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when common sense tells me that indian satoru would be from north india and i start screaming and crying because despite it all I do agree

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I love commenting on everyone's posts ksksk

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do you guys think that shinichiro haunts the narrative? I think he does, especially because we don't really get introduced to him until later and then we realize that he's everywhere

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ran would be EVIL with the spreader bar.

you wouldn't have a fighting chance against him. as pleasurable as it is, he pushes you to your absolute limits. it's also, humiliating. Absolutely humiliating, because yes, he's your husband, yes he's seen and done things to every crevice of you, but when he fixes the spreader bar on you and then binds your wrists to the bar too, you're face down, ass up, cheek pressed against the cool sheets. It's intimate and you like showing yourself off to him, your husband, but he then just makes you... Wait. He leaves you there.

Sometimes he even leaves the room as though you aren't spread out for him. The other times are somehow even worse because he stays in the room, but is absentmindedly or even seriously engaged in some other work. He has you bound and spread while he's swirling a glass of whiskey and reading a book. The click of the ice against the glass and the way he hums when he his fingers dip between the pages to flip them make you whine. He tuts at you, and you KNOW that he's smirking as goes back to his book, and honestly fuck him.

other times he's in bed with you. So nice, right? wrong. he's on the phone with someone, it could be an associate, that whore sanzu, mikey or even rindou. he rubs a hand up and down your back as he chuckles on the phone, almost as though you're just furniture next to him. you whine and kick and pull against your wrist restraints.

"hm? oh no, she's being good. or at least she's trying her best, aren't you poor thing?" he asks bringing his hand down to either your asshole or your spread pussy, patting you there, condescendingly. "rindou says hi," he adds to you with a wink.

a burn of humiliation spreads down your back, while his hand is still lightly petting your holes. he can feel you get wetter. you both know that. you press your eyes shut and when you open them, ran is dangling the phone in front of you.

"be a good girl and say hi back."

fucking hell.

"hi rindou," you manage in your meekest voice. you can hear him laugh on the other line and that sets off ran too, he laughs as he snaps the phone back away from you.

fuck. you have dinner planned with him tomorrow. yesterday he dropped you off at the spa and you had discussed the latest movie over candies in the car before that.

you sniffle.

"okay then. send me the restaurant you decide on, and if it's thai again I'm gonna kill you. gotta go. I think she's gonna cry,"

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will I be stoned by the fandom if I say that I don't like calling alucard adrien because that sounds like a regular human boy name but adrien sounds gorgeous and haunting

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Can I see fem ran… PLEASE 😭🙏

all my rans r fem ran 💝

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do you guys know that before I was a ran fucker I was a shinichiro fucker

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　　❛❛ 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓, 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀.

ꗃ sum. a collection of tokyo's hottest summer tunes! featuring manjiro sano, ken ryuuguji, chifuyu matsuno, kazutora hanemiya, and keisuke baji. get to know them intimately in these new hit tracks!

tags. fem!reader. smut. all characters are written in their adult timeline (20+). pwp. unprotected sex. pet play ("kitten"). collars/leashes. breeding. cumflation. body worship (r). oral (r). size difference. dubcon (somnophilia). thigh fucking. just some smutty lil drabbles i cooked up at 3am.

a/n. sooo i'm dipping my toes back into writing for tumblr but we will see how it goes! i'm anticipating this being four "sides" or parts and i'm actually really excited about the next one because it involves shuji (≧▽≦)

ꗃ : side a / side b / side c / side d

☆ track #1: manjiro sano 　— feat. breeding

manjiro is quiet when he fucks you. 

not silent, but quiet in that concentrated way he always gets when he wants something— when he’s taking something. when his mind has gone dark and low and given in to the intrusive thoughts.

you’re beneath him, folded in half, your legs pushed up and back until your knees press into the mattress. he’s deep— so deep you can feel him in your stomach— and the position leaves you with nowhere to go, nothing to do but take it. just like he wants.

“you're so good,” he breathes, his voice hoarse as he rocks into you. “so fucking good like this. all spread open for me.”

his pace is steady and purposeful. every thrust is controlled, like he’s pushing his cum deeper with each stroke. like he wants to ruin you from the inside out. and maybe he does. maybe that’s the point.

you moan his name, your fingers digging into the sheets, and manjiro groans in return, the sound low and guttural. his forehead presses to yours, sweat beading at his temple, his breath shaky.

“gonna fill you up,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your mouth. “make sure it takes.”

your walls flutter around him at the words— at the promise in them— and that’s all it takes. 

manjiro snarls, hips snapping forward one last time as he cums deep inside you once again, burying himself to the hilt. 

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t even think about it. he just holds you there— pressed full, pinned open, panting against your skin— and grinds. small, slow, filthy rolls of his hips that have you seeing stars. 

you blink to clear your vision, lifting your head to the best of your ability, and glancing down where your bodies connect. above it, your stomach is bloated, filled with his loads that never seem to end. 

