#Anons welcome

[cbeargyu]

im not sure if your comfortable w this trope but... stepbrother!taehyun 😔

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍

summary: five years ago, your dad married his mom. you were never close. not really. but the tension, the kind that lingered in your glances and accidental touches... was always there, waiting. one summer night, you catch him in a moment of private pleasure... and neither of you are able to pretend anymore.

pairing: stepbrother!taehyun x stepsister!reader

genre: smut, angst, stepbrother!au, slow burn, forbidden romance, power struggle, unresolved tension.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), masturbation, voyeurism, rough sex, dom/sub power struggle, use of protection, spanking (light), strong language, taboo themes (step-siblings, but no blood relation), sexual tension, minor exhibitionism, suggestive dialogue, awkward morning after

wc: 2,2k

notes: wow, thanks anon, honestly, i’m comfortable with this. i actually have a similar fanfic with soobin that i never dared to post because i was scared it might make people uncomfortable or be poorly received. please read all the way to the end if you want to hear more about my thoughts on the theme.

five years ago, your father married taehyun’s mother. it was a small ceremony, nothing extravagant, just close family and friends gathered under a blush-colored sunset. everyone smiled. everyone said it was beautiful, that you were now a family.

family.

the word always tasted foreign on your tongue whenever you looked at taehyun. it didn’t matter how many dinners you sat through, how many family vacations you forced yourselves to smile for. the truth lingered just under the surface—he never felt like your brother. not really.

your dad and his mom were head over heels in love, and tried so hard to make you two feel like a happy little blended family. but you and taehyun? never siblings. never even close.

there were rules, of course. unspoken ones. you would both pretend. you would play along for your parents’ sake, acting like siblings when necessary. but behind closed doors, when the charade dropped, it was something different. it wasn’t family. it wasn’t hate either. it was something heavier. something that lived in stolen glances across the dinner table, in the way your fingers would brush when you passed each other in the hallway, in the too-long eye contact when no one else was watching.

you tried, at first, to ignore it. god, you tried. but some things grow wild when you starve them, and the tension between you and taehyun was one of them. it twisted and stretched over the years, thickening every time he slung his arm too casually over the couch where you sat, or when you caught him looking at you like he was memorizing every inch of your skin. you never talked about it. you never named it. but it was there, pulsing and alive, hiding just underneath the way he would call you “sis” with a smirk that never reached his eyes.

summer in your house was unbearable. not because of the heat, although the humidity clung to your skin like a second layer, heavy and suffocating. but because of him. because taehyun was always there—shirtless, loud, smug—and every corner of that damn house seemed to vibrate with the memory of your fights, your glares, your unsaid words.

if anything, you were rivals.

your personalities clashed constantly—both of you stubborn, both too sharp for your own good, both used to getting the last word. your parents called it banter. you called it warfare.

and still… there were moments. fleeting seconds when the air got too thick between you. when you brushed past each other in the hallway and his hand lingered a little too long on your waist. when you fought about the remote and he leaned in too close, the curve of his smirk brushing your cheek. when he called you princess in that mocking tone, and your stomach twisted in ways it shouldn't.

you never spoke of it. never acknowledged the heat. it simmered quietly, dangerously, waiting.

and then came that night.

you can’t sleep.

you're wearing his hoodie, one you stole from the laundry days ago, pretending it doesn’t still smell like him. you wander the dark hallway, heart thudding, feet silent on the cold floor.

it was past midnight. the house was silent, your parents long asleep. you'd been tossing in bed, craving something cold, something sweet—maybe the popsicles hidden in the freezer behind your stepmom’s meal preps. you padded barefoot into the hallway in the big hoodie and cotton panties, yawning, eyes half-closed.

and then you heard it.

a low, sharp gasp. the creak of a bed. a muffled curse.

you paused at the end of the hallway, heart stuttering.

his door was open. just a crack—but enough.

enough for you to see him.

taehyun, sprawled on his bed, shirtless, bathed in moonlight. sweat-slicked chest rising and falling. eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself with slow, angry precision.

you froze.

his head tilted back, a broken sound escaping his throat.

“fuck…” he muttered, breathless. “just like that…”

your knees almost gave out.

you should’ve turned around. you should’ve walked back to your room and pretended you never saw a thing. but your body betrayed you, burning from the inside out, and your mouth moved before your brain caught up.

“you left the damn door open, idiot.”

his whole body jolted. he sat up abruptly, hand still around his cock, wild eyes meeting yours. his expression twisted in horror and frustration and—something else.

“shit!” he hissed. “what the fuck, are you spying on me?”

you stepped into the room, fire rising in your chest. “you wish. i came down for a snack, not to watch you jerk off.”

“then go back to your fucking room!” he snapped, yanking the sheet over his lap too late. his cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

you didn’t move.

his jaw flexed. “get out.”

he threw the blanket off, stood, and you could see the line of his muscles, the tension coiled in his body, the fact that he was still hard.

“i said—”

“make me,” you whispered.

“always fucking arguing,” he muttered. “can’t even let me jerk off in peace.”

“you wanted me to see you.”

you folded your arms, leaning against the doorframe, deliberately not looking away.

“i won't tell you again.”

“why would i? you don’t seem to mind the audience.”

his gaze dropped to your legs, the hoodie, the way it barely covered your thighs. when he looked back up, something had shifted.

you felt it—like a snap in the air.

“you’re always running your mouth,” he said quietly, rising from the bed without breaking eye contact. “acting like you’re in control. like you can handle shit you don’t even understand.”

“oh, and you do?” you shot back, heat pooling between your legs. “you think jerking off in the dark makes you some kind of expert?”

he laughed. low. dangerous.

“i think it means i know exactly what i want,” he said. “and how to take it.”

you scoffed. “you wish you could take me.”

in a heartbeat, he crossed the room, chest to chest with you, body radiating heat. his breath was all over your lips, your cheeks, your throat. you refused to back down, tilting your chin defiantly.

“try me,” you whispered.

his hand caught your wrist. tight. his other hand gripped your waist.

it was too much.

too much heat. too much tension. too many years of pretending, of ignoring, of brushing past each other in narrow hallways and acting like neither of you felt the static.

taehyun was still holding you against the wall, breath ragged against your ear, fingers pressing bruises into your hips.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured, but his grip tightened.

you swallowed, breathless. “no.”

his forehead dropped against yours. his body was burning, chest rising and falling against you. he wasn’t smirking now. wasn’t playing games.

“fuck,” he muttered, like he hated himself. “i don’t—i don’t think i can stop.”

you exhaled shakily, threading your fingers into his hair.

“i don’t want you to.”

a harsh, sharp breath left him. his thumb dragged along your jaw, down your throat, over the racing pulse there.

“you—” his voice broke. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

your knees went weak. “taehyun…”

he lifted you onto the bed, lips ghosting over your collarbone, your shoulder, your jaw.

and then—softly, desperately—

“tell me you’ve thought about it too.”

your stomach tightened. you forced yourself to meet his gaze, the way his pupils were blown wide, his lips parted.

you could lie. you could keep up the game.

but you were too far gone.

“i think about you when i touch myself,” you admitted, voice raw.

taehyun let out a sharp exhale, like you had just wrecked him.

“fuck.”

his fingers dug into the sheets beside your head, body trembling as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

his hand slid up your thigh, slow, deliberate.

“say it again,” he whispered.

your cheeks burned, but there was no going back now.

“i think about you,” you repeated, fingers gripping his shoulders, dragging him closer. “about your hands. your mouth. about how bad i want you.”

his breath stuttered. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, a soft, wrecked groan escaping him.

then he kissed you. hard.

like he was claiming you.

his fingers curled into your hair, his other hand slipping under your waistband, finding just how wet you were.

he let out a low, dangerous chuckle against your lips.

