#HIT THE SHEETS BOYS

[safetyrat]

I HAVE FINSHED WRITING i am finally free

[cottonbopp]

Jashtober Day 15 - Memento Tonight, at 6 !!

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 15

alexa bring me my popped corn and a drink. im about to watch a white boy get annihilated

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

may go back and edit some things for the final cut bc im STILL not all the way satisfied with how the trial is working out

the one where byakuya has only the vaguest idea what the hell is going on

syo is so fun to write. sorry im syo apologizer now

betaread byy @digitaldollsworld :)))

Content warning tags: mild descriptions/mentions of blood/gore

< previous - from start - next >

The ride down to the courtroom is tense as usual, but with a new, palpable level of hostility in the air. He feels gazes, laden with suspicion and wariness, but there’s no whispers, at the very least. Aside from the rumble of the elevator (and the occasional grunt and insult from Syo, who was picking a fight with anyone who ‘looked at her funny’), the air is dead silent.

He ignores them, arms crossed and staring resolutely ahead. The animosity isn’t unfamiliar to him; he’s experienced such things countless times already, from his siblings who wanted him gone, to adults who thought him young and impertinent and an obstacle. And he’s not one to care for the opinions of the lower class either, but it irks him that he needs to take them into consideration for this trial. 

If he lets them decide based on their naive pathos alone, they’ll all be doomed. No matter how much he disliked having to cooperate with the rest of them, as foolish as they were, it would be necessary to ensure his own survival. As a child, Pennyworth once reprimanded him for criticizing the democratic structure of the various national governments, saying ‘the greatest asset is people.’ Byakuya had grown to understand the truth of those words, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

There’s a quiet shuffling sound at his side, that startles him out of his thoughts. He glances over, and sees Makoto, surreptitiously edging near.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, and when Byakuya raises an eyebrow at him, he taps the side of his face. “You know…”

Ah, right. “Yes. I’m fine.” He reaches to touch the side of his face - the swelling has reduced noticeably already, though it still feels soft and tender under his fingers. Like an overripe fruit. “Don’t worry about pointless things.”

“It’s not-” He starts, before sighing. “Okay.” Makoto’s head twists, glancing around them for any onlookers. “About my investigation-”

“Save it.” There were bound to be eyes and ears on them, most noticeably, Kirigiri’s. He can see the girl standing out of the corner of his periphery, a pillar of pale violet. He’d prefer not to draw unnecessary suspicion now. “I’ll hear about it during the trial anyways.”

Makoto falls silent. For a few moments, the only sound is the rumble of the elevator, the occasional shifting of restless bodies. Then Makoto leans closer until their arms graze, a sudden, shifting press of warmth.

“I promise, I’m going to prove you’re innocent.” There’s an unexpected fierceness to his tone, a determination that Byakuya only heard once before, during the last trial. “No matter what.”

He blinks, taken aback somewhat. He hadn’t expected this display of loyalty, but - well - maybe it was to make up for their previous falling-out. Whatever the case, Byakuya finds himself strangely reassured.

“Hmph. You better.” He crosses his arms and surveys their surroundings. “If you don’t, we’re all dead.”

So Makoto was certain of his innocence. That was some comfort, though Byakuya couldn’t put his entire faith in the other boy alone. At the end of the day, he could only rely on his own strength to get him through this.

It will be fine. The elevator shudders to a stop, and the metal grate of the doors rattle as they slide open. Everyone files silently to their stands, at this point already familiar with what being in this room meant. No matter what the outcome was, at least one of them would die.

From his stand, he looks around. Everyone seems somber, and even Syo is quieted down for once, currently consumed with picking at her nails. Ogami has her arms crossed, face turned downwards. Hagakure keeps fidgeting, head nervously turning this way and that. Kiyotaka seems as stiff as ever, posed as rigidly as a statue and staring silently ahead. Something white  is wrapped around his head, stark against his dark hair; a bandage, most likely, and Byakuya wonders for a moment if he’s concussed.

“Welcome, welcome!!” Monokuma springs up, twirling on its chair like a clown. “What do you guys think of my redecorating? Pretty nice, right?”