"look at that," he murmurs, onyx eyes following your line of sight. "gonna look so pretty all swollen with my baby.”

☆ track #2: ken ryuuguji 　— feat. size difference

you don’t stand a chance against him.

not when ken decides he wants you. not when his hands are twice the size of yours and wrapped tight around your hips, dragging you into him like you weigh nothing at all. you try to brace yourself against his chest, but it’s useless— his body is a wall of corded muscle intent on pinning you down.

“c’mon, baby,” ken says, his voice low and unbothered, like he’s not already manhandling you into whatever position he wants. “you know i got you.”

and he does. he always does.

you’re on your stomach one second and flipped over flat on your back the next, your head spinning with how easily he moves you— how eagerly he manhandles you, like it turns him on just knowing he can.

“you’re so small,” he groans, crowding over you, spreading your legs wider with his thighs and pinning your wrists above your head with one massive hand. “feels like you’re gonna break.”

your breath stutters when he thrusts his hips forward, his thick cock heavy against your pussy, not even inside yet and it’s already too much. the stretch is going to ruin you and he hasn’t even started.

“you like that, huh?” he murmurs, his mouth dragging down your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your pebbled skin. “like being tossed around a little?”

you whimper beneath him, and he laughs breathlessly. “don’t worry, sweetheart,” ken reassures you, “i’ll make it fit.”

he does— slowly, deliberately, inch by inch until your back arches off the bed and your hands twist helplessly in his grip. he’s huge, stretching you open with a kind of patience that only makes it worse, like he wants you to feel every second of it.

“shit— you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, jaw clenched as he bottoms out. “too much?”

before you can even begin to formulate a response, he smirks, rising back up only to whisper in your ear. “nah, you can take it. you always do.”

☆ track #3: chifuyu matsuno 　— feat. body worship

"you're so pretty, baby.” chifuyu murmurs the sentiment against your lips, whispers it so sweetly your teeth start to ache. 

he always makes you feel like this— adored, loved, cherished. like he’s memorizing every inch of you, cataloguing every breath you take. his hands are warm where they cradle your cheeks, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as if the shape of you alone deserves reverence.

“you don’t even know,” he continues, his voice low, almost awestruck. “how could you? you don’t see what i see.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, his fingers drifting lower, skimming your collarbone, ghosting over your ribs. his lips follow, pressing kisses to the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the swell of your chest as it rises and falls with shallow breaths.

“fuyu..” you say his name like it’s the only thing tethering you to the moment. like if you didn’t, you might just float away.

he hums in response, his mouth continuing its descent until it hovers right below your navel. “you’re perfect. every part of you.”

his gaze flicks back up, and for a beat, he just looks at you— green eyes sparkling like you’re the answer to every question he’s never known how to ask. he presses a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. then, another. and another.

each one is a vow. a promise bestowed by his mouth, not in words, but in worship. a promise that he’ll never treat you like anything less than a goddess.

his hands are gentle as they roam— fingertips delicately skimming up your sides as though he’s afraid to ask too much of you, to take too much. everything about him in this moment is patient. devoted. he shifts between your legs, his breath hot against your skin, and when he finally kisses your slick folds, you gasp, your body arching instinctively.

“just relax for me,” he murmurs, “let me take care of you.”

his tongue follows the path his kisses paved, slow and purposeful, like he’s learning you all over again. and maybe he is— each sigh you give him, every tremble of your thighs, becomes something sacred to him. 

he groans softly against you when you moan his name again, his hands firm at your hips to keep you steady. you’re dizzy with it— his praise, his mouth, the intensity of it all.

“you have no idea,” he breathes between strokes of his tongue, “how much i love you like this. how good you are. how beautiful.”

and when your fingers tangle in his hair and your voice breaks apart on his name, he closes his eyes, drinks in the sound, and smiles— like he’s the lucky one. like worshiping you is a privilege he’ll never take for granted.

☆ track #4: kazutora hanemiya 　— feat. dubcon / somnophilia

you’re asleep when it starts.

soft breaths, slow and steady, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm beneath the sheets. you don’t stir when the mattress dips or when warm hands slip beneath the blanket, careful not to wake you.

kazutora watches you in the dark, golden eyes lit with something dangerous. you’re so peaceful like this— unguarded, trusting. it breaks something open in his chest that never healed right in the first place.

he brushes your hair back, the pads of his thumbs ghosting over your cheek, your mouth, your throat. he’s already hard, already aching, and the sound you make when you shift in your sleep nearly ruins him right then and there.

“shhhh,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “i won’t even put it inside.”

he’s careful when he pulls out his cock. ever so cautious as he feeds it between your plush thighs, his brow furrowing at the warmth radiating off your sweet pussy above it. you’re soft and warm and pliant around him as he grinds forward, his cock sliding along the slick heat.

he groans quietly, low in his throat, as he ruts against you. your skin is wet where his tip catches, slick with his arousal, but he doesn’t fuck you. not yet. not when you’re asleep. he told himself he wouldn’t.

but your thighs— fuck, they’re enough.