“you really have been thinking about me, huh?”

you clenched your jaw. “don’t get cocky.”

he kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, trailing down your throat.

“don’t start what you can’t finish,” he growled.

“then shut up and finish it.”

and when his fingers dipped inside you, slow and teasing, you knew you were fucked.

he pulled back only enough to look at you—his lips red, his breathing shaky.

"i need to fuck you," he whispered, like it physically hurt to hold it in. "need to feel you lose control under me."

you clenched around nothing, nodding before your pride could get in the way.

"then do it."

and that was all it took.

his mouth was back on yours, hungry, biting, tongue fucking your lips open as his hands dragged down to tear at your shorts. you lifted your hips, eager, desperate, and he growled when he felt how wet your underwear was.

"fuck, baby," he hissed, dragging the soaked fabric down your thighs. "you’re dripping. did just confessing turn you on this much?"

"shut up," you breathed, tugging at his shirt, nails scratching up his back. "less talking, more fucking."

he smirked against your neck, then you heard the distinct sound of a condom wrapper being torn open—he'd had one in his drawer. you felt his cock, hard and heavy, brush against your thigh as he rolled it on. you raised an eyebrow.

“what, you just keep those around?”

he didn’t even blink. “you live here, don’t you?”

you were breathless at that. angry and turned on and god, you hated how much you liked that answer.

“fuck you,” you whispered.

“that’s the plan.” he tore the foil open with his teeth. “you’re lucky i’m responsible,” he muttered, pressing the blunt head against your entrance.

you bit your lip, eyes fluttering.

“you’re lucky i’m letting you.”

that made him groan.

"fuck, you’re perfect."

he slid in slow, watching every inch disappear inside you like he wanted to burn the sight into memory. you gasped, legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him closer.

and when he pushed inside you, slow and thick and unforgiving, you saw stars.

he wasn’t gentle.

he wasn’t rough.

he was intense.

every thrust was a dare. every moan a power play.

you tried to take control, to ride his rhythm, to drag him under your pace—he resisted, holding your wrists down, pinning you by the hips.

"you like thinking you're in charge, huh?" he growled against your throat.

"i am in charge," you spat, pushing your hips up hard, making him stutter mid-thrust.

his eyes darkened.

"not tonight."

he fucked you deeper, harder, making your back arch off the bed, your voice rising.

"say it," he hissed. "say you want me in control."

you refused.

so he angled just right.

and that was it.

you broke.

"taehyun—fuck—yes, okay, yes, yes."

he kissed you, like he was sealing a deal.

and when you came, shaking, crying out his name, he didn’t stop. he chased his own release like a man possessed, groaning your name when he finally let go, collapsing over you, breathless and trembling.

you lay there for a long minute, tangled, sticky, ruined.

neither of you said a word.

because saying something meant admitting what had just happened.

and admitting it meant figuring out what came next.

the clink of dishes. the sound of the news playing quietly from the living room. the smell of coffee and peanut butter.

your parents were already seated at the table, sipping tea and chatting about some neighbor’s new garden.

you stood at the kitchen counter, still in pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, trying to spread peanut butter over a stubborn piece of toast without thinking about how your thighs still ached.

taehyun walked in.

you didn’t even have to look to know. you felt him—his heat, his presence, the weight of what you'd done.

he walked right behind you, headed for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

but as he passed, his palm landed on your ass. not hard. not loud.

just enough.

your breath hitched and you gasped, body jolting forward slightly, the knife nearly slipping from your fingers.

"everything okay, honey?" your dad asked from the table.

you blinked. blinked again.

"i—uh. almost dropped the jam," you stammered, holding up the glass jar. "it’s slippery."

your mom smiled politely and went back to her tea.

behind you, taehyun popped open the bottle of water and chuckled, quietly.

the bastard.

you turned slightly, eyes narrowed.

he just raised an eyebrow, took a sip, and leaned in close enough that only you could hear:

"you moaned so pretty last night."

your face burned.

you wanted to punch him. or fuck him again.

or both.

my honest reaction to that req

[noorpersona]

Office hook up with kuroo 🤤

Hi Anon!! Thank you so much for sending in this request — it was genuinely so much fun to write! 😭

Enjoy<333

--

Anon Ask: Kuroo (NSFW)

The office was eerily quiet, save for the low, steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Rows of desks stretched out in neat, darkened lines, papers stacked, chairs pushed in, computer monitors black and still. The occasional ticking sound from the wall clock echoed faintly in the wide, open space, amplifying just how empty it really was.

You pushed open the door to Kuroo’s private office, balancing two takeout bags in your hands like a peace offering.

"Dinner's here, workaholic," you called, voice cutting through the stillness.

Inside, Kuroo looked up from behind his desk. He was hunched over some paperwork, hair even messier than usual—wild tufts sticking up from where he'd clearly dragged his fingers through it. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Dark shadows smudged under his golden eyes, but when he spotted you standing there, his whole face shifted.

The tension in his shoulders eased. The corner of his mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile.

You made your way inside, carefully setting the bags down on the edge of his desk, nudging aside a stack of folders to make room. The rich, savory scent of your order wafted up between you, warm and inviting.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out long legs under the desk, lacing his fingers behind his head with a low, satisfied groan. His eyes never left you—watching you with a smoldering kind of patience.

"Wow, must be my lucky night," he said, voice a rough, playful rumble.

You rolled your eyes as you started unpacking the food. "Yes, bask in my generosity. You owe me dinner and maybe dessert."

He chuckled under his breath, pushing up from his chair with a heavy, purposeful kind of movement. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, veins prominent along his forearms. He looked both exhausted and predatory—and somehow, devastatingly good.

He walked around the desk slowly, almost leisurely, but there was a weight to it. A coil of energy you could feel tightening between you with each step.

"You bringing me dinner... wearing that?" His gaze skimmed shamelessly over you, lingering at your legs, the snug fit of your jacket. "Dangerous."

You huffed, smoothing down your coat self-consciously. "Calm down, corporate Romeo. It’s just jeans and a jacket."

He smirked, dipping his head slightly as he stepped closer, voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Still dangerous."

You shook your head, scoffing lightly, but your pulse betrayed you, skipping when he closed the last of the distance. His presence was overwhelming—the subtle scent of his cologne, the heat radiating off his skin.

He stopped just short of touching you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His fingers flexed slightly at his sides, like he was barely holding himself back.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" he said, voice low and rough.

You raised an eyebrow, shooting him a dry look as you finished unpacking the containers. "Please don't say ‘work overtime,’ because I'm not into that."

Kuroo chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. He leaned down slightly, close enough that you felt his breath against your ear.

"Always thought about bending you over my desk," he murmured. "Right here. After hours. When no one's around to hear you."

You blinked at him, deadpan. "You're disgusting."

But your body—traitorous as ever—leaned in, just a little. Your pulse kicked up, a warmth blooming low in your stomach.

"You love it," he teased, fingers brushing lightly against your waist, the touch barely there but searing.

You scoffed, stepping back half a pace, bumping lightly into the desk. "And here I thought you were a professional, Kuroo-san."

"I am professional. I'm professionally fantasizing about you," he quipped, tilting his head, that lazy grin deepening.

You fought the smile tugging at your lips, trying to maintain the upper hand, but it was useless. Especially when he stepped closer again, boxing you in, the edge of the desk biting into the backs of your thighs.

"Tetsu, seriously," you said, palms flattening against his chest when he closed the distance, feeling the steady thump of his heart under your touch. "I literally just brought you food."

