you own—the collection of chokers, necklaces, bracelets, and chains he's bought for you—are made with the finest metals and jewels. Your outfits usually compliment your complexion and your eyes; your accessories are a reflection of him instead. The choker around your neck tonight is black and silver and adorned with tiny gemstones the same colour as the tips of his hair.

As you walk around the perimeter of the ballroom, you feel his warm, affectionate gaze linger on you from wherever he's hiding just out of sight. He weaves through the crowd seamlessly at these events, as the demon prince's silent shadow should, but you’ve yet to catch a glimpse of him.

One of the brothers tugs on your wrist and leads you towards the center of the room. Diavolo approaches you suddenly, and Barbatos follows silently behind him.

“You look radiant this evening,” Diavolo says, his voice laced with fondness for you. He respects his friend and your relationship and doesn’t dare touch you. “Don't you agree, Barbatos?”

You’re not sure anyone else notices the flicker of annoyance that hardens your lover’s expression before it's gone. Even you're not sure if you truly saw it when he nods and smiles at you.

“Quite lovely indeed,” he murmurs, but something about his sickeningly sweet tone sets you on edge. The tingling sensation of being watched follows you as you're dragged by your friends onto the dancefloor.

It's barely twenty minutes later that you finally break away from the party and mingle on the outskirts of the room with a cool drink in your hand. There's a sudden feeling of another body radiating heat against your back, and gloved fingers reach around you and gently pull your drink away. He sets it on a table nearby and touches your waist.

"Would you mind accompanying me to the kitchen? I have a small task to complete and would like the privilege of your company.” He’s always so formal to keep up appearances, but you suspect there’s some hidden meaning in his words you haven’t deciphered yet.

(There always is).

He offers you his arm and you leave the party together. His shoulders are stiff with tension as he leads you away from the ballroom, but despite his odd demeanor you're still grateful to spend time alone with him.

The rest of the castle is empty except for the servants carrying out various chores. When you arrive at the kitchen doors, he gestures for you to enter first. There’s a flurry of activity inside as the Little Ds pick up their trays of Demonus and make a quick escape through the servant’s entrance on the opposite side of the room.

You smile and wave at them as they leave, but the door shuts behind you and the lock clicking into place makes you freeze.

“You look exceptional this evening,” Barbatos breathes next to your ear. His gloved fingers caress your cheek and slowly run up and down the curve of your neck. “It's enough to drive me mad,” he confesses, lips brushing your skin just above the choker. He unfastens the clasp and slides the delicate item into his pocket for later.

He kisses the lingering puncture marks he made two nights ago—the skin is bruised and the puncture wounds are still not fully healed. He prefers that you don't use magic or potions to speed up the healing process, so you don't.

(He'd never deny you if you were in true pain or discomfort, but he would prefer to care for you himself than ask you to drink whatever flimsy potion one of your friends might try to feed you.)

“I get the sense that something’s bothering you,” you admit quietly, and he hums. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask nervously, but when you try to look at him, he holds your chin to keep you still.

"A simple problem requires a simple solution," he mutters to himself. "All I could smell was them on you,” he clarifies for your benefit, and it’s the only warning you have before you’re pushed forward against one of the stainless steel counters. Deft fingers tug at your waist and unbutton the burdensome clothing that gets in his way of touching you. You gasp when cool air hits your bare skin.

No matter what bath products he buys you, it’s not enough to completely wash away the scent of the others you live with. The clothes that hang in your closet don’t smell like him, not like the ones in his castle bedroom do.

The possessive beast inside him seethes with rage others that see you and crave you like he does might think you’re not claimed. You taunted the beast inside him when you walked into that ballroom smelling like so many others but not him.

Even if you weren't wearing the choker around your neck, those healing bites alone aren’t enough to deter those that might try to take you for themselves. You’re his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure everyone knows that—including you.

“What—what about the party?” you whimpered, overwhelmed by his body smothering yours and the pleasure of his hand exploring between your legs.

He's barely started and you can already smell the musky scent from between your thighs. The evidence he'll leave inside you when he's finished will drip down your legs and paint your skin; you have no doubt the stains will soak through the thin fabric of your pants for the others to see.

His fangs tease the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering higher than his other marks, too high for your choker to hide from view. Slick fingers tease at your entrance and you gasp as one slips inside.

“Everyone will know—“ you stammer, one final plea to remind him that perhaps this isn't a good idea, but his quiet, condescending chuckle interrupts you.

“Precisely, my dear,” he purrs, biting into your neck and groaning as the first pulse of blood coats his tongue. A hand encased in soft leather covers your mouth and muffles your cry as he buries himself inside you with a sharp snap of his hips.

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Should’ve read the fine print...

Minors DNI

Warning(s): NSFW, dubcon

Fem!Reader

Authors Note: First time; necessary feedback, pls! Taking requests!

It’s been about a week since you’ve moved into your new apartment. Everything about it was perfect except for one thing: you’ve explored every room but one, which was locked for some reason. (If only you had read the entire catalog ad, you would’ve understood why and that all past tenants never stayed too long). You complained about it to your landlord, who hired a locksmith free of charge, thankfully. This is what your actions have come to, sadly: you, standing before hundreds of slimy, purple tentacles, coming from all around the mystery room.

You try and back away quietly toward the door in hopes of being able to leave unnoticed. Pitifully, the floorboards creek(damn, this shitty building). The tentacles immediately move in your direction as you run for the door, only to be blocked off by more tentacles. They push you to the ground and squeeze around your arms and legs, probing at your torse.

They’re not hurting you; they seem pretty curious, actually. The tentacle's touch is soft and gentle. One tentacle stops at your face...it’s...caressing your cheek? Their touches were seemingly affectionate at first but quickly became provocative. They began to slip under your clothes, feeling you up.

Again, their touch was gentle but still violating nonetheless; they groped your breasts, sucking on your nipples and coiling around them. You try and keep as much dignity you have left, biting your lip to hold back your moans. The tentacles seem to sense your defiance and dislike it very much. They tear through your clothing, leaving only your thin panties to cover you. They curl around your thighs, spreading your legs to tease you, rubbing against your clothed cunt, and nuzzling your clit; their suckers find it and abuse the little bundle of nerves.

A blissful whine escapes your lips; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. The tentacles stroke your body with satisfaction, assumingly rewarding you for your submission. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your sense of dignity is long gone by now; you’re a wailing mess. Hair sticking to your sweat-coated skin, tear-filled eyes rolled up into your head, and while your mouth hangs open with a bead of drool leaking from the side.

The tentacles can sense your arousal, not to mention your drenched underwear. They move your panties to the side and continue to toy with your aching pussy, stroking your wet hole and sucking on your sore clit until you cum.

The tentacles let you catch your breath, lovingly massaging your body. Soon enough, you’re suspended in the air as more tentacles hold you, creating a makeshift bed to place you comfortably. Another tentacle approaches your face again, latching itself to your mouth and pushing past your lips to curl around your tongue. Is this its way of kissing you? Is it showing affection?

It’s a bit gross, but the tentacles mean well. Your body suddenly jolts as you feel a tentacle push against your sopping hole. It uses its suckers to tease you again, but as you grind yourself against it, the tentacle penetrates you, pressing against your walls to search for your sweet spot. The tentacle in your mouth begins to thrust in and out as you feel another tentacle enter your ass. The tentacle in your pussy moves rhythmically with the others as it’s sucker hit your g-spot. At this point, your mind is nothing but mush. All you see are white spots as your legs quake under the tentacles, unable to hold yourself up longer.

The tentacles wrap around your waist and lift you. You’re now ass up, face down, and being fucked mercilessly in all three holes. You can’t take it; it’s too good, too much, too many. You feel more tentacles enter your already full holes. Doesn’t this monster know you have a limit?

It doesn’t care, really. All it wants is to see you cum, and cum, again. You can feel yourself getting dizzier after each orgasm, one after another. Before you know it, you’re waking up from your fucked out haze. The tentacles seemed to have stopped fucking your brains out a while ago; they’re all curled up around your protectively, some still inside you. You try and crawl towards the door, but you’re body is useless at this point.

The tentacles drag you back to them, curling around to massage your worn-out body. It seems you won’t be leaving this room any time soon...or ever.

...