Byakuya has no idea what the bear is talking about, until he looks around again and notices that there were more plaques, standing in each of the unoccupied podiums. Even with his vision, he can identify what the dark-framed rectangles are supposed to be, and why each of them had red paint splattered across it in an ‘x’.

Last time, it had been Maizono and Enoshima. This time, it was Kuwata, and Chihiro.

How tasteless. No one bothers to say a thing in response.

“Gosh, what’s with the silent treatment? Cats got your tongues?” Monokuma hums, apparently put off by the lack of reaction. “What a bunch of downers! Where’s your youth?”

“Enough with this.” Owada growls darkly. His hands are fisted tightly on the railing. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Well, aren’t you rip-raring to go! Didn’t expect that from you, Mister Owada!” Monokuma cackles excitedly. “But I don’t hate it! Alright, let’s get this show on the road!!”

So it begins. Byakuya readjusts his stance, lifting his head to stand tall and straight. He cannot afford to show weakness here. He cannot afford himself any more leniency, any reason for failure.

It was time to start the trial.

___

“Because we have a newcomer, let’s go over the rules one more time.” Monokuma says, as it climbs onto its chair. “At the conclusion of this trial, you will all vote for who you think committed the crime, and your vote will determine the results. If you can figure out ‘whodunnit’ then only they will receive punishment. But if you pick the wrong one…” It grunts slightly as it finally clambers into its seat, settling in with a bounce. “Then, I'll punish everyone besides the blackened, and the one that deceived everyone else will graduate!...Does that make sense, Miss Syo?”

“A death game, huh?” Syo hums, tilting her head. “No wonder y’all are so tense. It’s a real battle royale in here!”

“How dare you? My game is way more sophisticated than that government-organized waste of tax dollars!” Monokuma sounds genuinely affronted, somehow. “But- well, I could talk forever about that, but I don’t wanna cut into everyone’s time. To start, why don’t we go over some details from the case? I’m dying to know what you guys are thinking~!”

The response is more quiet, some awkward shuffles. Considering the events of the last trial, everyone was treating this one like a minefield, and each person was afraid to venture out first. 

Finally, someone speaks up. “Let’s start with the scene itself.”

Kyoko’s voice is calm and steady, and cuts through the tense air. Silently, Byakuya appreciates her initiative, the careful drawing of the reins, the call for a preamble. If he came out and began throwing accusations outright, it would only damage his credibility; he needs a base to stand on.

“R-right.” Makoto follows up quickly. “Um, so. At around…one-fifteen today, Chihiro’s body was discovered by Byakuya, Hina, and Kyoko in the hallway outside the library. The body announcement went off shortly after.

“The body…was leaning against the wall, and apparently crucified,” His voice wavers slightly, but he presses on. “The presumed cause of death was…was a blow to the head. The Monokuma file says the death was instant.”

A blow to the head? He almost asks aloud, surprised. Though it hadn’t exactly been clear with the amount of blood on Chihiro’s body, he thought the cause of death would have been stab wounds, given Syo’s modus operandi.

If it was someone with the same cleverness as Kyoko, they wouldn’t have missed such an obvious detail, and if it were Syo herself I doubt she would have strayed from her pattern… He casts a glance at Syo, now picking at her teeth. Though, it is difficult to kill someone cleanly with sharp objects alone. 

Somewhere to the side, Asahina shudders. “How horrible…”

Makoto only nods once, jerkily, in agreement. “The word ‘bloodlust’ was written on the wall besides the corpse, presumably with blood from- from the crime itself.” There’s the quiet sound of him swallowing drily. “The scene also mimics the signature of a serial killer that was pretty prolific a short while ago-”

“That’s ri-ight~!”

He’s interrupted by a giggle. All heads turned towards the source.

Syo is twirling in her stand, pointing at herself with the same glee as an audience member who was picked out of a game show. “It’s yo-ours truly! Call and I shall appear!!” She strikes some kind of ridiculous pose, hip cocked out and arms raised. “Genocider Syo is here!”

Even though they had all been present for her initial self-introduction, the declaration still draws some disbelief. “Wait, so…you’re serious?” Hagakure asks, with an air of incredulousness. “Lil’ Toko, the bookworm, a serial killer? You sure this isn’t, like, a late-case of middle-schooler syndrome?”