"Exactly," he said simply, hands skimming up your sides, slow and coaxing. His thumb traced lazy, hypnotic circles against your hipbone. "And now I'm starving for something else."

"You're impossible," you muttered, even as your hands fisted weakly in his shirt.

"And you're stalling," he murmured back, his voice thick, heated.

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out.

Instead, you grabbed a handful of his loosened tie and yanked him down into a kiss, slow and burning, full of everything you hadn't said.

The takeout bags hit the floor with a muffled thud.

Kuroo groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding up your thigh, hitching your leg around his waist as he walked you back, pressing you flush against the edge of the desk.

You parted your lips under his without hesitation now, tugging him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss until your heads spun.

"Fuck, look at you," he rasped, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug your coat down your arms and toss it somewhere unseen. "So fucking pretty for me."

You whined when his hands found the hem of your jeans, pushing it down your hips with slow, deliberate pressure.

He lifted you onto the desk, scattering papers and pens with zero care. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, your body already humming in anticipation.

The kiss broke again when he mouthed down your throat, rough and reverent all at once. Your head fell back with a soft, shuddering breath, heart hammering so hard it echoed in your ears.

"Still think I'm disgusting?" he teased against your skin, voice dark and amused.

"Absolutely," you managed, breathless. *"Now shut up and fuck me, Kuroo."

His answering growl vibrated against your throat.

And then he was undoing his belt with one hand, the other keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you—laid out across his desk, messy, panting, and entirely his.

The desk beneath you creaked softly as Kuroo pressed your front down against the cool surface, one hand splayed firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you there. His body loomed behind you, solid and hot, while he dragged his other hand down the curve of your spine, slow and possessive.

Your jeans were tugged halfway down your thighs, tangled around your knees. His fingers brushed teasingly over the waistband of your underwear, snapping it lightly before hooking them and sliding them down too, baring you completely to him.

You squirmed under his touch, hips canting back instinctively, seeking more.

“You're still overdressed,” he muttered, voice rough as he leaned over you, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You barely managed a breathless huff before his fingers slid between your thighs, finding you slick and ready. He groaned low in his chest.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped. “Already so fucking wet.”

You whimpered when he teased your entrance with two fingers, circling lazily but never giving you the pressure you craved.

“Tetsu,” you gasped, writhing under him.

He finally pushed in—one thick finger first, curling expertly, then another, scissoring them slowly to open you up. The stretch was delicious, just shy of overwhelming.

Your forehead rested against the cool desk, your fingers curling against the smooth surface.

Kuroo’s free hand stroked down your back, soothing, grounding you as he worked you open, coaxing soft, broken sounds from your lips.

When he withdrew his fingers, you whimpered at the loss—but then you heard the sound of his belt unfastening, the metallic clink sharp in the heavy silence of the office.

You twisted your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye—his flushed face, the way he pumped himself slowly, slicking his cock with your wetness still clinging to his fingers.

He lined himself up behind you, the head of his cock dragging through your folds in a slow, maddening tease.

“Say you want it,” he murmured.

“I want it- I want it please,” you choked out, voice shaky with need.

He didn’t make you wait.

With one steady thrust, he pushed into you, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs. He filled you completely, bottoming out with a low, wrecked groan.

He stilled for a moment, both hands braced on your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin.

“You feel…” he muttered, voice ragged. “You feel so fucking good.”

You nodded weakly, pushing back against him, desperate for him to move.

He took the hint.

He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in with enough force to jolt your body forward on the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor, but neither of you cared.

Kuroo found a brutal rhythm, each snap of his hips making the desk creak under the force of it. His tie swung loose from his collar, occasionally brushing against your lower back with each rough thrust.

The sounds—skin slapping, your broken gasps, his low, breathless curses—echoed obscenely in the otherwise empty office.

“Mine,” he growled, fucking into you harder now, faster, one hand sliding up your back to fist gently in your hair, tugging your head back so he could kiss the nape of your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

“Yours,” you gasped, knuckles white where you gripped the desk.

The coil in your stomach tightened impossibly fast, your orgasm building with every relentless drive of his hips.

“Come for me,” he panted against your ear. “Let me feel you.”

A few more thrusts and you shattered—clenching around him, crying out his name in a broken, wrecked moan. Your body trembled under him, your release washing over you in thick, hot waves.

He fucked you through it, groaning low in his throat at the way you squeezed him so tight it bordered on painful.

With a final, stuttering thrust, he came hard, spilling inside you with a rough curse, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your mingled breathing, the soft rustle of clothes, and the distant rain tapping against the windows.

Kuroo pressed a lazy kiss between your shoulder blades, hands smoothing down your sides in a rare, tender gesture.

“Best… dinner pickup… ever,” he panted against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh, still half folded over the desk, utterly wrecked.

“You’re… buying dessert,” you managed, voice hoarse.

He chuckled, pulling your jeans up slowly, helping you dress with lingering touches.

“Anything you want, babe,” he said, kissing the back of your neck again, utterly unbothered by the mess around you—completely consumed by you, and only you.

[illtrytobegood]

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( off topic posts)

[ranibwsprimklez]

Draw Andy the Apple in ur style I will eat coal

Share me sum coal too will ya ?

[cuntydollette]

send asks im boredd!!

xoxo

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Private session part2 is needed!! We all know Barry can be a dick head and he actually considers adding the having sex with a stripper option to customers when y/n finds out about this she obviously mad and saying no but when rafe finds outs about this he’s obviously mad and goes to Barry pissed saying wtf is this he obviously dose not want y/n to have sex with anyone else but him

Private Session - part two

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He asks for a private session in which he'll pay a large amount for her time. Rafe takes her home and uses her however he pleases. When he finds out Barry has been selling you to customers, he gets jealous, insisting that you must not sleep with anyone else.

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs (Rafe and Barry do cocaine), bondage (reader is tied up), p in v, unprotected sex, language, SLIGHT degradation, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering. SMUT SMUT SMUT!

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: Hey babes! I got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. This fic is NOT proofread, it's almost FIVE AM and I have school tomorrow, well, today I guess...UGH. I just got this request and had to write this!! Also thank you all for the support on part one?!?!?! That's INSANE, I love you guys! I wanted to get this out asap for y'all. Sorry if it's actually shit, I'm so tired and also high. If you see any errors please feel free to correct me kindly! Thanks!

I promise I will work on The Watcher; I just got a bit stuck. Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoy! I love you all and stay freaky!

Credits: GIF from this post

Some time has passed since your ‘private session’ with Rafe. The first time you’d come back to work after your session with Rafe, Barry had talked to you at the beginning of your shift. Apparently, after seeing how much Rafe paid you for just one hour alone with him, Barry was inspired. He had told you that the club will now be providing a new “service” to well-paying customers. Customers now have the option to have sex with the dancers for the right price. Barry knew better than to sell his girls out for cheap, so the cost is rather high. And there’s typically only two types of men that have both the means and the money for it: the rich, old sugar daddies who probably can’t even get it up on their own and the rich, horny assholes of the island, take Rafe for example. 

When Barry had told you this, you were pissed. This was not in your job description; you’re a stripper not a hooker. You wanted to yell at him and quit. The issue is that when you got this job, you had signed a contract with Barry stating that you’d have to work there for at least a year or else you’d have to pay a fee. Knowing Barry, it’s a ridiculously large fee, ensuring that no one quit before their year was up. And it’s likely that the contract he made you sign isn’t even legal. But you're not going to try and find out, knowing that even if it’s not, that doesn’t matter to Barry. He’ll make you pay. And you don’t have that kind of money, that’s why you’re in this position in the first place.