Might as well move your stuff in here.

rise & s(h)in(e)

belphegor x f!reader

summary: you accidentally fall asleep in Belphegor’s bed, and when you wake up, innocent morning snuggling is clearly the last thing on either of your minds.

word count: 2.2k

content: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, fingering, handjob, oral fixation, tail kink, biting kink, unprotected p in v, morning sex, creampie, cockwarming, referenced poly relationships, referenced consensual somnophilia

When you rouse from sleep, you’re momentarily disoriented as lazily you reach out to swipe your D.D.D. off of the end table beside your bed, only to find your hand limply swatting at empty air. Cracking open one bleary eye, you quickly realize you’re not in your room. As if in answer to the silent question ringing in your head, a warm huff of air curls against the back of your neck.

Belphie.

A jolt of panic floods your veins when you realize you must have fallen asleep while lying in his bed in the attic watching movies with him last night. Your face heats up with embarrassment, and you’re just about to attempt to slip out from under the covers when an arm snakes around your waist.

Belphegor’s tired, gravelly voice mumbles against your hair, “Where are you going?”

So much for avoiding an awkward moment.

Turning your head slightly to glance back at Belphie, you offer him a weak smile. “Sorry for the uh…impromptu sleepover.”

He frowns when you go to move again, pulling you flush against the heat of his body, and it’s a battle not to melt back into his touch. “You think I’m upset about that?”

“Well…” you trail off, and he lets out a contrary noise.

Belphie noses the back of your neck, sending a shiver of delight down your spine, and you can feel the smile on his face as his lips gently make contact with your skin. “Let’s stay in bed a little longer.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his insistence, and you press your face into the pillow as you grin. But while it comes as no surprise that the Avatar of Sloth is in no rush to peel back the covers of his plush duvet, it’s only when you finally allow yourself to press back into his solid frame that you realize perhaps going back to sleep isn’t quite what he had in mind.

You’ve spent more nights than you’d care to admit sprawled naked across the lush sheets of your bed at the House of Lamentation, fingers desperately plunging into the heat between your thighs, Belphegor’s name a near-silent prayer on your lips. Because despite the way most of the demons and otherworldly beings at RAD have become more than a little bit enamored with you during your time in the Devildom, the one curled up in bed with you now has been the most aloof, leaving you to eagerly crave the rare moments where flirtatious comments fall from his lips, when you can spy a brief flicker of desire flare up in his violet eyes, when his fingers linger a moment longer than necessary against your own. 

And now, you’re belatedly realizing that the fantasy of your fingers was a far cry from the large, firm shaft pressing heavily against your backside. The embers of desire that have long-since been burning for Belphie now flare red-hot in your gut, and you nearly whimper out loud as your pussy weakly clenches down on nothing in response. 

If Belphie were one of the others, you might drag this out. You might roll over and lazily kiss him for a little while first, like you did with Beel. Or perhaps you’d tease him and make him work for it—which you’d shamelessly done with Solomon. While you hold the sound in, you nearly snort at the memory of Lucifer insisting on taking you out to dinner first before he ended up fucking you right there in the entryway of the House of Lamentation after you’d returned anyway—much to the dismay of Satan, who happened to be on his way upstairs with his nose buried in a book. 

But Belphie.

Bephie.

Fuck, you’re so wet already.

Running late for your movie night, you’d hurried over to Belphie’s room fresh out of the shower, only realizing after you’d stepped inside that you’d forgotten to slip on a pair of underwear beneath the soft, cotton shorts hugging your hips. Now, unhindered by the extra material, you can feel a slick trail of arousal leaking from your cunt and sopping into your shorts.  

You can lay in bed lazily kissing Belphie all that you want later, carding your fingers through his soft hair as a low grumble of contentment escapes his pouty lips. You’ll let him indulge in every inch of you with a type of greed that would make Mammon look generous.

But now? 

Right now, while each and every one of your nerve endings is still pleasantly sensitive from the soft edges of sleep lingering in your system, you need to feel him inside of you. You can’t wait any longer.

And when you finally rock back into him, grinding your ass against his erection, Belphie gets the message loud and clear. He hums, pleased, and you can feel the vibration reverberate in his chest. Fingers beginning to roam across the expanse of skin beneath the t-shirt you’d fallen asleep in, Belphie makes a beeline for your breasts, eliciting a whine from you as he begins to massage them.

“You like it when I touch you here?” he asks, voice a quiet rasp. 

He experimentally rolls your peaked nipples between his digits, and all you can do is nod in response.

“But what about here?” 

His hand trails down your stomach, dipping just below the waistband of your shorts, and you can hear the audible hitch in his breath when he realizes you’ve forgone underwear entirely. 

Chuckling, he slowly slides his fingers lower. “Did you forget something?”

One hooked digit reaches out, gently dragging against your swollen clit.

“It was an accident,” you breathe out, far too aroused to try to lace any faux innocence into your tone.

“Hmm,” Belphie muses, running his teeth along the nape of your neck. “Are you sure? Because I swear I’ve heard you whining my name in your room late at night.”

Fuck.

Before you can come up with a witty comeback, he adds, “Sometimes I can hardly make it back to my own room before I start touching myself thinking about those cute little sounds you make.”

Oh.

Rocking into his touch, you reply, “Why didn’t you ever just knock?”

You can almost hear the smirk on his face as he answers, “Because I wanted to wait until you’d had your fill of everyone else first to show you what you’ve really been missing.”

At that, you feel the tip of Belphie’s tail brush against your leg, and there’s something undeniably possessive about the way it wraps around your bare thigh, the normally prickly areas along it now flat and soft to the touch as it caresses you. 

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs with a groan as he slides two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Belphie, please,” you whine, pressing down against his digits.

“If I’d have known you were this impatient, I would have let you wake up with me inside you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you know the words are more of a question than a statement. 

“Next time,” you confirm, cunt already aching with anticipation at the thought of Belphie sliding his cock into your needy hole while you’re still asleep. And because you know what your words will do to him, you add, “You’re the only one that I’ll let do that.”

A small growl of pleasure crawls up his throat at the admission, and he heeds your desperation by plunging two fingers into your pussy.

“Belphie,” you moan, biting your bottom lip hard as his dexterous digits curl inside of you.

“I love it when you say my name,” he rasps, letting your arousal coat his palm as he fucks you with his fingers.

But even after he adds a third digit, it’s still not enough to quell the ravenous desire rapidly crawling up and down your spine. When you reach back to grasp his cock through his sleep pants, Belphie groans, rocking his hips into your touch. As you begin to push down both layers of fabric covering his shaft, he’s quick to shove them off, his length hot and heavy in your hands when you begin to pump it.

The lazy confidence in Belphie’s voice falters as you stroke his cock, and he gasps your name when you slide your thumb over the bead of precum leaking from the tip. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he pants, jerking into your touch while he continues to stroke the wet walls of your cunt. 

In response, you tug aside the loose hem of your shorts, not even bothering to shuck them off. You push yourself back into Belphie’s cock, keening at the feeling of the head bluntly pressing against your damp slit, and he pulls his sticky digits from your cunt to tightly grasp your hip.

The sound that leaves your mouth is somewhere between a gasp and a strangled moan when he begins to ease the gratuitous length of his cock into your wet hole, your cunt greedily clenching down on each and every inch as he stretches you open. 

Morning sex, by default, is always a wonderful affair of tired, tender pleasure that never fails to leave your toes curling and your back arching as your heavy eyelids are nearly on the verge of fluttering shut once more. 

But with Belphie?

With Belphie, it’s more than you could have ever imagined.

Once he stuffs his shaft in to the hilt, he begins to ease it back out again, soon falling into a steady rhythm pushing and pulling through your tight, clenching walls. And there’s just something about the way he holds you, the way his fingers flutter across your collarbone, lips pressing chaste kisses along the side of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek, the whispers of your name leaving his lips. 

You’re still so tired and sensitive, and Belphie knows it. 

He revels in it, your whimper as he presses a kiss to the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear before dragging his teeth along the hinge of your jaw. The breathy pant when he teasingly pulls his cock out and drags along your wet slit for but a moment (and the quiet, choked out moan that follows when he slides it back in).

“So fucking tight,” he groans at the slick sound of his length being swallowed into the warmth of your pussy again. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any stray, wandering thoughts you’ve had in the past about the dexterity of Belphie’s tail are obliterated at the feeling of it brushing over your sex. With the soft end resting against your stomach, he presses the solid part into your clit, moving it in a circular motion as he continues to fuck you.