“feels so good, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your shoulder. “feels like you want this. like you’ve been waiting for me.”

you shift again, muttering something half-coherent in your sleep. your head tilts toward him, and god— it makes him twitch between your legs, his hips stuttering as he fucks the space between your thighs like an animal in heat.

his hand moves to your waist, holding you flush against him as he grinds deeper, quicker, more desperately.

“i’ll be gentle,” he promises, his voice rough, lips dragging over your neck. “i’ll take care of you when you wake up. i’ll make it so fucking good, you’ll beg me to do it again.”

but for now— he fucks your thighs like they’re your cunt, burying his moans in your skin as if confessing them out loud would make him unworthy.

his rhythm falters, his cock twitching as he thrusts forward one last time, and when he cums, it’s with a choked gasp, his jaw falling ajar, cum spilling across your skin— sticky and warm between your thighs.

“mine,” he pants against your skin, “you’re mine forever.”

☆ track #5: keisuke baji 　— feat. pet play

you can feel his stare before you hear him move. it’s heavy. possessive. the kind of look that settles deep under your skin and stays there, molten hot and aching. 

you’re already kneeling when keisuke rises to his feet— waiting, just like he told you to. the collar he clasped around your throat earlier gleams in the low light, leather snug against your skin, the metal ring at the front catching his eye.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick with approval. “look at you, kitten.”

your chin lifts as you look up at him through your lashes, lips parted, eyes soft. and the way he grins— crooked, hungry, proud— makes your heart pound in your chest. 

he stalks toward you slowly, like a predator savoring its kill. one hand reaches for the leash he left coiled on the nightstand, and when he clips it to the ring of your collar, the sound of metal meeting metal makes something inside you clench tight.

“there she is,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the side of your neck before curling around the leash, giving it a tug. “my good fuckin’ girl.”

the praise burns through you, your thighs pressing together as you sit a little straighter. keisuke crouches in front of you, the leash still wrapped around his hand, and tilts your chin up until there’s nowhere left to look but him. his bronze eyes shine with something primal, something possessive.

“yours,” you whisper back, because you know that’s what he wants to hear. what he needs to hear.

“damn right,” he growls, crashing his mouth against yours. the kiss is all teeth and hunger, like he’s trying to brand you with the shape of his mouth. when he pulls away, there’s a small string of spit connecting you, and his tongue darts out to lick at it until it snaps.

“on the bed. hands and knees.” and you obey instantly. because when keisuke tells you to do something, it isn’t about control— it’s about trust. and he wears that trust like a crown.

you feel his eyes dragging over you as you move, the mattress dipping beneath you, and then his hand is at the small of your back. he leans in close— so close you can feel his breath against your ear.

“you wear my collar well,” he purrs. “now let me show you what good pets get when they behave.”

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bruh i don't play date everything i just know about it from tiktok and i soo wanna write about loser theatre nerd hector and popular girl reader who makes him do her homework for a few kisses on his cheek and if she tops her class he gets one (1) peek of her panties

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finally watched kpop demon hunters and immediately opened pinterest and slammed the miromabby ship tag, i love being the most predictable bitch alive

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the aot x tokrev collab is so hilarious to me because they're totally opposite in every possible way

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Fish Pond 🐟 - ig | bsky | x | coms | kofi | prints

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keisuke would be absolutely fucking insufferable if he catches a fever. you’d think he couldn’t get any more grumpy, but you’re dead wrong. he will not take medicine. never. you’ll have to crush that shit up in his food and hope to trick him like a dog, and he would rather tear out his teeth than eat soup. i don’t think keisuke is casual about his dislike for simmered or watery foods. he hates the texture, hates most curries, and when he’s sick his rage toward soup specifically is amplified. i feel like his immune system is out of a horror movie though. the idiot probably gets sick like twice a year, maybe thrice if he’s not doing great in certain weather, and you’re honestly glad it doesn’t happen often for him because he’s a real asshole during it. he’ll be cussing the entire world out while having a red, stuffy nose, and he may or may not threaten to mutilate anyone who dares make fun of him while he has a tissue shoved up his nostrils. he does not like being inactive or being coddled or being unable to kiss the hell out of you because you might catch his sickness too. yes he gets very pouty and sour if you say no to cuddling him. also i think he sneezes like a nuclear bomb, because just look at him.

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hinata shoyo victorian child confirmed ‼️

hinata shouyou could beat goku

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all of yuzu's outfits are gorgeous. yk in fics they (me) make emma the fun fashion friend when it would be yuzuha. she also hates mitsuya's head like I do

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love a fictional character who will scowl and tell people “I’m not sick” “I’m not hungry” “I didn’t get injured”

meanwhile he has an extremely high fever, he ate some soup last week, and the blood is soaking through his jacket

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childhood bestie and her father just told me that they were watching a movie last night and came to the conclusion that I look like mila kunis