Over the next few weeks, you’ve noticed that Rafe hasn’t been coming in as much. Not while you’re working at least. The few times he has come in, he hasn’t been alone, always coming in with a few other kooks and barely paying any attention to you. Which is definitely not normal for Rafe. You just assume that since he’s had you now, he’s lost his interest. You expected that you’d be relieved when he finally stopped watching you like prey, but now you’re not exactly sure what you feel. Does he not find you attractive anymore? Did he just lose interest after finally getting what it is that he had craved for so long? God, was it just you; did he see who you really are and run in the opposite direction? You knew that whole experience with him was too good to be true.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as you hear the door to the back room open. Quickly, you grab one of the dresses hanging in your locker and slip it over you; it’s what Barry told you to wear over your lingerie when you do at-home sessions with clients. You turn, watching as your boss and none other than Rafe Cameron stumble in through the door. Rafe goes quiet, his expression going dead as he lays eyes on you. 

“Lookin’ good”, Barry whistles. “Where you headed, princess?” He asks as he turns away from you, sitting on a chair. Barry leans back in his seat, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small baggie full of white powder. You’ve always ignored his side business, always pretending you don’t see any of it. Which is what you do right now. Trying your hardest to ignore the fact he’s preparing a line on the small, glass coffee table, you finish up what you’re doing and close your locker a bit harshly.

“I have a client waiting.” You snap. You walk closer to where Barry is sitting and turn your back to him. “Tie me?” You ask, holding your hair up and waiting for him to tie the complex strings of your backless dress. Though he’s currently busy doing a line of cocaine. Without hesitation, Rafe steps closer, his fingers moving to tie your dress. You don’t have to see him to know he’s the one tying your dress. Your skin just immediately remembers his touch, causing chills to run down your spine at the flashbacks of that night. Rafe notices your slight shiver and smirks as he tries to figure out how the straps of your dress go. His hands linger on the skin of your lower back for longer than they need to and your breath hitches each time his skin comes into contact with your own.

When he’s done, he sits on the couch across from Barry, facing you. You turn back to them, not bothering to thank him. To be honest, you’re a bit pissed at him for starting this whole sex with customers thing. You know he didn’t intend to, but he’s the one who gave Barry the idea. 

Barry speaks up again as he wipes the excess powder from his nose. “When will you be back, I need you out on the floor.” 

I can’t do fucking everything, you think. Although your words come out much more politely. “It’s an at-home appointment so probably an hour.” You’ve had this client before, he typically finishes pretty quick. 

You hear Rafe’s loud breathing as he snorts a line which grabs your attention, making you briefly turn your head to look at him. You watch as he leans back, shutting his eyes and inhaling deeply as his high takes over. Rafe slouches in his seat, spreading his legs wide, making you quickly look away. Of course he notices how you’re reacting to him, he always notices everything about you. He crosses his arm and lets out a small sigh. 

Rafe’s tone is sharp as he cuts in. “At-home?” He questions, still trying to act as though he doesn’t care about the conversation you and Barry were having. 

Barry’s eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the sight before turning to look at Rafe. “We now offer a new service: you can fuck any of ‘em bitches now.” You make a face at Barry’s words, not liking how he described you and the other girls. Usually he’d never say that in the presence of one of his “bitches”, but Rafe and Barry always brought out the worst in each other; their behavior much worse when they’re together. 

“Wait, what?!” He asks, sitting up a bit before calming himself down. He leans back against the couch, trying to seem all nonchalant. “So, they’re hookers?” He questions more calmly as he looks over to you. You recall having to tell him you weren’t a hooker the last time you saw him. You scowl, hating that he’s trying to prove you wrong and rub it in. 

“Hookers, bitches, call ‘em whatever you want. I should thank you for giving me the idea. I mean, do you have any idea how much money this is making me.” Barry boasts. “And miss pretty princess over here is our top money maker.” Barry gestures to you as you stand there, waiting for your chance to leave. “She brings in the most customers. Ain’t that right, darlin’?” You nod. Everytime Barry gets high, he doesn’t fucking shut up. Rafe just nods his head dryly, leaning down to snort another line of the white substance from the table. 

You take this as your queue to leave and you walk out through the door and back into the main part of the club. You walk through the crowd and search for your client. Leaving Rafe with a few moments to think in silence before Barry starts yapping about all the guys you’ve been fucking. Rafe is fucking furious with this new addition to the club. He had never intended for Barry to take inspiration from his actions, he just needed you. And now anyone else who wants you, can have you. How is it that you could say that you don’t go home with guys often, and turn around and go fuck a bunch of guys for a living right after? Was he just another client to you? Rafe can’t take it anymore and decides to take action. He shoots up from his seat on the couch and storms after you. 

As you’re walking, you feel a hand grip your arm and spin you around. You’re almost chest to chest with Rafe as he speaks down to you. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I have a client.” You explain, again. 

“The fuck you mean ‘a client’?” 

“You’re not the only one who’s willing to pay just to fuck me, Rafe.” You say coldly. 

He chuckles, responding sarcastically as he stares down at you with his wide, dilated eyes. “Thought you never went home with random guys?”

“I didn’t. Until you gave Barry the idea of selling me out to strangers for a quick buck.”

Rafe sighs, his grip on your arm loosening. “That’s not what I wanted. I mean c’mon, you think I want other guys fucking you?”

The implication in his words shock you, but you try not to read too much into it. Before you get the chance to respond he lets go of your arm, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head. Without question, he pulls his wallet out from his pocket, flipping it open and looking up at you. “How much is he gonna pay?” You stare at him blankly, confused in what he’s doing. He huffs out a long breath shutting his eyes for a second before bringing one hand up to snap in your face, grabbing your attention. “The guy, your…” his hand waves around in the air, gesturing outwards as he momentarily stutters. “...Client, or whatever. How much was he going to pay you?” He speaks more slowly this time, as if you’re stupid or something. 

“Depends.” You answer. The client you’re supposed to be meeting right now didn’t have an exact time planned, but you know how much he typically has the stamina for. 

He purses his lips, shifting on his feet. “Ballpark.” He demands. His gaze darted between your eyes, constantly shifting to look at both. 

Still confused, you hesitantly respond to his question, stuttering as you speak. “$800.” Immediately, he starts to count the money in his wallet, taking out the eight-hundred and then some. Rafe hands the cash out to you, but you don’t take it right away so he tucks it into the low cut neckline of your dress.

“There, now I take priority.” He takes hold of your arm again and drags you through the club and out into the parking lot. He walks you up to his truck, which you can now recognize. Rafe pulls the passenger door open for you and walks around to his side, climbing in and starting the engine. You know to get in, shutting the door behind you and buckling your seatbelt before looking over at him. Your stomach tightens as his eyes undress you. Rafe finally turns his head away, reaching over his shoulder to grab his seatbelt. Suddenly, it’s like the image registered in his brain and he whipped his head back to you, glaring at your thighs.

You noticed him staring at you, looking down into your lap. The super short dress you were wearing has ridden up, revealing the few hickeys that are spread over your inner thighs. His eyes find the others on your neck as well and he knows he wasn’t the one to leave them. You try to keep your customers from leaving hickeys and other marks in your body, but it’s like the more you tell them not to, the more they want to. It makes Rafe almost sick to his stomach when he thinks about kissing you with those marks; marks left on your skin from other men. He can’t stand it. Suddenly his mind is filled with images of you fucking other guys, he tries to shake out the thoughts but he can’t; they’re eating away at him. The two lines of cocaine from earlier not helping the situation, it only serves to intensify his anger. 