“Holy shit,” you moan at the added stimulation, the pleasure slowly creeping through your abdomen now dripping through your limbs like molten lava. He increases the pressure, shifting the hand gently resting against the side of your neck to cup your jaw. At the feeling of his thumb sliding over your bottom lip, you can’t help but dart your tongue out, and you hear a pleased sound in your ear as Belphie experimentally prods with his pointer and middle fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathes out when you readily take his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them while your cunt squelches with each stroke of his cock as he massages your sensitive bundle of nerves with his tail. Drool begins to slide out of your mouth and onto the pillow beneath you as you slide your tongue along his digits, the taste of you still lingering on them.

And just when tears are on the verge of slipping down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure cresting within you, the thick coil of tension in your gut snaps loose, and you moan around Belphie’s fingers as you writhe with the force of your climax.

Belphie knows you want him to come inside of you, he’s smelled the lingering scent of the others’ leftover spend dripping down your thighs day in and day out. But he asks anyway, only for you to reach behind and tightly grab his hip, nearly impaling yourself on his cock as you force him to bottom out inside of you, silently begging for it. 

And he’s nearly feral with it now—the thought of the two of you going down for breakfast, his cum still sloshing around in your pretty little pussy, eyes half-lidded in your sated state. The conspiratorial look you’ll give him from across the table as you feel his cum soaking into your uniform.

Maybe one of his brothers will try to fuck you afterward, only to find a load of his cum leaking out of you. 

Or maybe he’ll have to take you back upstairs to fill you up one more time himself before class. 

—because now that he’s had you. Belphie’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to get enough.

Belphie can’t help the way his teeth latch onto the soft skin at the junction between your shoulder and neck as his orgasm hits him, and you gasp out in pleasure as he bites down hard while he spills himself deep inside of you. And when he eventually stills, rather than moving away, Belphie just snuggles in closer and wraps his arms around you.

“It’s too early, let’s sleep a little longer,” he yawns, cock still buried inside of your cum-filled cunt as he curls against you and tangles his ankles with yours.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

STUDY BUDDY.

An easy afternoon date with your favorite tutor <3

tutor izuku 🥺 + fem reader. cunnilingus + size kink + pussyjob. messy relationship dynamics (is he ur tutor? is he ur bf? we don’t know anymore) but ur in love w him ok? insp by @oh-katsuki & this post by @kazuwhora ♡

betaed by my baby @ihatebnha :3

“are you even listenin’ to me?”

your eyes flicker up from the pretty girth of Izuku’s neck. you can’t really help yourself—all of him is just so pleasing to look at. the swift curve of it leads into the broad stretch of his shoulders. shoulders that blend into thick arms that give way to a pair of hardworking hands. they’re covered in scars, his hands. palms and knuckles, alike. he must’ve been a fighter as a kid.

the thought of nearly makes you burst into a fit of giggles. izuku? a fighter?

he wouldn’t hurt a snake if it bit him.

you smile at the frown settled into ‘zuku’s mouth. your fingers bat away at a few stray strands hung over his eyes. he lets you.

you sigh sweetly, adoringly. little hearts beat in your eyes. “your hair’s so much longer now.”

Izuku sighs, exasperated as he leans into your touch. the unfortunate frustration in his voice is a symphony to you.

“i know it’s complicated. let me walk you through the steps, okay? it’ll be so easy after that! i promise.”

you groan, shifting forward on the blanket to sit next to him and smush your face into his shoulder. your whining comes muffled against the cremé cashmere of his sweater.

the study date is in the middle of a field near your college campus, both of you entangled at the legs atop a large pink blanket you’d brought from your dorm. you’re curled into his side, humming a pleased little moan when he shifts closer to you.

it’s a multipurpose field. normally, it’s buzzing with laughter and vibrant energy when you come out here. but oddly enough, there aren’t a lot of eyes out this Wednesday afternoon. but you suppose that may be a good thing. the sun showers the earth in gold, easy winds surf through the air, and you and izuku soak it all up for yourselves.

“i don’t care about statistics, izuku.” you nudge his knees apart with the your achilles—he jumps. squeaks in surprise when you nudge your way onto his lap. his hands jump to your hips reflexively, and he eases you down into his lap as if he’s done it a million times before.

izuku’s always been very patient with you. lenient and forgiving; he indulges in your whims more often than he cares to keep track, but what can he do when his favorite little minx is just so—

“can’t you just do it for me?” you whine, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck. he’s slumped enough that, like this—kneeling at the top of your knees—you could give him a face full of tits.

pretty tits. your tits.

“tutors don’t do the work for you.” he chastises, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought. he’s happy enough to simply sit and soak in the warmth you give, settled comfortably into his lap and curled around his torso. he’s content enough just looking at you. with pink blush dancing across your cheeks. and your hair pinned up so pretty. and your lips, so glossy and sticky..

if you…

izuku swallows.

if you leaned in, even. just—just a liiitle more. he could—no, izuku. stop that.

he tries again, “don’t you wanna learn how to do it without me?”

you mull over his words. weigh your options carefully for two, maybe three seconds before you lean up again to wrap an arm around the top of his shoulders. the other gently sweeps his hair back to reveal his forehead. adrenaline rushes through you when startled viridian eyes blink up into your own.

izuku doesn’t move an inch. he doesn’t even breathe.

finally, you pout, then pull back to cup his chin and gently tilt his mouth up towards your own. it’s harmless, really. just a girl having a tiny bit of fun with her tutor.

heh.

“i don’t wan’a do anythin’ without you, Izuku.” you promise like the good girl you are, batting your lashes and lovingly groping him all over. a sweet squeeze to his bicep, a hand over his pec, fingers pressing along his stomach. he’s yours to touch, after all.

izuku gapes up at you.

you, he riots to himself, you little—you damn succubus!

your warmth caresses his skin, melts into his entire body when you wrap around him like predator around prey. you feel as soft as you look. body so achingly soft, izuku let’s you take up all of his space—as much as you want. his eyes flutter shut when you lean your face down to bump your nose to his. he parts his lips for you, then, instinctively. a soft groan rumbles through his chest, and finally, he cups the back of your neck and lurches up to meet your mouth with his own.

“mmf!”

izuku doesn’t let up, doesn’t pull away until he’s had his fill. a thick, wet tongue greedily licks into your mouth. his fingers—thicker, rough, but they feel so good—sink into your hips to keep you still. but they’re everywhere, cupping your jaw, sliding up the delicate curve of your spine to bring your chest into his, to curve your body against his. once he’s impatient enough, he starts squeezing at your thighs to shift you even closer.

“wait,” you whine, helplessly clinging to him. a string of spit connects your lip to his after he finally remembers he has to breathe. “izu, izu—,”

“mhm?” he hums, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. like he’s reminiscing, lost in the memory of the feel of your mouth opening so prettily for him. his hands slide to cup the curve of your ass cheeks and gently lift. the lower half of you slides just the tiniest bit up his stomach as izuku bends his legs in at the knees to sit criss-cross beneath you.

“yeah? y’okay? did i hurt you?” he snaps out of his stupor. his hands massage up your spine, lulling you in by the waist as his eyes urgently flicker over you. “c’mere, let me see.”

izuku is strong. you’re not sure if he plays a sport—you don’t think he does. what kind of male college sports player does their own homework? let alone helps someone else do theirs? but he practically manhandled you into his lap earlier! and you’re not the easiest to lift and just plop down. you can tell just by looking at him that he’s stacked. but feeling it? that’s a completely different story.

“m’fine,” you huff, a hand at izuku’s chest to keep at bay. he’s so fussy. you’re just.. a little frazzled. the softer parts of you ache just a little from his wandering fingers. your mouth is buzzing, your nerves frayed. “didn’t think you’d—you’d—,”

“yeah,” izuku sighs wistfully. his fingers lightly stroke at your tummy from beneath the hem of your shirt. “me neither.”

you can feel his heartbeat kiss your palm from over his tit—feel it come in quick, eager thumps. he’s excited.

izuku wraps his fingers around your wrist. “knew you liked me,” he grins. “at first, i couldn’t tell. but then kacchan said i was real dumb if i didn’t see it.”

“kacchan?” who?

warm fingers give a quick squeeze to your thigh. “my roommate, baby.”

baby. your tummy flutters. “oh.”

izuku huffs a chuckle at the lost look in your eyes.

“you’ve seen him before,” he reassures you. his hair flops as he leans his forehead down to rest it on yours.