“Bah! Don’t compare me to those posers, Grasshead!” She snaps, pointing at him, and he yelps, flinging his arms up as if she was threatening him with an actual weapon. “I’m the real deal!! Ask me about any of the victims, and I can tell you everything ‘bout ‘em, from their favorite foods to their shitty tastes in girls!”

“...Anyways, Toko - in this case, known as Syo - was also carrying these.” Kirigiri withdraws a brown pouch from her jacket, the contents of it jingling. “Inside are scissors matching the unique make and model of the murder weapons found at Syo’s crime scenes. Between these and  the…dramatic change in personality, I think we can confidently assume that Toko is Syo, and vice versa.”

“Hmph. Gloomy wishes she could be me.” Syo harrumphs. “But yeah, sure, you got me detective! Me n’ Gloomy are like twins in one body, but only one person can drive at a time, yakkno? And she always hogs the wheel.”

There’s a murmur, as people take in this new revelation. “So…like a split personality?” Yamada asks.

“Not quite.” Kirigiri replies immediately. “It’s not clear how her affliction might be classified, but it does explain how she was able to avoid detection for so long.”

I see…” Celeste’s fingernails tap lightly against the railing. “But with this, does it not appear as if this case is already solved?”

“No…it’s not that simple.” Makoto says, a frown in his voice. “All of Syo’s previous victims died by stab wounds, but this time around, Chihiro’s cause of death was from blunt force to the skull…plus, nothing sharp was used in the crime at all.”

This time, Byakuya can’t hide his surprise. “Really?”

He immediately shuts his mouth, at once disgusted with himself for losing his control like that, but it’s too late. Attention turns to him. “What is it, Byakuya?”

He grits his teeth, now with no choice but to move forward. “I didn’t get a close look at the body earlier,” He explains, which is something like the truth. “But - given the blood and the nature of Syo’s crimes - I assumed that there would have been use of stabbing to at least mimic the scene, if only just to suspend the corpse?”

It’s a plausible enough explanation. He can only hope no one noticed the hesitancy in his voice. Kirigiri is the one that responds. “It is strange,” She nods. “I noticed that as well. But no, there are no stab wounds whatsoever on the body, and Syo’s scissors are completely clean. The body itself is suspended with an extension cord looped around the wrists, and hammered into the wall.”

This was more unexpected information, but useful information nonetheless. But it was frustrating that he couldn’t have seen it for himself to confirm, and all he could do now was rely on Kirigiri’s claim. But no one else was speaking up to disprove her, and so he had no choice.

“Couldn’t she have chosen a different weapon and method of crucifixion to keep suspicion off of herself?” Celeste asks again, curiously. “Given the enclosed nature of our surroundings, would it not make sense for her to try and create a scene where we could not ascertain her role in it?”

“Right! Couldn’t it be that Syo - er, Miss Syo -” Yamada corrects himself quickly. “- was trying to cover her tracks? I mean, I’ve seen it all the time in mystery mangas, where the killer changes up their style to throw the dogs off their tail…”

“No way!” Syo confirms aloud, sounding genuinely affronted by the suggestion. “I take pride in my works, yakkno? Any shmuck can make sushi, but it takes a real master to make the real thing. And what happened with Chihiro is some cheap convenience-store trash you can buy for a kid’s allowance!”

Ugly metaphor aside, it made sense. After reading so many case files, he had an understanding of how hedonistic killers operate, and it seemed that Syo was certainly not out of the norm in this case. She and the mastermind were similar in this regard. No matter how irrational, they always adhered to their own twisted sense of pride, and by extension, followed their own set of guidelines strictly.

But, then that meant it was unlikely for Syo to have committed the deed. Out of three possible suspects in his mind, he knew it was not himself, and if it wasn’t her, then the last one left was…

“That’s a possibility, but it’s not likely here,” Kirigiri speaks as if Syo had never said anything in the first place. “Syo was far too eager to reveal her identity, so it’s unlikely that she had intentions of hiding herself...and furthermore, with someone with as extensive a streak as her, it strikes me as odd that she would break her habits now.” She voices out the exact thoughts he was having himself, and that both reassures and irritates him at the same time. “Rather, the obvious way the body was displayed, plus the small differences with the actual killing method and the mounting, makes me think that this is a red herring.”