As he drives he looks over at you. He starts to rant, his voice booming inside the small tuck cabin. “Bet they can’t make you cum four fuckin’ times in an hour, can they?”  You only slightly jump when he startles you with the increasing volume of his voice. “They can’t fuckin’ touch you like I can, huh?” He glances at the road shortly, then he turns his head back to you. “Nobody makes you feel as good as I do, yeah?” He waits for a response.

You catch the hint. ��Mhm…yeah.” You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

When you get to Tanneyhill, Rafe comes to an abrupt stop in his driveway. He wastes no time before getting out of the truck and rounding the front of it to get to your side. Rafe pulls the passenger seat door open, grabbing ahold of your arm again. He tugs you inside, shutting the door behind you two. 

As soon as you hear the door shut, his lips are finding yours and attacking them. In the moment, he decides that his bedroom upstairs is too far and he takes you into the kitchen. He continues to kiss you, walking you backwards until your lower hips bump into the counter; in which he grabs your waist and lifts you up to sit on the counter. One of his hands finds its way underneath your dress and between your legs. In quick movements, he tugs your lacy thong down and off of your body. Once they hit the floor, he’s pulling your legs apart; forcing them to spread wide so that you’re exposed and accessible to him. Your pussy grows wet in anticipation of what he’s going to do to you; which is something that none of the other men have been able to make you feel.

Rafe brushes a light hand over your cunt, groaning into your mouth as he discovers how wet you are for him. Not some random guy at the club, but him. He continues to kiss you, swallowing the small moans that try and escape your lips. His hands move to his belt, working on getting it off. Once it’s off, he pulls his jeans down and steps out of them; only breaking the kiss once. The next thing to go in his boxers; he slides them down and lets them pool at his ankles.

With absolutely no warning or further preparation, Rafe slams into you. You choke out a moan, tilting your head back. Rafe starts to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear just so that your cunt can squeeze around him even tighter as he jackhammers into you. “Fuuck…so tight.” He groans. “Did anyone else fuck you like this, hm? Did anyone else’s cock stretch you out like this?” He growls into your ear. His hand snakes around to the back of your head, gathering all your hair and tugging your head back so that you were looking at him. “That was a fucking question. Fucking answer.” He demands.

“I…”, you cry out as his cock repeatedly hits the extra sensitive spot deep inside you. A spot that nobody else can reach like how he does. “N-no…just you.” 

“Just me, what?” He continues, enjoying your struggle to form words as he fucks you at this pace.

“Just you can fuck me like this.” You admit. You’re not even saying it because he wants you to, but because you can honestly say that nobody’s ever fucked you like how he’s fucked you. 

“Good girl.” He praises. He runs a hand through your hair and slows his speed to a very slow, careful pace, admiring your features as your face contorts with pleasure. After about a minute, his hand finds your clit, his fingers rubbing harsh circles as his thrusts speed up to an unbearable pace again. He places a hand on your chest, pushing you down so that you’re laying with your back flat on the counter. 

The cold counter adds to the intense feeling. He pauses for a moment to pull your shiny, little dress up past your hips to keep it out of the way. When he continues, he’s drilling into you faster than before, giving you the last bit of his anger through his thrusts. Your back begins to arch off the counter, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. And just as you’re about to see stars, Rafe pulls out of you and steps back, pulling his boxers back up from his ankles.

An involuntary whine escapes your lips when his touch leaves you and you sit up on your elbows, trying to figure out why he stopped. Except he doesn’t say anything, he just lifts you up, carrying you upstairs and into his bedroom. 

When you get into his room, he sets you down just before the bed. “Shit, I almost forgot.” He mumbles. You furrow your brows and follow his gaze to his bed. On his bed sits a small gift box. You look back at him to find him staring at you. “Open it.” The demands, his tone almost displaying a small trace of excitement. 

You look back at the box, taking a few steps closer to the bed. You reach out to flip over the small tag on the box, it reads: ‘To: my favorite hooker’. Your breath hitches. He’s so frustrating with his persistence of using that word, ‘hooker’, when he knows you aren’t one. Well, you didn’t used to be one. But you have to admit, this seems almost…sweet, in a way. Sweet for Rafe anyhow. You fight back your smile as you reach both hands out, carefully lifting the lid off of the box, setting it on the bed. Inside the box lay some very beautiful, intricate lingerie; it’s clearly very expensive, judging on the fact that you can’t even pronounce the brand name. 

Rafe explains, “For what I ripped last time. I told you I’d replace it.”

“You did.” You say, getting lost in his eyes for perhaps a moment too long.

“Take it out.” He instructs and you obey, taking the delicate lingerie out of the gift box. Underneath the set, you find another gift. A vibrating wand as well as some thick ribbon. The vibrator you understand, the ribbon…not so much. You hold some of it up, turning to face him as if asking ‘what’s this for?’. Rafe understands what you’re asking and he responds vaguely. “You’ll see.” Clearly he enjoys keeping you on your toes, and you hate it. 

After changing into your new lingerie, you exit his bathroom and walk towards his bed. Quickly he has you laying on your back. He takes some ribbon from the box and straddles your waist leaning over you as he ties each of your wrists to a separate bed post. He then did the same with your feet. Now you’re all tied up for him, spread out on the bed and vulnerable. 

He leans down, hovering over you. He starts to kiss all over your body, his lips finding any open spot of skin on you. He pauses his kisses for a moment, leaning back up enough to look at you. He tells you, “Don’t wear this at the club.” Rafe leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your chest. “This is for me, yeah?” He mumbles, giving you yet another kiss. “My eyes only.” you nod in response, you agree. This is way too expensive to be wearing to the club.

“Yes, yes, only you.” You desperately plead. 

Rafe chuckles and starts to kiss down your body, He makes a momentary stop at your chest, mouthing over one of your nipples through the thin fabric, his fingers rolling your other nipple between his fingers. His actions elicit a loud moan to escape your lips as your body tenses up, struggling against the restraints. You now understand the ribbon. Last time, he had used rope to tie you up and it would painfully dig into your skin. But the ribbon was soft, not causing pain to be inflicted upon you as your body reacts to his actions. His mouth leaves your breast, moving to the other side, ensuring that it wasn’t left out. His hand also switches to pinch at your other nipple.

His mouth starts to travel down your body again as his hand reaches behind him on the bed to grab something. He mouths over your clothed cunt, making you whine and shiver underneath him; still sensitive from when he had teased you earlier on the kitchen counter. 

You hear a vibrating sound, but before your brain could register what it is, he’s using the new vibrator he bought for you, on you. He presses it firmly against your clit through the fabric of your panties. Your arms tug at the restraints in response, your legs trying, and failing to close. You feel so vulnerable, so exposed and weak. Lying here helpless as he assaults your small bundle of nerves. 

Rafe pulls your panties to the side, revealing your dripping cunt. He pushes the vibrator directly on your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body at the sensation. “F-fuck!” You cry, your abdominal muscles contracting as your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curl. Rafe leans in, using his tongue to lap up the juices that drip from your slick entrance as he keeps the vibrator steady on your most sensitive part. “Rafe!” You scream his name out as you cum, finally seeing the stars you were denied earlier, the build-up making it that much more intense. 

He pulls the vibrator away, only using his tongue to work you down from your high. When your body starts to relax more, he stops and moves back up your body. He sets the vibrator aside and kisses at your neck, leaving new marks of his own; darker and larger than the others. 

You’re still in shock at Rafe’s decision to use a toy on you. You definitely weren’t mad about it, that’s for sure. It’s just that typical guys won’t want to use a vibrator on you because they want to prove they’re better all by themselves. Rafe’s definitely good at sex, that’s just a given fact. But the confidence he has to use a vibrator on you, mixed with his skill…he’s fucking incomparable. 