“the blond one?” he whispers, like it’s some big secret between the two of you. “gives me a hard time when you’re late for our sessions.”

“uh huh.” you nod. you remember him—vaguely. he hasn’t spoken much to you, but you do remember the fleeting sensation of being pissed off because of him.

there’d been an astringent of foul names—mostly including “shitty deku,” and a few minutes of loud pot-banging, followed by something snarky like, “someone’s always in the fucking kitchen when i need to fucking use it.”

“i don’t like the way he talks to you,” you scowl, matching the serene quiet of his tone.

izuku smiles at the irony of the serious twist in your face and reaches a large hand to engulf the side of your face. big fingers gently stroke down your cheek as a thank you, for worrying about him.

“i don’t like you either,” you say pointedly, around the thumb he has pressed to your lip. just to see the smugness in his eyes come falling apart. “you make pretty girls do math instead of just doing it for them. that’s’a crime.”

“i know,” he coos, bringing your hand to his chest, eyes glittering and a lazy smile curls across his face. “i know. m’sorry. don’t know what a villain like me was thinkin’.”

“you should be.” a quick huff to accentuate your distress. it’s hard to keep it up when he’s so adamant on touching you, feeling you, trying to lure you in and kiss you silly all over again. s’difficult to think anything when you can feel him all over you, with every inch of your skin fiending for his attention.

s’hard to focus on anything but izuku when everytime you shift your hips, everytime he adjusts beneath you, you feel it pressing into you. shamelessly bulging and throbbing against your panties.

“mhm,” izuku innocently bumps your jaw with his nose. “on my knees, begging for forgiveness, even.”

“you’re hard,” you whisper, almost petulantly. satisfaction blooms in your chest when izuku goes still against you. his mouth falls open, freckled cheeks budding hotly with pink. “and you have been. s’been sticking into me since i sat on you. don’t y’think you should handle that instead of mocking me?”

one beat.

not a lick more than one.

“izuku—!” you shriek lowly, toes curling as he suddenly throws himself forward to lay you down backwards. the palm of his hand at the back of your head cradles it from any thumps.

“how am i supposed to handle anything with you?” he pants over you, eyes dark and attentive, still so sweet on you as he frowns from above.

“you’re evil,” he groans, even as you tug him down to kiss up his jaw. “bring me out here to study, then sit on my lap? i can’t keep lettin’ you toy with me, baby.”

“s’not my fault.” your breath hitches. izuku hooks his fingers in the waistband of your skirt, uses it to jerk you off the ground by your hips, then smoothly yanks it down. while all you do is stare up at him with stars in your eyes and a hand balled in the neckline of his shirt.

“someone’ll see,” you whisper. you feel so small laid out beneath him like this. but your toes curl at the thought, the implication of being caught—someone finding you here, fucked open and stupid and dripping onto your pretty pink blanket in the afternoon sun under izuku midoriya of all people.

“they can watch,” he mumbles back, pressing his hands into the backs of your thighs. “they can watch me take you apart. can’t let you wiggle away f’rm me again.”

he trails a messy line of kisses down your neck, your chest, pauses and places one on both of your nipples—for good luck—and then suddenly, he’s having a showdown with your pussy. his warmth concentrates over your panties, and all you see of him is a sea of wavy green.

izuku ducks his head. his fingers clench at the plush yield of your thighs as he drags you closer to his face, buries his nose into the damp cotton of your cherry-patterned panties. your thighs clamp nervously around his ears—he almost misses the pitched, little “yeah,” you whimper in return.

something unintelligible rises from izuku’s chest when the smell of you wafts through his nose, when the ghost of your taste fills his mouth. he bumps his nose closer into your clit, and flicks his tongue up against your leaking hole through the cotton when you whimper about it.

“what’re you…?” your hands spring to twist in his hair when izuku tilts your hips upward and gently sucks at the material covered in your slick. “you’re so weird!”

but the man pays your embarrassment no mind. izuku breathes you in, hefty, deep gulps of your cunt. blunt nails pinch into your ass cheeks, then he drags you by the hips to pull your cunt over his face religiously. his eyes roll up at your assault on his senses. you’re everywhere, making his mouth water and destroying his brain cells—a vixen. but all of you sounds so sweet. you start to keen and whine when his nose bumps your clit over n’ over again, n’ izuku knows he’s addicted.

“thought you hated me,” he shudders. “so this—this is—,” his forehead burrows between your hips, fingers curling around the crotch band of your panties. he almost tears ‘em apart when he goes to tug them aside. when green eyes burn black and his grip on your thigh tightens enough to make you whine out loud, you think maybe he’s forgotten what he was going to say.

broad shoulders shift and flex under your legs. just this angle of izuku is enough to get your pussy flowing even messier, clenching around the tough muscle of his tongue. all you can do is hang on and cry when the man leans forward so much, he’s raising the lower half of your body into the air. sucks greedily at your puffy cunt, and you can feel it all. your toes curl, eyes rolling into your skull as izuku takes and takes and takes, swallows every wave of slick, meets every roll of your hips to smother your pussy against his face like a pro with a forceful slurp of his own.

your voice trembles, like the rest of you. “yeah, well, this’s why, y-you freak.”

soon, he’s pulling his other hand from your ass to wiggle your panties down your thighs, then off your ankles. the cotton falls from your toes and plops onto the far bottom of the blanket behind him, then izuku’s attention is lavished entirely onto the junction of nerves between your thighs.

green eyes fall low, dark and focused as he presses his tongue into your cunt without another word. he brings a thumb up to gently lift the hood of your clit and takes everything you give him, the saltine sweat and the tangy taste of pussy—the entire lower half of izuku’s face is sticky.

“y’mean that?” he asks, husky.

you don’t have much of an answer to give him, still twitching and huffing with aftershocks of a not-quite orgasm.

and when you can’t make words, izuku dips back down to plant kisses that flutter along your skin. sweet sucks to your slit, quick nips to the insides of your thighs, he takes his time carving the memory of you into his mind. wants the softness of you to imprint against his body. to haunt him for all his days and all his nights.

“so pretty,” he rasps, throaty and raw. in desperate need of oxygen, izuku has somehow managed to tear himself away from your cute, puffy pussy. one hand rubs soothingly at the curve of your waist, the other stationed next to your cheek to hold his weight over you. “knew this pussy would love me.”

“what?” you gasp, eyebrow twitching at his audacity.

“think about you so much,” he coos, grins real dreamy when your eyes find his. “how could i not? i just.. wanna be covered in you. want people to look at me and know m’all yours.”

“sh—shut up,” you whine, thighs clenching nervously around his torso. his eyes flutter at the feeling. “shut up, you’re so embarrassing.”

“i know, i know,” he sighs. “stupid izuku, what’s he even talkin’ about?” a dopey grin curls at the corner of his mouth when he shifts up your body just a little more to press his lips to your mouth. you welcome him, even chasing after the taste of you on his tongue when he pulls away too quickly for your liking.

izuku leans backwards to sit straight up and brings you with him with his hands splayed across your spine. follows the first kiss with a second, and then a third. and another, and another, and another, while he cradles you in his lap again. chaste, and sweet, and lovely. he’s in the heat of your fourth kiss, this one a little less tame and more tongue than the others, when you gently force your cheek to his and nudge his mouth.

“i wanna feel you.” you pant, eyes wide and begging as your breath fans over the one side of izuku’s freckled face. your arms tighten around his shoulders.

“what?” he sputters, eyes bulging from their sockets. he adjusts you in his lap with the arm around your waist, the other below your ass—you keep slipping because he’s kneeling, not sitting.

(“sit back, baby,” you purr in his ear, low and cool enough to not disrupt the meltdown he’s undergoing.)

“are you—are you sure?” he wheezes, fidgets around until you nearly slip out of his arms. “shit. sorry. i just don’t—i don’t have any condoms. i could pull out, if you really wanted? no, i want that.”

you bounce as he sets you down on the blanket in front of him, then, head hung in shame, he follows suit and plops back down to sit across from you. “and s’not safe. and i’m.. not the most reliable.”

“your pull out game’s weak?”

“what?” he stops twiddling his fingers immediately. his head snaps up to you.

“hush,” you wave him off. “lean back s’more, i’ll make it work.”

“whatever you want,” izuku softens. he plants his hands on the ground and shifts back to give you space. “could have anythin’ from me’ y’know that?”