“Quite right,” Byakuya says now, and he can feel eyes turning onto him. “But many details on Syo’s killing methods and habits were concealed from the public, including the fact that the victims were crucified. Which means there is only a limited number of people here who could have copied her M.O to this extent. Am I correct?”

There’s a moment’s pause. He’s taken them by surprise, by pointing out the very thing that would otherwise suggest his involvement. Everyone had seen Owada confront him on the second floor hallway, had heard his messy accusation, though given how Kirigiri was quick to have the suspects isolated and Owada occupied by the menial task of overseeing the scene, they likely weren’t aware of any real explanation for his suspect status beyond Owada’s initial, hasty claims.

That was what he needed to take advantage of now, if he was going to keep suspicion off of him and survive.

Kirigiri nods slowly, likely also taken aback by his sudden interjection. “That’s true…the details of the Syo’s victims were kept confidential to only high-level police and investigators-”

“But that doesn’t mean jack here,” Owada cuts in sharply. He had been quiet this entire time, but now he leans forward, hands clutched against the wooden rail. The tip of his pompadour is facing Byakuya, as if staring him down. “There was that folder thing, right? The one that had all the details on Toko or Syo or whatever, I don’t give a shit.” He drawls out his cusses with a snarl, trembling with rage. “And the only guy who’s spent enough time in the library to be reading about that kinda stuff is right in front of me.”

Byakuya suppresses a sigh. Of course, Owada would jump to such conclusions, easily thrown into a blind fury by mere provocation. The bruise still throbbing on his face is evidence of that. “As I was beginning to explain, yes, I did have access to this knowledge. However, I alone can’t be classified as the killer-.”

Owada cuts him off again. “But there’s more evidence, ain’t there? You were the only one closest to the body when it was found. You were the only one with blood on you-”

“Oh, please. Everything you’re describing is circumstantial at best.” He scoffs. “It’s not like I’m locking the library doors or living in there, anyone could have read that file. I don’t have access to anything that could’ve been used to stage such a crime. And the blood on me isn’t enough to justify a murder.”

“You could’ve cleaned it off then!” Owada spits, and Byakuya simply rolls his eyes.

“And what’s your proof? Beyond your own, half-baked opinions based on some coincidences?” He snarks. He can’t waste too much time on this. He needs to move on, and quickly. If too much attention lingers on him, he’ll lose credibility. “Tell him, Makoto.”

Gazes turn towards Makoto. Byakuya waits, expecting him to say something, to point out the blatant lack of proof, or offer some counterargument to break down Owada’s logic. But Makoto is silent, his face cast downwards. After a pause that feels entirely too long, Byakuya finally understands why.

The realization completely derails him, and his fragile, haphazard plan of attack shatters. “Don’t tell me…” he says incredulously under his breath, mostly to himself.

“There is proof.” Kirigiri confirms his suspicions. She holds something up - rectangular and maybe the size of a small book, and maybe white once, but stained so thoroughly with blood it was hard to tell - “There was a mess in the library suggesting a struggle had occurred, and there was a textbook that had some bloodstains along the spine found near the far shelf. There were also two of these gauze pads found behind the door.” There’s a dry crackle as she sets the bloodied gauze down against the railing. “Furthermore, the cord that was used to crucify Chihiro was also confirmed to have come from the library. We found an empty box with a broken lid, with a dust imprint that suggests that it was used to hold the cord.” She pauses for a moment, as if gauging reactions. “There was also a white sheet found in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, with a large spot of blood near the middle of it.”

It feels like the floor is tilting under his feet, and he leans his weight forward into his arms, his hands still clutching the rail. The cord, the bloodied gauze? The sheet?

I’m being framed. That much was clear, but - he has no idea by who. It couldn’t have been Toko, or Syo. Had someone snuck into the library after Chihiro’s body was found, during all the confusion? Planted evidence to doom him?

“That’s impossible,” He hears himself saying, voice strangely distant. It takes an effort to drag himself back, out of his racing thoughts. He can still salvage this; I just need to stay calm.