Rafe unties your wrists, letting your arms fall and relax. Next he moves to untie the ribbon that ties your feet to the bed. Once you’re completely free, he gives you a moment, knowing how tiring that was for your body. He knows you need to recover if he wants to get more orgasms from you tonight. 

Though you appreciate his generosity, you want to help him out too. So you take him by surprise by placing your hand over his hard cock through his boxers. Except he still manages to be the one surprising you when he speaks. “Fuck…that feels…s’so good baby.” He groans, but moves your hand off his dick. “But let me take care of you, yeah? I know Barry’s got you workin’ a lot, hm? Heard you’ve got the most customers, is that right?” He asks, his hands starting to squeeze and massage at you calves 

“Mhm…” you agree, closing your eyes in relaxation. 

Rafe’s hands move to massage your feet, knowing the tall heels you’re always wearing have to be causing you some discomfort. And he knows he assumed correctly when you let out a deep sigh at his touch. “Nobody ever takes care of you, hm? Always just taking what they want and giving you nothing?” He leans in closer to your ear and whispers, “I like taking care of you.” Rafe starts to nip softly at your ear, making you moan softly. 

After a while, his hands leave your feet, moving back up your body. He gently pulls off the lingerie, setting it on the bed beside you two. He takes a moment to revel in the sight of you, taking in what he is lucky enough to have in front of him. One of his hands finds its way to your slimy folds, gently running over your entrance. He gathers some of your slick and brings it up to your clit as he begins to rub it in steady, slow circles.

Finally, he pulls his boxers off. He uses his other hand to hold himself at the base, gently stroking himself a few times as he looks down at you underneath him. Without much more preparation, he pushes himself inside of you. This time, he moves slowly. His mind isn;t clouded from the effects of cocaine and anger anymore, instead he just wants to help you feel good. He wants to take him time, even though you’re likely not going to last long after your previous orgasm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ wet f’me. You’re always so wet for me, hm? Such a good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He groans, his mouth right next to your ear so you can clearly hear all his praises. “M’gonna have to talk to Barry for you. Can’t have you fuckin’ those other guys anymore. This pussy’s for me; it’s mine.” His speed gets faster, his pace more erratic as you get closer, your cunt squeezing around him tighter; ultimately bringing him closer to finishing as well. “Hm? You hear me?”

“Mhm…” you nod eagerly, getting so close to cumming that you can barely form a complete thought. “Y-yes Rafe. Yours, fuck! Yours.”

He gathers all your hair, tugging on it so that your neck cocks back, giving him full access to mark it up. He leaves wet, sloppy kisses all over your neck; sucking and biting at your skin. “Only a slut for me, right? Nobody else, not anymore.”

“Yes…sure, fuck, okay yeah!” You scream. The recognizable feeling of your stomach tightening just for the band to snap, making your back arch off the bed, pushing your body against his as you reach another orgasm. “Ohh…nngghh…f-fucking shit!” You curse, your hand clawing at his shirt, trying to take it off. Rafe understands what you need and does it for you.

It’s not long before he gets to his peak with the way you keep squeezing him; so wet that he just slips right in and out. But before he cums, he asks you a final question. “Can I?”,is all he says but it’s enough for you to know what it is that he’s asking. He’s already done it before, so you don’t see the problem, especially not right now. You don’t even have it in you to say no even if it was what you wanted,

“Mhm…please. Please cum inside me, Rafe. I-I need it.” You admit.

Without wasting another second, Rafe’s movements slow down as he releases his load in you; painting your walls white with his cum. You could feel his warm seed spilling out of you, mixing with your sticky juices. When he pulls out, you feel empty. Your lonely cunt left clenching around nothing. 

Rafe lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you. You never had taken Rafe for much of a cuddler, but he’s full of surprises tonight. You return the action, wrapping your arms around him and draping a leg over him. 

After you’ve both had time to recover, you still just lie there, enjoying each other's silent company. But you finally decide to break the silence between you two. “Y’know, I have to admit that it is kinda nice to be with someone who can get it up without taking pills.” You joke truthfully, referring to all the old sugar daddies that pay for your services.  

Rafe chuckles at your words. He wants to say ‘I told you so’, to prove that he knew nobody else made you feel the same as he did, but fights the urge. Instead he just laughs. “Oh, I bet.” 

“Did…did you mean what you said about talking to Barry?” You ask on a more serious note.

Rafe looks at you, admiring your soft, tired, fucked-out expression as he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “Oh yeah, yeah. I can talk to him if you want. He usually listens to me.”

“And if he doesn’t?” You ask.

“Then I’ll make him.” He reassures you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I started this, I’m gonna fix it, okay? So don’t worry. You ain’t gotta fuck nobody you don’t wanna no more, yeah? How’s that sound?”

“Thank you.” You mumble to him, your eyes starting to get heavy and droop shut. 

“I hope that means you’ll still fuck me.” He teases, petting your soft hair as he watches you. 

You just nod, too exhausted to engage in his jokes. Rafe just smiles softly, appreciating the fact that he has you all sleepy in his bed; his arms. Of all the time he spent watching you and admiring you at the club, he never was able to imagine this moment.

He presses one final kiss to your head before closing his own eyes, pulling you in tighter. “I’ll take you back tomorrow, that alright?”

“Mhm…” You mumble under your breath, already half asleep. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, pulling the covers over the two of you. 

Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate it! PLEASE feel free to leave Rafe x reader requests!! I LOVE getting them!

Again, sorry if this is bad. I'm so tired and too lazy/impatient to proofread/edit. I hope this is good enough to fulfill your request!

[garden-0f-ed3n]

mfs want a yandere until they get clingy and start to constantly think about you and stalk your socials, then have a nervous breakdown because you seemed upset, then cry and cry and cry and beg for your love and reassurance …

[noorpersona]

Favourite Positions: Asahi

Asahi Azumane hadn’t meant to fuck you like this.

At least, not at first.

From the beginning, he had always treated you like you were something precious. Maybe it was because of the way you fit against him—smaller, delicate in his arms, easily lifted and carried. Maybe it was just who he was. But every time he touched you, it was careful, reverent—like he was holding glass, terrified of pushing too hard, of cracking something he could never replace.

He’d started slow, careful—just like always. His hands had been gentle, his mouth sweet against your skin, his body heavy but controlled as he eased into you between tangled sheets and soft, broken kisses.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to the broadness of him, the way his body caged you without feeling suffocating. And for a while, he moved like he was afraid—afraid of breaking you, afraid of being too much.

But the second you pulled your knees higher, the second you whimpered into his mouth and squeezed around him like you couldn’t stand even an inch of distance—

Something in him snapped.

And now you were folded beneath him, legs hooked over his shoulders, arms pinned above your head with one of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, completely at his mercy.

The angle was brutal. Deep. Overwhelming.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The thick weight of him drove every thought out of your head with each slow, devastating thrust that had your thighs trembling and your toes curling in the air.

“Asahi—” you gasped, but it was barely a sound. Your voice broke halfway through, your fingers twitching against his grip.

His other hand wasn’t idle—it skated down your waist, gripping your thigh, your hip, like he didn’t know where to hold you first. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in sharp, desperate bursts, his body trembling from the effort of keeping it together.

“You feel—” he choked out, driving deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echoing off the walls, “—so good, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

You whined. Couldn’t help it. Your whole body was screaming for him, clenching around him like you never wanted him to stop.

And Asahi, sweet, gentle Asahi, fucked you through it with a quiet ferocity that stole the air from your lungs.

He wasn’t rough. He wasn’t violent. But he was relentless—thrust after thrust angled to wreck you completely, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every snap of his hips.

You sobbed out his name, back arching off the bed despite his weight holding you down, and he groaned—low, broken, primal—when he felt how close you were.