“hm,” you hum, crawling forward to get your sticky little paws on the button of his jeans.

“a car?” you pop the button with a swift, little pinch.

“i can take you to class,” he offers instead.

“you do that now,” you tag down his zipper and pout. “sometimes.”

“you should say thank you every once n’ awhile,” he teases. radiant veridian eyes gaze down on you sweetly.

your fingers tug his jeans apart at the opening. you shimmy his jeans down his hips and reach forward to peel back his tiddy whites next.

“never,” you grin. “what would i ever thank you for?”

izuku’s cock flops out of his underwear quick enough to scare you. it throbs in the air for just a moment before slumping down n plopping onto his abdomen. it’s curved, you realize, stars spawning in your pupils and a greedy little grin curling in your mouth. you tuck the band of his underwear beneath his balls, fat and heavy under your fingertips. the contact makes izuku shiver a little.

the ardent wonder of it all dissipates slowly when you realize, subsequently, just how stupid fat it is.

you inhale sharply, eyebrows pinching at the intimidating mass of cock before you.

“why is it so…?”

“…yeah?” izuku looks down at you. a subtle frown in his mouth and a worried pinch in his brow. too—small? he’s not the biggest.. he knows that.

“so, what?” he presses, tries not to sound too forceful or anxious.

it’s heavy, you decide, finally taking the appendage into your hands. heavy, and daunting.

he’s hard, unmistakably. izuku groans when your hand stretches around the base of it. he mutters something about how soft your hands are, and the hulking, throbbing mass of veins and muscle between his thighs throbs in agreement.

“th-thick.” you frown.

izuku hisses when you grip him, cheeks flushed pink at how you faun over his cock—like it’s.. like it’s a pet, or something. his hips buck. your mouth waters as it leaks from the tip, your fingers becoming sticky after just a few pumps.

“i’m—will it—would it fit..? inside?” you gasp apprehensively, eyes skirting away at the thought of izuku being too big for your poor kitty. he’d—he’d ruin it, wouldn’t he?

you crawl back into his lap and give an experimental roll of your hips. izuku’s cock pulses against your pussy. drops of precum splatter across his navel. his hips buck up, his cock slots hungrily between your lips again, then again. it’s like he can’t stop himself.

your gaze flickers up to his face. your cheeks puff with the pout in your mouth. “you’re too busy humping me to answer.”

he yelps when your fingers find his nipple under his sweater and twist.

“i—,” izuku’s tongue becomes cotton. it’s so soft, he thinks. softer than he ever could’ve imagined. and he’s tried. “of course, it’ll fit, baby…,”

his lashes beat against his cheeks. his fingers dig into the fat of your hips as your pussy flutters along his cock. up, to the leaky tip, then down, to the wide base. your cunt spills and kisses all over the twitching muscle without mercy—you’re gonna kill him. “just gotta—gotta stretch you on m’fingers first.”

you lean back and rock your hips the way you want to. you build a steady, consistent rhythm, one hand at your clit and the other tweaking at your nipple. you make sure to roll your hips up and grind them back so your clit bumps into the head of izuku’s cock—the pressure is direct and delicious, strikes of pleasure roll up your navel and make your cunt drool over the rest of him.

you hunch forward, reaching a hand down to keep his dick in place, to make sure you can hump at it as much as you want. the soft, tightened grip makes izuku shiver. with every bump of his cock to your clit, a surge of heat splatters from your fluttering pussy.

you’re soaking him.

your eyes roll up as your chest heaves, and you even pull your hand away from the nub of nerves to unconsciously sink your nails into the thick of izuku’s chest—you need something sturdy to hold on to.

“knew you were trouble,” izuku squeezes you, utterly hypnotized. his breath fans over your cheek. “knew it when—when you’d show up to our sessions and practically sit in m’lap.”

you whine.

“always wanted to keep you there, too,” he grunts. “give you somethin’ to bounce on, right in my lap—since you wanted to be there so bad.”

something desperate escapes the back of your throat. it’s all you can do to appease him. something mean tightens in your gut, sits and swells in the deep of your pussy long enough to make tears spring to your eyes.

“but—,” you sniffle, unable to look him in the eye. your heart softens at his confession, but petulance flickers across your tongue. “but you didn’t?”

izuku groans when you tighten your grip on him and drop your hips to get closer. it pulses uncontrollably in your hand, all while you hump over the top of his cock like a kitty in heat.

“wanted to take you out first,” he admits. “have you get all pretty for me. swing you around, hold your hand. make you mine.”

“izuku,” you gasp, trembling with the aftershocks.

you find your breath as your orgasm wanes. you pull your hips back to sit over the base of him. your cunt clenches desperately around nothing. pussy juices slates along the top of izu’s shaft. a cute, little snail trail.

“oh,” izuku breathes, eyes widening at the tale tell signs of your trembling pussy. “look at you. fuck, are you cumming? shit, baby.”

the coil snaps. you hump and cum and gush all over izuku with a broken wail of his name. dark waves pull and tighten in your tummy, and your entire body shudders. the hand at izuku’s chest slackens in grip, and soon follows suit is the rest of you.

“m’sorry lucky,” the words are drenched in izuku’s encouraging voice. he rumbles it right into your ear. “the prettiest girl in the world is fucking cumming all over me. god.”

you whimper, rolled tightly into his neck while the aftershocks clatter up your bones. you’ve taken refuge against his chest. the side of your head thumps with his every heartbeat. izuku’s hands flood warmth over your hips, your back. he rubs you gently, carefully easing you back down from the high of cumming all messy and drenching him in it.

you’d fall asleep if it wasn’t for his cock poking your ass.

“was it good?” izuku murmurs cheekily, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed.

“looked so pretty from down here—ugh!”

you slap his abdomen, right at above his navel, then reach down to smear the tip over his cock over your gooey entrance.

“i wanna feel you cum now,” you demand. “inside.”

“in—in—? fuck,” the words slip from izuku’s mind as you lower your hips. his cock pops through the ring of tightness at the entrance of your cunt, slick and slippery with your cum.

izuku is melting. you’ve got one hand on his abdomen to keep balance, the other wrapped meanly around his cock. you pump furiously at the base of him. in, out, in, out—your pussy clenches around the tip. hot beads of slick roll down the thickness of him, gifting your fingers a little lubrication to stroke harder beneath your pretty hole. the sight of you is a gift.

“just—just a little,” you whine, toes curling at the stretch on the inside of you. you give another roll of your hips, your nails pinching into izuku’s tummy. “can’t help m’self, m’sorry.”

“i know m’mean, but i don’t mean it,” you sniffle, press a hand to his stomach, and rock backwards on your knees.

“l-like you s’much, izu—uu!” a cry escapes you as you sink down more than you meant, the entire upper half of his cock spears into your cunt. the shock of suddenly being stretched so much sends you spiraling. you cum, again, with izuku’s name falling from your tongue religiously, mixed between squeals and squeaks.

izuku gazes up at you, fresh tears at his waterline. tries to blink them away as he gnashes his teeth together. he’s overwhelmed still, so easily—and you. you’re nothing if not overwhelming.

“fuck,” he growls, mouth pulled into a snarl. your eyes roll up at the wide, pulsing stretch of his cock. he reaches a hand for your cheeks and drags you down quickly. mwah, mwah, mwah. one kiss, two, three—and now he’s to return to splitting you open.

he grunts, “can’t believe you’re lettin’ me—sweetheart, i can’t—,”

his thighs flex. he spreads them apart beneath your weight, and bends his knees to plant his feet on the ground. leverage, that’s what he needed.

izuku plants his feet on the ground and humps greedily into your cunt until it’s stretched around too much of his stupid dick. your eyes cross as the sudden girth piles in and out of you. the sound of your own sloppy, shlurping pussy makes your body burn hot. your velvet walls flutter helplessly, the rest of you bouncing in likeness while izuku uses you. he’s just so big and heavy and strong—you know the inside of you is going to be so sore.

“you’re so deep,” you cry, tossing your head back. all of you trembles, rolling with aftershocks and overwhelming rolls of pleasure spiraling up and tightening again just beneath your navel. it drives you crazy enough to claw at izu everywhere you can get your fingers on him.

“m’too sensitive,” your nails claw at his knees.

“forgive me, baby,” izuku begs, “promise i’ll make it up t-to you, uhn.” he thrusts deeper, hits the top of your pussy as thick, hot ropes of milk fill your cunt.