“I’ve never touched that cord, and I have no idea where that gauze came from.” His own words sound pathetic and baseless, floundering attempts with no substance. “And- there’s not enough blood on the book to justify that kind of killing blow-”

“So it was used to hit someone?” Celeste asks, an amused note in her voice. Immediately, he snaps his mouth shut, cursing at himself silently. “Won’t you please elaborate for us?”

“That was-” It’s hard to explain the real reason. That he had struck Fukawa, in a moment of panic; no matter how much he hated that girl, to admit such a thing was humiliating, the act of someone lesser than him. “-from something else.”

His eyes dart towards Syo, half-expecting her to come forward and call him out on his avoidance of the topic. But all she does is…wiggle, her hands clutching her face. 

“Gosh, I’m jealous of whoever got to feel those hands on ‘em!” She swoons, and he realizes that she didn’t remember. Either that, or she had no intention of bringing it up, and the latter seemed unlikely.

Kirigiri leans forward a bit, pale face turned towards him. “The gauze pad I held up was soaked through, but it’s strange how clumsily it was hidden. Additionally, just the two of them wouldn’t have been nearly enough to justify the cleanup of an entire scene, especially given the tendency of head wounds to bleed.” She pauses, apparently waiting for any protest, before continuing. “And the book, too. To match the shape and dimensions of the wound, you would have had to use the corner of the book and apply a heavy amount of force, and there aren’t any deep stains or large splatters against the edges that would suggest such a thing.”

The relief he feels is nearly palpable, Kirigiri’s methodical words like a balm. He’d be almost grateful for it, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was suspecting her as well. Was she trying to get his guard down? To ensure his support if she were accused? He can see others nodding, following her logic.

“And what about the sheet?” Ogami asks.

“The stain on it doesn’t suggest it was used to wipe anything up. And there are no clear splatter marks to suggest that it was laid down prior to doing the deed, to reduce cleanup time.” An inadvertent breath of relief leaves him, a quiet sigh, and he swears for a moment that he feels her gaze flick towards him, a near-imperceptible turn of her head. “The boy’s bathroom is also not as strictly regulated as the locker rooms, so to claim that Byakuya was the only one on the second floor who could have put that there is untrue.”

He refuses to let himself show gratitude for her aid. He looks away as she turns to him fully, pretends like he doesn’t see it. “So…does that mean it wasn’t Byakuya?” Asahina asks, bewildered. Byakuya opens his mouth to confirm-

“The hell it isn’t.”

Owada’s voice is a low rumble. Byakuya has heard him yell and rage before, but there’s something different now. An unidentifiable emotion beneath the anger. But it creates the same sensation as the thunder before a storm.

“That fucker was in the library the entire fucking time. Chihiro got strung up right across from him.” The room is silent, everyone terrified to interrupt. Byakuya can hear the creak of wood as Owada fists tighten on the rail. “There’s too many things that make him suspicious, don’t fucking tell me that all of you are just gonna write it off as fucking coincidental? Chihiro’s DEAD!” 

“That’s-” Makoto speaks up, but his voice is drowned out almost immediately.

“The gauze. The case file. The sheet, the fucking extension cord.” Owada continues, turning slowly to cast his gaze at every person in the courtroom. “There’s no one else in this room who could’ve known about how Syo does her murders. There’s no one else with access to all the pieces to set this shit up. There’s no one else who would’ve had a motive-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He manages to keep his voice halfway steady, unshaken despite the sudden onslaught, but the beds of his fingernails are beginning to ache from where he digs his nails into the grains of the wood. The inside of his mouth tastes of metal and salt, accompanied by a raw, bleeding pain in his cheek.

“A motive. You, during breakfast - didn’t you say all that shit about ‘waiting for someone to die’?” Owada sounds just as hysterical as himself. “And then, Chihiro said you were the one who told him to tell everyone his secret - were you trying to get his guard down? To make him vulnerable, like you said?!”

“You’re insane. Do you even hear yourself?” Byakuya spits back. His head spins, and he feels sick. “I would never kill Chihiro, I-”

I owe him a debt.

He can’t say that. The words freeze on his tongue before he even comprehends what he’s about to say, as if pure instinct has held it back. But his mind feels unfamiliarly, frustratingly blank, filled with the static of rushing thoughts and a haze of panic.