“That’s it,” he panted, hips grinding in deep, “Come on, baby, come for me. Let go—I’ve got you.”

And you did.

The orgasm tore through you like a violent wave, pulling the breath from your lungs, your body spasming helplessly under him. You clamped down around him so hard he almost folded, his jaw locking as he cursed under his breath, fucking you through it even as your nails raked helplessly at his shoulders, even as you sobbed his name again and again.

He wasn’t far behind.

You felt the way his rhythm faltered—the way he ground into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, as he came with a low, broken sound against your neck.

His entire body shuddered above you.

For a long time, neither of you moved. Just the sound of heavy breathing, trembling limbs, and water rushing faintly in the bathroom beyond the door.

Slowly, Asahi lowered your legs from his shoulders, pressing kisses to your knees, your thighs, anywhere he could reach, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.

You whimpered when his mouth brushed over the sensitive inside of your thigh, another tremor ripping through you.

He smiled against your skin—small, wrecked, overwhelmed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dragging his lips up to your hip. “Got a little carried away.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still stunned. Still full of him.

Asahi chuckled, low and breathless, and kissed your stomach, your ribs, your sternum—slow, grounding kisses that made your overstimulated body twitch and shiver with every touch.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. “I’ve got you.”

You barely managed a broken whimper in response before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose.

And in that moment, you knew: He hadn't just fucked you like he was afraid of breaking you. He fucked you like he was afraid of losing you.

[rs-hawk]

BEING BRED BY THE EASTER BUNNY

Lmao this is so outta pocket but the Easter Bunny lays eggs in your womb in this so

Growing up, you had always been very interested in folklore and mythology, and how older cultures influenced Christianity. That made Easter one of your favorite holidays because it’s just so heavily inspired by multiple pagan cultures.

However, it bothered your family that you liked Easter from an academic standpoint verses a religious one, so this year, you decided to spend it by yourself. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to not do some of the traditions you grew up with- namely, leaving a plate of hay and clovers with a glass of carrot juice. Your family left this out for the Easter Bunny the way other families left milk and cookies out for Santa.

You set out the plate and glass, smiling slightly to yourself despite being sad about being alone. As you crawl into bed, you think you hear something in your backyard. Twigs snapping, a soft thumping sound that repeats. When you push yourself up to look through your window, you don’t see anything. Just darkness and a little bit of light filtering in from the moon.

After a moment, you settle yourself back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eventually you doze off. When you wake up, there’s the smell of chocolate and something warm and fuzzy surrounding you. You wriggle slightly, and the warm, fuzzy thing wraps tighter around you.

“So sweet, putting out that plate for me still. Thought you had stopped believing in me,” a warm, thick voice mumbles against your neck. Long, blunt teeth scrape your neck, making you jolt. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

In the darkness, your eyes slowly adjust. After a few moments, you see the thing laying on top of you. A giant, larger than a man, sized rabbit. He’s rutting a large, dripping cock against your bed between your thighs. His ears are pricked straight up, twitching softly as his face is buried in your neck. His paw like hands grip your hips, holding you still as he ruts the bed between your legs, as if he wants you to ask for him before he puts it in.

“What the fuck?” you mumble as you gaze down at him.

He looks up at you with his large, dark eyes, his nose twitching just like his ears. The rutting stops. “My little human. You’re going to properly be mine.”

Something about how innocent but needy this creature looks makes your legs fall slightly more open. “Are you…?”

“The Easter Bunny?” he chuckles, caging you in with his arms as he lifts himself up, settling his arms on either side of your head, his cock now pressed against your shorts. “Yeah, I am.”

You find yourself running your fingers through his white fur, wondering why he’s here. How he’s here. He’s not supposed to be real, but the aching cock grinding against your core certainly is real. He seems to notice the way that your legs fall more open, how you mewl softly because of his touch. Deciding to take advantage of this, he hooks his furry fingers into the waistband of your sleep shorts. In a way that’s almost agonizingly show, he pulls your shorts down, exposing your slit.

The leaking head slides in before he can even fully pull your shorts off. Moaning softly, you curl your legs around his waist. The fur is warm and soft under your hands. His nose is buried against your skin as he slowly rolls his hips into you.

“So warm,” he mutters as he rolls his hips over and over, driving his cock deeper into your now aching cunt. “So kind. Leaving out snacks for me after all these years.”

You let out a whine, biting your lower lip as the head of his cock taps your cervix. A soft whimper escapes your lips as you try grip his furry shoulders. Before you know it, he’s slamming in and out of you, properly fucking you like a rabbit does his mate.

You moan and tighten your leg lock around his waist, not that it mattered. He had no intention of pulling out. In a matter of minutes, you feel a few hard ball like objects being forced into your womb. It’s slightly uncomfortable at first, but soon becomes outright painful. Six of these things are stuffed into your womb, making your body ache.

He quickly pulls out, burying his furry face between your legs. His soft, smooth tongue runs over your cunt, soothing your puffy lips as his nose is pressed against your clit, twitching this way and that while his whispers tickle your inner thighs. The hard objects in your stomach soon fall forgotten as pleasure mounts in your lower belly, and before long, you’re drenching his white fur face with your juices.

He’s gone the next morning, leaving your stomach already slightly distended with what you presume to be eggs. You wonder how long you’ll incubate them, and if they’ll be a live birth or if you’ll be laying eggs. Too bad Easter is just once a year.

[ranibwsprimklez]

can you draw Null from Regretevator? /nf

Spookkyyy

[pellowinksx]

Stop relying on conscious feelings.

even if you don’t feel anything when you affirm, doesn’t mean you’re doomed forever. It manifests when we subconsciously believe it not consciously. A lot of you need to understand that you’re relying on your conscious mind and not your subconscious mind, your subconscious mind has no feelings so why stress that you don’t feel anything? affirmations+persistence-> dominant thought dominant thought -> subconscious belief subconscious belief -> desire materializes. And it happens at the most random times, you don’t need to feel anything, just keep persisting

[garden-0f-ed3n]

date idea: you knock me out and i wake up in chains in your basement, and you never let me go :3

[noorpersona]

hello lovely!! I hope ur doing well! I’ve been to gobbling up all your writing recently and I just wanted to say that you’re so talented! Your ability to accurately characterize, well, the characters is so important and it’s just overall fantastic. Please keep up the good work!! <33

I wanted to request Sugawara — possibly taking care of the reader when they’re sick? Or maybe period pains? Either works, I really don’t mind! There’s not a lot of Suga writing on tumblr as a whole (that I’ve been able to find), and I’d like to see you work your magic! Thank youuu!

Hi sweet anon!! 🥹💛 Thank you so much for your kind words — They genuinely mean the world to me. I’m so happy you’re enjoying the writing!! Hopefully this is want you pictured in your head hehe

Enjoy<333

--

Anon Asks: Sugawara

The door creaked open before you could even lift your head from the couch.

"Hey, you should be resting," came Sugawara’s voice—soft, teasing, but edged with concern. The sound of it washed over you like a balm, even as your body rebelled against every small movement.

You grunted in response, curling deeper into the fortress of blankets you'd made for yourself. Every inch of your body ached with a dull, persistent throb. Your head pounded in time with your heartbeat, and your stomach twisted and cramped unpleasantly, making you feel heavy and brittle all at once.

Koushi set the grocery bag down with a soft thud, the rustling of plastic filling the room as he moved around. You cracked one eye open to find him methodically unpacking supplies: herbal teas, a box of your favorite crackers, a heating pad, a fresh bottle of painkillers, and—to your complete and utter dismay—a small bouquet of daisies.