“so cute when you try to be mean, y’know?” he rasps. “just to make a mess on me like th-this.”

the tears welling in his green eyes roll down his rosy, freckled cheeks. his head tilts back, stomach clenching sporadically under your fingers.

“i’m cumming,” he gasps, whines, coos. twitching and shaking underneath you, grabs a hold of you tight to ground himself. “c-cumming, m’cumming, oh no. oh no.”

there’s so much of it, goops of it spilling back down over izuku’s shaft and splattering onto the blanket below.

you fall forward with a whine, spread your thighs a little farther so izuku can get as deep as he likes. his arms come up to wrap around your waist immediately. he holds you there, thrusting helplessly as his cock pumps load after load of cum.

“s’so warm,” you sigh dreamily into his ear, lightly running your nails over his forearms. his cum pools beneath you, strings of it attaching your cunt to his cock as he jerks himself in and out of you.

“how d’you feel?” he mumbles in the come down, low and soft. a big hand soothes circles into your spine.

“m’all sore now.” phantom aches of what’s to come curl across the softer parts of your body—your thighs, your hips, your cunt. you stretch your chin up and snag the lobe of his ear by your teeth. it’s meant to be mean, but you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“what else?” green eyes focus intently on your face. his other hand slithers up to cup your cheeks from beneath your chin, to tilt your head to him and make you look him in the eye.

“i—,” you blink. what’s he looking for? “what are you asking me?”

his lip curls up at the directness in your tone. “ah,” he smiles, but it’s twitchy. nervous. “just wanted to make sure you don’t hate me.”

“oh.” you blink, again. just a little dumbfounded at the relief in his voice. “no,” you whisper, tender and soft and gooey. “never.”

izu’s head thumps backwards onto the blanket. his chest rises and falls as you lay across him, and even when you wiggle around, he just won’t let you pull away.

“but i will start hating you if you make me do this math homework.”

the man groans, miserably.

love's no problem in my hands

includes: barbatos x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: 1.5k | rated g | m.list | cross-posted on ao3

a/n: just had to get this out quick i swear im on hiatus lololol. for @messysketchyobeyme as part of the @omsecretsanta2022 event. i hope you enjoy!!

please reblog <33

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

Barbatos doesn’t know how it started. 

Well, alright, he knows when he first noticed it. But he has a feeling the feelings had been there, building, culminating, for a lot longer than that. 

He first noticed his affection for you on a spring day, one of the warmest the year had seen so far. You’d shed your uniform jacket, rolled up the sleeves, and gone outside during lunch, claiming the quad as your own. Claiming the attention of everyone on the quad. And like moths to a flame, everyone had followed, as they always did. Him included. 

“It feels so nice out,” you’d chirped, face turned up to the non-existent sun, and Barbatos had become aware of a buzz under his skin, a curious warmth that he’d never really felt before. It didn’t take a genius for him to place the feelings, and he accepted them a lot easier than he thought he would, with them clicking into place like the last piece of a previously hidden puzzle. He finally understood what everyone was talking about, finally understood why people were pushed to invent, to create, to conquer in the name of love.

Of course, while he was going through all of these realizations and acceptions, time had moved forward, and you were now surrounded by everyone, with him on the outside, like always, slightly distanced, the few feet like an uncrossable gorge. But you, you with your crooked half-smile and wonderful gleam in your eyes, had looked through, to him, smile somehow widening just for him, and that had made it all okay, made that gorge seem like nothing more than the few feet it actually was.

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” you tease, poking him lightly with the blunt end of your pencil. He blinks, coming back to himself, coming back to the club meeting, and gives you a half smile. The club was one you both co-ran, some ‘community wellness’ thing that you were a lot more passionate about than he. But he put his everything in it, for you.

“I apologize, I must have been distracted. Remind me of our discussion,” 

“Barbatos? Distracted?” Your face is bright, cheerful. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Barbatos?” 

“Funny, really,” he returns, and the laugh he is gifted with is quickly saved, pressed into the scrapbook of his memories, to be taken out and admired every now and again, treasured close to his chest. 

“Anyway…” you pull him back into the meeting with vigor, with enthusiasm, as with everything you do, and he lets himself be pulled willingly. What a fool he must be, to take the chains from your hand and wrap them around his wrist himself.

Once the meeting is over you check your D.D.D., cursing. He directs an inquisitive look at you, and you grin guiltily. The school is dark, and mostly empty, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“It’s a lot later than I thought it was,” you explain. “Is there any way I can beg a ride off of you? I’d be really thankful.” 

“I suppose,” Barbatos replies, making a show of being long-suffering. You draw out his humor in a way no one else does, and he’s grateful, so immensely grateful, that you see his dry, deadpan remarks for what they are and don’t just think he’s dreadfully boring. 

“Thank you so much!” You squeeze his side in a hug, apparently not feeling the staggering static that emanates from where the two of you touch, that sends shivers of electricity up and down his entire frame. “I owe you one.” 

“You always say that,” he accuses lightly. “At this point, I believe you owe me a lot more than that.” 

“Probably.” You shrug, unrepentant. He really shouldn’t find that shamelessness so charming. 

Being in a car with you is like torture. Torture he can stand, revels in, delights in. 

You’re close, within touching range. Not that he’d ever put his hands on you without your express and explicit permission, but the forced intimacy gets to him. You’re so comfortable in his car, shown by the way you commandeer the radio, the way you dig through his glovebox like it was yours for the taking. 

(Everything of his is yours for the taking, for the having, for the keeping.) 

“What’s this?” you ask, more to yourself than anything, but he looks over anyway. You’ve got a CD in your grip, reading the back. 

“That,” he says, “is my favorite CD. So be careful with it, please.”

“It’s your favorite?” 

He nods, and you give him that crooked smile, ejecting the CD that was in the player, exchanging it out. 

“We don’t have to listen to it,” he tries, and you wave him off. 

“Of course we do! It’s your favorite, and I want to hear it too!” 

 You pull pieces of him to the surface, almost by accident, and he stands there in front of you, exposed. But you’re always careful with the new parts of him that are revealed, treating them as preciously and as kindly as you’d treat an invaluable glass sculpture.

The first track starts and he keeps his gaze on the road, humming along. He can feel your eyes on him, and eventually, eventually gives into the urge to look over, meeting your eyes. 

“I can see why you like it,” you murmur, quiet for once. “It’s very…” you hold the words in your mouth, tasting them, savoring them. “It’s very you.” 

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re quite welcome.” 

It’s quiet in the car, aside from the CD, of course, but he doesn’t mind the silence. Never has. Others feel it as a pressure, but he doesn’t, and knows, despite your propensity to talk and laugh and be in constant motion, don’t either. It’s a comfort, to be in silence with you. 

The drive to the House of Lamentation takes forever. Isn’t nearly long enough.

When he pulls into the circle drive, past the immaculately pruned bushes and other ostentatious landscaping, he resists the urge to go slower, to coast at a snail’s pace. He’s better than that. Barely. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as he pulls to a stop, lowering the volume of the music. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” he says. “You know me. Barbatos: butler, glorified babysitter, and part-time chauffeur.” 

He’s rewarded again with your laugh, but it fades into something thoughtful, something intimate.

“You’re so much more than that,” you say, and when he looks over at you in muted surprise, you’re not returning his gaze, instead focused somewhere in the far-off distance, maybe in the far-off past. Either way, you blink and come out of it quickly, but don’t take your words back. Instead, you do something, that even with all of his overthinking, his planning, his habit of examining every possibility, he’d never seen coming: 

You lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

Your lips are warm, and dry, and un-lingering. He stares at you in shock as you pull away, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“Well,” you say with another laugh, much more high-pitched and nervous than the others he’d heard from you, “thanks again. I’ll be going in now.” 

You slide out of his car quickly, crossing the distance between it and the door in seconds. He almost thinks you’re not going to look back, until you do, that damned crooked smile on your lips, fluttering your fingers in a wave, even as embarrassment and joy war in your eyes. 

It takes a long time, too long, for him to pull himself together enough to pull away from the House of Lamentation, and he has to take the most convoluted way home he can think of to fully rid himself of his blush– a herculean task, considering that kiss plays on repeat in his head, the memory of your smile almost tangible. Who would have thought a simple kiss on the cheek would have been enough to bring the always-composed, always-distant Barbatos back down to the realm of unstoppable, human emotion?