If he tries to explain, he reveals his blindness, and makes himself vulnerable. If he doesn’t, he risks letting himself be identified as the culprit. His options were torn between his honor and his life, and either choice would ruin him.

He hasn’t felt this cornered in years. Not since the competition for heir.

“See? See?!” Owada is still screaming, but he sounds so far away. It sounds almost frenzied, as if with triumph. “He can’t even explain himself! He tricked Chihiro, and then murdered him!”

“No, that’s wrong!”

< previous - from start - next >

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

phil’s only been eating the salmon wet food (a problem bc there are three kinds in the variety pack) and the issue might actually be that she is a much more social eater than i expected, she’s fucking chowing down on a tuna blend bc (i assume) i am sitting between her and the door (where the other cat lives) (never mind that mack is still terrified of phil even though she’s been here three months)

[saintaviator]

gestures vaugely.

[miodiodavinci]

a heem heem whimper

[rainbowgod666]

Ea-nasir moment fr fr

[flashhwing]

leveling Juice up on dndbeyond and watching his hp go down before i add in the manually rolled hp. pain

[seraphdreams]

choso cock on the brain

[sinatoru]

౨ৎ ⊹˚⋆ ❛ HARD LOVE，❜ - boys who look like soft doms but in reality love it rough.

contains: smut, fem!reader, hard dom, rough sex, very much implied spanking, daddy usage on himself

notes: my monthly post bc school is like kicking my ass esp with grad coming up... also sry to mentions i ignored lolol i've been going thru it

he'll go easy, it's our first time. you think to yourself. but little did you know he'd be fucking your brains out that night.

"not too- fast!" you squealed into the soft pillow of his bed, clutching onto the sheets for mercy as you found yourself getting fucked face down and ass up on your fourth date.

a breathy laugh echoed through the room along with the sound of repeated skin slapping. his thumb caressing the red hand prints embedded on your soft cheeks, admiring what he had done.

pleasure and pain surged through your body. you knew he was big, but not this big. his cock stretched your pussy out past its limits at this point. like a shoe 3 sizes too small, you'd wriggle, and wriggling, shove your foot in basically... you get the idea.

his length continued to hit your cervix every time he plunged your ass into his pelvis, soliloquies came out of your mouth without question. his neighbors are surely going to complain. he'd thrust into you quick and hard you felt so overstimulated to the point you could barely fathom what was happening.

he stayed silent the whole time, only making groans and huffs from time to time, until he muttered under his breath.

"sweet girl, s' fucking good for daddy."

he fisted your hair, forcing you to look back at the needy expression he had on his face. so vulnerable yet stern. your mouth was ajar as you moaned out meaningless words to him, staring into his shrouded eyes.

you mewled, tightened around his cock, trying to milk out more of that sweet feeling he gave you with every push into your cunt. his dick was lathered in your juices as it went in and out so smoothly. it pressed so harshly against your velvety walls that you could just feel his big vein.

"i- 'm about to-" was all you managed to say. your back arched downward as you scrunched up, satisfaction vibrating everywhere, even your hands. his breath became heavier as he too was approaching.

nothing could replicate the pure euphoria you felt right then.

"oh please, cumming- hard-" you felt his liquid seep into your cunt as you wrung each other dry of any cum that was left, the hot and sticky goodness dripped onto the bedding.

if his dick was this good every time you might as well just marry him already.

[gojosprettyprincess]

Toji is in his late 30s n reader is in her early 20s, not proofread

“Fuck—you’re killing me doll” he grunts deeply, glistening droplets of sweat racing down the side of his sharp jawline as one of his muscular legs perched up flat on the bed—just for the sole purpose of bullying your poor hole even meaner than he already does, his fat veiny cock dragging along your snugged walls, forcefully stretching it even more to accommodate the sheer size of his length that’s invading your tight hole as the fat of your ass ripples against his pelvis.

“Gonna kill this old man faster with your annoying nagging” he lets out a raspy laugh when he hears your moan mixed with a hint of annoyance.