“You didn’t have to,” you croaked, voice hoarse.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyebrow arched in a way that immediately made you feel silly for even suggesting it. “You’re right,” he said lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

You huffed, burrowing deeper into the blanket, trying—and failing—to hide the way your face flushed. Whether it was from embarrassment or overwhelming gratitude, you weren’t sure.

Sugawara padded over, kneeling down so you were eye-level. His hand, warm and slightly calloused from years of volleyball, brushed against your forehead. Gentle, steady.

“Still warm,” he murmured, his brows knitting together in a tiny frown. “Poor thing.”

You cracked a weak smile, the motion tugging at the ache in your temples. “I’m fine, really,” you mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, clearly not believing a word of it.

Without asking, he cracked open one of the heat packs, giving it a firm shake until it warmed to life. He slipped it under the blanket, pressing it against your lower abdomen with slow, careful movements. A soft, involuntary sigh slipped past your lips as the warmth seeped into your cramping muscles.

He smiled at that, eyes crinkling in that boyish, heart-melting way he had.

“There’s my girl,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it over the gentle thrum of the rain starting outside.

Sugawara busied himself preparing tea—the comforting clatter of the kettle, the soft clink of a spoon stirring honey into a mug—all while stealing glances at you every few moments. Watching. Making sure you didn’t strain yourself.

When he returned, he slid onto the couch beside you, coaxing you upright just enough to press the steaming mug into your hands.

“Easy,” he murmured, one hand steadying the cup with you. “Small sips.”

You obeyed, too tired to argue, the warmth from the tea and his touch making the ache behind your eyes begin to loosen.

Once the tea was safely set aside on the coffee table, he didn’t retreat back to his corner. Instead, he carefully pulled you into his arms, arranging you across his lap with an ease that made your heart ache. His hands found your lower back almost immediately, working slow, tender circles into the tense muscles there.

The world outside faded. The rain against the windows softened into a background hum. Your muscles remained sore, but the sharp edges of your pain dulled—replaced by the steady, grounding beat of Koushi’s heart against your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of being wrapped up in something—someone—solid and sure.

Your hands tightened weakly in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, voice cracking from the weight of everything you were too tired to say properly.

He only squeezed you tighter, thumb stroking lazy, soothing patterns across your hip.

“Always,” he murmured.

And as your eyes fluttered closed, your body giving in to the exhaustion at last, you realized: with Koushi here, you could finally let yourself rest.

Truly, completely, safely rest.

[huskyscc]

can you do a drabble where jenna and reader have these domestic moments? like having a grocery list together etc. thanks in advance!!

a/n: of course i can! i hope this is what a drabble is because this is new to me and the only definition I could really find, (a short story with 100ish words), so I hope this is what you meant!! but thank you for requesting 🫶!!

kiwi love

pairings - jenna ortega x gn!reader (no pronouns specified)

wc - 100

warnings - none

summary - a grocery store list with a special request.

masterlist

“babe, where’d you put our grocery list?” you ask.

Jenna glances up from the couch. “uhh… the fridge?”

you grab the list, looking it over. you can’t resist a giggle at one of the items, obviously requested by Jenna.

“3 containers of kiwis?” you sneer playfully.

you jump when you feel Jenna’s head on your shoulder, turning your head. she smiles at you.

she leans in, pecking your lips softly. "don't forget them!" she says as she gives you one last peck before turning on her heels.

you chuckle, grabbing your keys as you leave with the list in hand.

[quandledlngle69]

pretty please with whipped cream, a cherry ontop and rainbow sprinkles make me a kasier x reader where hes just totally whipped for the reader no explanation needed he just has his head on readers lap while looking up at them with humenigimornous giant puppy eyes and love hdhsksmhdkdhzhs

ur writing is so fire also pls dont explode

・. ★ Yes anon with whipped cream, a cherry ontop and rainbow sprinkles, i will do this for you :3 I promise i won't explode LMFAOOOOO

☆ CONTENT: domestic moments with Kaiser <3 ☆ GENRE/THEMES/WARNING: Just fluff and Kaiser daydreaming about you, and mentions of kaisers vulnerability. 'schatzi' – Sweetheart / darling. ☆ W.C. 0.7K

Kaiser will never admit it verbally, but he craves the small, domestic moments that he has reserved with you.

And every single time, he’d grasp the moment like a thread of a ribbon weaving through his fingers, soaking everything in like a sponge in water, his eyes forcing his mind to remember every visual detail, for his body to memorise every touch, and for his nose to tie a certain scent that grounds him so much–into something familiar, that reminds him of the home he never had. 

The early morning sun poured itself directly on the end of the couch, a random German host show in the background, almost white noise to him. His glasses were boxed up neatly on the round wooden table next to the arm of the couch, a pink steaming coffee mug next to it. 

He memorised it all–the way your manicured nails scratched his scalp that made euphoric goosebumps break out on the surface of his skin, the way he would always groan quietly when your thumbs danced themselves behind his ears, massaging an invisible pattern of circles. His head was laid on your bare thighs, turned away from the TV, his nose barely brushing where your belly button would be. He was only in sweatpants, his legs stretched out and hanging over the other arm of the couch, the warmth of the sun melting into the bare skin of his upper body. His hands clung fistfuls of fabric of the oversized shirt you wore–his shirt. Your mind seemed so invested in what was on the TV, he could see it on your sun–kissed features, your squinted eyes studying the pixelated screen, your eyebrows furrowed just a little, and your lips parted in concentration.

His eyes always softened when gazing at you, you noticed. 

To others, they were a storm of cerulean, a swirling tropical cyclone no one could control. But you–you were the moon to his dark sea, the one that guided him, that made sure the baby waves never grew bigger than that when you were around.

The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted in the air, the tray settled nicely on the open window ledge to cool down, the open air leaving a simmering sound of the city of Berlin below. There was always a twinkle in your eyes, qualified and restricted just for him and no one else. His past self would never believe he had gotten this lucky to grab your attention. He would thank any God–if there was one–how lucky he was to be able to see you, feel you, touch you, breathe you. 

“Mihya?” You hummed, interrupting his ceaseless daydreaming. Your honeyed voice a hushed melody to his ears as your head tilted down to peek at him, your knuckle brushing his cheek. “You okay? I can tell your mind’s wandering.” 

His lips parted slowly, as if to say something, but nothing escaped from them. Hell–he didn’t know where to start. He wanted to tell you how you took his breath away, as if something was squeezing his lungs. How the sun rays marked and enhanced each curve and shape of your facial features, a face that renaissance sculptors would fight to be able to sculpt, that would be placed in a museum for centuries to come, he thinks. How he always internally thought love was a dead and long buried concept for him, until you got a shovel and dug it right out, shoving it back in his arms.

How he could comfortably be vulnerable, how he didn’t have to think around you, his mind never on edge or racing. Your mere presence a soothing balm to his soul. He wants to tell you how he could stare at you all day and never find a flaw, that the many girls before you that had tried and failed to get his fragile heart were faceless to him. How when he went to get a bouquet for you in some fancy florist shop for your anniversary, the owner mindlessly told him how complementary marigolds are with roses, and all he thought of was you. 

But all he did was finally hum back in agreement, his cheek nuzzling in your open palm, lightly kissing it as his sun–lit blues focused in on your face. “Just admiring my pretty girl, schatzi.”

You beamed, his heart racing at the familiar sight of your cheeks puffing to accommodate your gorgeous smile, and the way your face flushed slightly whenever he complimented you. A giggle bubbled from your throat, teasingly calling him sappy, hands ruffling through his bedhead, but he didn’t even care.

He wouldn't mind being called sappy a million times if it meant he could witness your smile.

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