Maybe you returning his feelings isn’t as far-fetched a possibility as he’d thought. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

ask me

barbatos x f!reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about Barbatos' forked tail, and he's well aware, so he decides to show you exactly how he likes to use it over tea one afternoon.

word count: 2.2k

content: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, masturbation, tail kink, penetration in both holes, tail sex, praise kink

“Ask me.”

The smooth, low tone of Barbatos’ voice softly nudges you away from your idle thoughts, and you glance up from where you’d been staring down into the depths of the cup of tea in your hands. 

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Ask you what?”

A ghost of a smile plays across his lips as he tilts his head to the side, casually running a gloved finger along the filigree adorning the lip of the mug. As if in answer, his tail winks into view for a moment as his demon form pushes to the surface, twin tips twirling together before disappearing back under the table. 

Your heart rate picks up at the sight, and your fingertips dig into your thigh as you stretch and rotate your ankle in an attempt to stave off the desire to bounce the nervous energy right out of your leg. 

“The servants are a chatty, nosey bunch,” he muses, steepling his hands together as his green eyes sparkle.

Not quite trusting yourself to respond otherwise, you launch another question as you evenly ask, “Are they?”

He raises his eyebrows slightly and nods, leaning in slightly as if he’s readying himself to share a secret with you. “Leave anything out in the open, and they’re certain to see it.”

It doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out what he’s getting at. You’ll never forget the horror of tiredly walking back into your room at the House of Lamentation after a long day of classes last week to discover you’d left a new toy right on top of your sheets.

Asmo had excitedly drug you to a naughty looking little shop in town when he’d found you loose-lipped and horny enough one night to blurt out that one of the things you missed most about the human world were vibrators. Needless to say, you’d worn yourself out that night as you shamelessly plunged your new purchase your needy hole, bringing yourself over the edge thrice before you finally collapsed beneath the sheets, tossing the sticky toy aside and quickly falling asleep.

And it would have been fine, really. 

You’d have no issue earning yourself a whispered little reputation at RAD for masturbating, for fuck’s sake. You certainly weren’t living in a house of angels, after all. 

The issue was the specific vibrator that you’d chosen. The one you’d been unable to look away from after your eyes landed on it across the store, subtly clenching your thighs together the entire way home as you felt the weight of it in the shopping bag knocking against your leg with each step.

When Asmo saw the immediate glazed over look on your face the moment you walked into the store, he had gleefully explained that the Devildom’s selection of vibrators and dildos might be a little…kinkier than you were used to seeing in the human world. 

Kinky didn’t even begin to describe it.

But there was one particular thing nestled amongst the shelves of monstrous cocks of all shapes and sizes that you couldn’t look away from: a teal-coloured vibrator shaped like a forked tail. 

To your surprise, Asmo said nothing when he met you at the counter with a basket full of his own purchases—he simply offered you a mischievous grin as he nudged a small bottle of lube toward the cashier for you as well. 

It was only later, safely in the darkness of your bedroom, that you let yourself think of it. 

Think of him.

Face buried against your pillow and tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes, Barbatos’ name was a silent scream on your lips as you fucked yourself with the toy, one end of the tail stuffed into your cunt while you slid the other into your ass. 

You came so hard the first time you nearly blacked out, holes squelching wetly as you greedily chased two more orgasms while the demon butler’s face flashed in the forefront of your mind. And you’d left the evidence like a beacon right on top of your bed when you’d rushed out the door for class the next morning, not sparing a single thought for the servant that would likely be in to tidy up your room in the afternoon. 

Something brushes against your bare ankle, bringing you back to the present, but you can’t bring yourself to look at Barbatos. Not now that you’re certain he knows you purposely bought a fucking vibrator that looks like his goddamn tail. 

As if he can feel the mortification pouring off of you in waves, Barbatos lays a gentle hand on top of yours. “Ask me if I enjoy using my tail on my lovers.”

You suddenly wish you’d taken Solomon up on his invitation to join him in researching teleportation spells. Turning your hand over, Barbatos begins to rub a comforting circle with his thumb into your palm, patiently waiting for your response.

One could say it’s difficult to want for anything with seven demon brothers willing to dote on you day in and day out during your stay in the Devildom, especially when you live with them. But, in perhaps the most cliché manifestation of the age-old adage of wanting what you can’t have, you’ve found it a battle in and of itself to stop thinking about Diavolo’s elusive butler. 

At first, it was his deep voice that set you off-kilter, the tone stroking its way down your spine like liquid fire. Paired with eyes that always look like they know more than they let on and a disarmingly handsome face, the brothers and Lord Diavolo himself are hard-pressed to maintain your attention at the times when Barbatos skirts about the edges of the room, unnoticed by some but always seen by you.

While your time spent in his presence has been meager in comparison to how frequently you see your housemates, Barbatos often makes the most of it with playfully witty remarks that leave you reeling long after he leaves and kind gestures that make your heart ache, like the way he made sure the House of Lamentation was stocked with your favorite tea after you made an offhand remark about it one day. 

With a menagerie of demons eager to monopolize your attention, you were nearly ready to accept defeat in the face of an impossible conquest—because in what world was Diavolo going to let you seduce his fucking butler?

Your plans to stamp out the burning embers of your little crush went to hell in a handbasket the day you saw Barbatos flash into his demon form though, unfortunately. As if seeing his  elegant horns wasn’t enough to get your heart positively racing, you’d outright choked on your soup when the real star of the show revealed itself—that goddamn fucking tail. 

Levi had patted you on the back as you gasped for air, vegetables and broth launching an assault on your throat as your wide eyes took in the sight of Barbatos threateningly pointing the forked appendage in Mammon’s face as he held out a hand for the money he owed Diavolo. 

Once you saw that teal, forked tail in all of its slithering glory, there was no going back. The only direction you could spiral was further down into a frustratingly horny purgatory, wondering whether or not it would be uncouth to proposition the demon butler to fuck you with his tail. 

And now, it’s the steady reassurance in Barbatos’ eyes as he squeezes your hand that allows you to let the words tumble from your mouth before you can think better of it, “Do you enjoy using your tail on your lovers, Barbatos?”

What can only be described as a devilish smile curls at the corners of Barbatos’ mouth, and he briefly darts his tongue out between his lips before coyly responding, “In many ways. Was there a specific one you had in mind?”

Your mouth goes dry, confidence faltering at the insinuation in his tone. “I…” you trail off, unable to muster up the filthy thoughts about the male sitting in front of you that have long-since taken up residence in your head.

A contemplative noise escapes his lips as he shifts into his demon form, slowly pushing both of your teacups aside as his tail slithers up onto the table. Your breath hitches in your throat as he lazily flicks the forked edges before pressing it closer to you, the surface of it cool and smooth as it ghosts along the curve of your jaw.

“I’ve been told the secretion has a…pleasant flavor,” he muses, eyes glittering with delight when you unconsciously part your lips at the feeling of his tail now prodding against them. 

Sweet, viscous liquid that vaguely reminds you of honey, though more slick than sticky, hits your tastebuds as one forked tip presses against your tongue. 

And fuck does it taste good. 

You let your jaw relax, and Barbatos readily accepts the invitation, slipping his tail further into your mouth as the other tip caresses your throat. A fresh spurt of the sweet nectar pours onto your tongue, and you greedily gulp it down, moaning softly as you begin to suck on his tail. A soft growl of encouragement rumbles in Barbatos’ chest, plates and mugs clinking in protest when he tightly fists a hand in the ornate tablecloth. 

“And there’s also this…” he adds, tail sliding out of your mouth and trailing down your chest, effortlessly flicking open the buttons of your RAD uniform. 

Knowing full well Lord Diavolo could return to the Demon Lord’s Castle at any time, it’s a battle in and of itself not to cry out at the feeling of Barbatos squeezing your breasts with his tail. But once he uses the twin tips to tease both of your peaked nipples at the same time, the shameless whine you let out can’t be helped, not in any realm. 

Meeting his gaze, you try to steady your breathing as you ask, “Where else?”

Barbatos licks his lips. “Would you still like me to…show you?”

You nod, and his tail disappears under the table, wrapping around one of your ankles and tugging your crossed legs apart. One forked tip pushes your skirt up and out of the way and then tugs aside your underwear, the other spreading your thighs so wide that you slip down in your chair slightly.