Toji can be a pain in the ass sometimes, being a man in his late 30s—the breadwinner of the house, he thinks he could just do whatever the fuck he wants and leave his clothes everywhere around the house for his younger girlfriend to clean up, which he sure as hell is wrong—It was your final straw today when you saw his sweatpants scattered on the floor in the bathroom from when he took them off to shower earlier.

Well unfortunately for you, you didn’t get the unlimited reaction you were hoping for because instead of taking you seriously, your back is somehow forced into a ruthless arch with your face being suffocated by the pillows beneath you as your boyfriend gives you the hardest backshots known to mankind.

“Mmm, this pussy is taking me so well—if some dick was what you needed, just ask me, babe. No need to be a bitch” he smirks menacingly, the wet squelching of your creamy pussy making him lick his lips, his tongue dragging against the infamous scar as he gawks at the mess you were creating on his cock.

“I’d fuck this tight pussy any second of the day—no need to act out doll” he laughs out as he continues pounding moans and whimpers out of you while you cry into the pillow—which only fuels him to fuck your brains out even more. His head falls back as his fingers dig into your hips, keeping you firmly so he can abuse your little cunt to his dominion. You mewled at the impact of his hard balls hitting your puffy clit so deliciously, creating fiction that made your head dizzy.

“Fuckk darling, m’gonna cum, gonna give this pretty pussy a good lil filling since that’s what you seem to be needing, yeah? For daddy to stuff this hungry little pussy? Is that why you were misbehaving?” He laughs out loud when your cunt flutters around him to his words. “Yeahh, thought so” he muttered lowly as he redirected his gaze to your face buried into the pillows, the hickies and marks trailing along the back of your shoulders and neck made him smirk knowing he was the one that marked you up like that, so for the dumb young inexperienced boys your age can know you were already claimed.

He gritted his teeth, returning his focus to pounding his hefty dick into you brutally, chasing his high as he starts breathing heavier—his length twitching uncontrollably inside your cunt, making you cry out as it drags against your walls. Your body jolted slightly when you felt his calloused hand slapping both of your ass cheeks, making your eyes roll back.

“Hah-fuck take my cum, fuckkk take my fucking cum baby” he moans out loud, hips buckling against yours deeper to still his cock to the hilt as he empties his balls into you—thick gooey ropes of cum spurts out into your womb making you grip the sheets as it overflows out of you. “Fuckkk that’s it, Attta girl, such a good little cumslut f’me. There you go baby—you're welcome” he grinned while mockingly laughing.

[everymlmhybrid]

why did that guy i knew in 2019 whip out an oil burner to smoke DMT out of and got offended when my friend gasped thinking he was doing meth. my brother in christ i'm sorry but my friend here isn't a drug-sniffing dog and assumed you were using the crack pipe for something else, perhaps, for example, crack,

[thinkinonsense]

SEVEN DAYS

x2!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: desperate!logan, eating reader out, fingering, squirting?

masterlist

the mission was only supposed to last for two days. forty-eight hours and he would return home to you. instead it was dragged out much longer than it needed to be.

logan wanted nothing more than to be home in your arms instead of a motel room alone, painfully hard, trying to tune out scott snore on the other side of the wall.

so, on thursday afternoon when him, scott, and storm returned to the mansion, logan wasted no time hunting you down. he could smell you the second he walked through the front door; you were in charles office. charles, hank, jean, and you were meeting to discuss a new experiment when logan bursts through the door.

"logan! pleasure for you to join us." hank announces.

your head snaps up from your scribbling to see that your lover has returned safely. he looked like a lion ready to pounce on a naivë little lamb.

"just came by to pick something up." logan answers, ignoring everyone else in the room as he made a b-line for you.

"hey, baby–"

within seconds, logan lifts you up over his shoulder and out of the leather seat. you squeal, dropping your notepad and pen. your kitten heels kick his abs as your squirm in his arms.

"logan!" you hiss, swatting his toned back as he turns around to walk out of the room, unphased. "what the hell! put me down!"

he ignores you, pulling down your dress to cover your behind from your co-workers. no one was shocked by logan's actions. the man wasn't a patient person by any means. they all watched as you left over logan's shoulder, face blushing with embarrassment.

when logan finally shut your guys bedroom door, he placed you down on the edge of your bed; yet to say a word to you. instead, he falls straight to his knees in front of you. his big callous hands, rubs the soft skin of your inner thighs, opening your legs.

logan couldn't help but moan when he saw the pretty lacy light blue panties you were wearing. you could see the neediness in his eyes as he licked his lips. before he can remove your underwear, you cradle his face in your much smaller palms.