And the moment that Barbatos slides his dripping tail through your equally slick folds, your body trembles with a jolt of searing hot pleasure, and a moan so wanton and desperate tumbles from your lips that you know you’ll never be satisfied again without this—

The feeling of one end of his tail firmly massaging your swollen, throbbing clit, the other teasing at your entrance.

The desire written plainly across his face as both tips curl around one another before he begins to ease them into your cunt.

The way he leans across the table and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, fangs scraping against your skin as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts.

The damp material of the chair beneath you, sodden with the combined arousal leaking from his tail and your wet heat.

The softly uttered, “Beautiful,” as you whimper his name. 

The feral, possessive snarl of frustration that escapes him at the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

…the way Barbatos continues to fuck you with his tail even as Diavolo unknowingly strolls into the room with a grin on his face, seemingly none the wiser to the activities hidden beneath the long tablecloth. But after he deftly snatches the last biscuit off of one of the plates in front of you, he offers you a sly wink before turning on his heel and leaving, none too discreetly closing the doors to the sitting room behind him.

You’re nearly on the verge of making a comment about what just happened, but all rational thoughts leave your head when Barbatos quietly rasps, “This is my favorite place to use it, though,” just as a forked tip nudges at the tight ring of muscle nestled between your asscheeks.

He pauses, just for a breath, and you whimper, “Please.”

Appendage covered with both of your fluids, Barbatos begins to stretch your asshole open. If you weren’t so busy moaning and whining unintelligible sounds, begging him to go deeper, you’d laugh at the thought of the silly vibrator now tucked away in your room. Because while the toy had certainly felt good, you know now that nothing can compare to the exquisite pleasure of Barbatos using his real, dexterous tail to fuck both of your holes at the same time. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, reaching across the table once more to stroke your face, thumb sliding across your cheek. “So wet for me. You take me so well.”

You shudder at the praise, hardly able to contain yourself as a wave of pleasure like you’ve never felt before rises up inside of you. And when Barbatos curves his tail so that the part not ruthlessly plunging into your fucked out holes rubs against your sensitive bundle of nerves, you tug on the tablecloth so hard the teacups go crashing to the floor, your entire body shaking with the force of your orgasm. 

Barbatos lets you catch your breath a moment before he pulls his tail out of you, and you can’t help but whine at the emptiness that follows. 

Smirking, he brings the forked edge coated in your cum to his lips and licks it clean before purring, “I have some other things I can show you, if you’d like.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

grrr i just wanna be the fruity fours chubby gf & have each of them lay on my tummy :(

like you wear a outfit that shows a little more skin than usual bc they’ve helped you gain more confidence. all their brains just completely short circuit. they all make different comments on your outfit, but each one makes you more flustered than the last.

I JUST WANT THEM TO WORSHIP ME AGHHH -🛸

PRRRRR!!!!

(cws: plus size!f!angelface, fruity four, body worship, a lil fluff, a lil spice, the four being soft and thirsty for their gf <3)

being fruity four's chubby girlfriend propaganda.....your tummy is the most coveted napping spot in the house. you'll be splayed out on the couch or the chair or in bed, and so often you'll have a fluffy-haired head (usually Eddie or Nancy) sinking down on your exposed belly to snuggle in and kiss before they fall asleep. Robin especially likes the spot on the floor at your feet while you're sitting up on the sofa, a movie playing on the tv while she sits back and gently rubs your calves, your thighs resting on each shoulder for her head to be squished between while she turns and nuzzles your soft skin. Steve purposely keeps the house warm so you'll be more apt to wear shorts when you're just relaxing inside, half because he loves seeing your bare legs and half because he wants to feel you shiver in delight when he squeezes them as you walk by.

and yes, please, please wear those outfits you like that show off your skin! they're so happy you're comfortable enough to do it, and to pull out those clothes that you've shoved into your closet because you liked them, but were too shy to wear them out. Steve and Robin will have conversations at length about your boobies, about how they look in those cute outfits and how flattering they are on your curves--and for once Robin won't clock him about using that particular word, because she's clearly lost in her own fantasy when they daydream together about the perfect items that would show off those goods, even though in reality you'd never wear them out the door before they'd be tearing them off of you. sometimes Nancy will come up behind you while you're looking at yourself in the mirror, and fix your clothes so they sit where they naturally do and not where you've adjusted them to try and cover certain areas you dislike. it just so happens that that usually means you've got your tummy out and you can clearly see those lines and curves and soft spots, and she just goes feral over it. like really feral, I'm gonna eat you out right here so you can watch your beautiful self cum kinda feral. Eddie does the same thing as well, except he's more apt to get on his knees and kiss your belly if you say bad things about it--cause c'mon, don't insult his favourite pillow! don't hide her all the time! let her out of containment!!

either way, if ever you wonder whether they're really sincere about liking your body type, just stand in front of a mirror or just have your tummy out and available--rest assured there will be someone sniffing you out like a bloodhound and descending on you to turn you into a human pillow or a cum dumpster cause they just can't help it

𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

𖦹 summary: continuation of we leavin.

𖦹 content warning: connie x fem!reader. reader is black-coded. mentions of dumbification. connie has a papi kink.

𖦹 translations: buena chica/good girl

𖦹 word count: 480.

authors note: i feel horrible ab this chi😭 but y’all asked, so i delivered. its quite a quick read so enjoy. and also thank yall for all the love. so so so grateful. te amo!

—

“you gon’ listen next time, baby? huh?”

you only nodded in response, the words being taken out of your mouth due to the ecstasy sizzling through your nerves. right after leaving the party, connie didn’t say a word. not on the way to the car, not in the car, and not during the drive home. it pushed a sense of slight fear into you, given he’d never been this silent before. however, when you both got into the house, he said a singular sentence that made you regret pushing your luck at the party.

“im’a show you how to watch ya’ mouth.”

and that’s exactly how you ended up at the edge of the bed, knees beside your head, in nothing but in your black, lace panties that were pulled to the side as connie drove his dick through you like moses when he parted the red sea. he was bowed over you, your sweaty foreheads touching while he gave you your life. your hands were going numb from how tight they gripped onto the sheets below you, having a fistful of some in each hand.

“tell me, ma.” connie repeated, not falling clueless to the way your lips were parted, and eyes almost crossing from how good he was making you feel. you couldn’t even moan properly. just grunts, groans, and heavy pants to express your pleasure.

you wanted to hear him. you wanted to respond. but anytime you tried, he’d hit that one spot inside of your walls that would send you into a state of inexplicable bliss again. connie’s hands were currently interlocked behind your head to keep it from falling back into the mattress, but he moved one in favor of grabbing your jaw with it. his thrusts slowed down from the once fast pace they were at, but became more harsh.

“say it, baby. use ya’ words.” connie coo’ed, the sound of his balls slapping against the fat of your ass in even intervals as he fed you each thrust.

“uh-huhh.“ you nodded, still not being able to put words together. the pace he was going dumbed you up even more, and he could tell too, by the slight squelch of every time he stuffed you, along with your pussy squeezing around him. though, your response still didn’t satisfy him.

“words, i said. i don’t speak in noises.” connie sped back up, in an attempt to snatch an answer from you. with this, he did.

“fuckyess- im’a listen, con-“ you said, but quite incoherently.

“who?” connie stopped completely. you immediately realized your mistake. “fix that.” he said, to which you obliged.

“im’a listen, papi..” you looked up at him with watery eyes. your vision blurred from said water as he started up again, somehow hitting an angle that you didn’t even know existed, snatching your soul from you completely.

“buena chica. now, cum fa’ papi.”

—

promise (raphael/gender neutral!reader, tmnt)

as with a lot of the stuff i’ve been posting recently, part of this has been sitting in my drafts for ages and i’m thrilled to finally get it done! first time writing for any of the boys and of course i had to go with my favorite. hope you guys enjoy! and feel free to send prompts my way, i’d love to write more for this fandom!

You wonder what time it is.

It was well past midnight the last time you looked at your cell. You’re almost afraid to look again, tempted though you are. You’ve done just about everything you could think of to distract yourself - thumbed through one of your favorite books, played a video game, messed around on your phone. Nothing worked. 

You blow out a breath as you tilt your head back, staring in frustrated silence at the dark ceiling. You’ve got a late night news report running on the television, just in case you could glean anything off of it about the boys’ condition, but it’s doing little to calm the increasingly panicked thoughts running through your head.

They’re fine, you tell yourself. Stop worrying.

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