"you alright, baby?" you ask, looking down at him.

similarly to a cat, logan rubs the scruff of his beard against your thigh, pressing his nose against the thin panties; inhaling the scent of your arousal. you run a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp softly before your fingers tugging on the kitten tuffs, making him whimper against your pussy.

"mhm..." he manages to say. "i missed you."

"aw, i missed you–"

"missed your scent, your lips, your mouth..." his words are muffled as he kisses you messily over the lace. "missed this fuckin' pussy so much."

you gasp when he pulls down the soaked material and moves back for a second to look at you. he spreads you apart with his thumbs, watching you twitch and clench at the cool air hitting your pussy. she was warm, wet, and welcoming to him. logan couldn't imagine a better way to spend the rest of his day.

"there's my favorite girl." logan smiles before spitting right on your button and latching his mouth onto you. you moan loudly as he talks to your pussy, acting as if you weren't even in the room.

"you've missed me too, huh, pretty girl?" he moans incoherently as his tongue runs over core.

it's a struggle to keep your eyes open but it was worth the sight of logan's head in between your legs. the noises he made with your slick were unbelievably lewd.

"must've missed me a lot." you giggle, trying to catch your breath as he wraps your legs around his head.

"you've got not fuckin' idea." he mumbles into your folds. spit and slick pooled onto the sheets that laid under you as logan feasted.

logan looks up at you and fears he might cum just from the image of you with your head thrown back, eyes rolled back and mouth slightly parted as you sing his praise of 'right there, logan!', 'such a good boy for me'.

the 'good boy' comment threw logan's mind into a frenzy. he needed to hear you. he needed to be surrounded by your presence. two of his fingers dip into you, fast and rough. your thighs squeeze his head, threatening to pop it right off his body.

there was no time to warn him before your high hit. logan slurped up every bit of honey you had to offer him. you reach down for the hand that wasn't busy locating your sweet spot and place it on your tit. logan could feel your heartbeat and it only sent him further on his spiral, adding a third finger and repeatedly hitting that spot that made you see fireworks.

"i c-can't, logan" you mewl, wiggling back from logan's tongue. he catches you, latching back onto your button. "it's too m-much!"

"she's takin' me just fine." his voice is muffled against you in the dirtiest way possible.

the pressure builds in your tummy. there were no words in your brain at this point, moaning and babbling about nothing.

"that's the spot, huh?" he groan, smirking up at you. logan's fingers twist up, slamming against that gummy spot deep in your walls.

the motion caused you to let out more slick than you ever had before, gushing on logan's face. you can hear him curse as he licks you clean.

“it’s only been seven days, you know?” you giggle, trying to catch your breath.

he climbs up your body to capture your lips, letting you taste yourself. you moan into his mouth, as logan grinds down on you, needing more.

“seven days too long, sweetheart.”

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

a/n: just something short n sweet before i post part 2 of dad!logan x teacher!reader <3

[pastelclovds]

thinking about short top x tall bottom relationships

your partner’s friends believe that just because you were two feet shorter than him: that it would obviously mean that you would be the one taking it in the relationship. how could you blame those meatheads when your boyfriend was everything a stereotypical dominant man was “supposed” to be. muscles that could be compared to Greek gods, good looks, possessing a constant stern and confident attitude, and he had a successful career that made him good money.

your lover didn’t try to deny the accusations. probably too embarrassed to admit the truth. you had to hide your smirk when you saw your bf trying desperately to change the subject. looking tense and flustered as his gaze shifted from his hands to you to his friends. it wasn’t until you dropped his friends off and were now alone with him in your car that his mask finally cracked. before he could say a word, you place the palm of your hand on top of his shaking leg. dangerously close to his clothed pelvis. his breathe hitched when he meet your eyes. they were smug and hungry.

at that moment he knew it didn’t matter what excuses he spewed out. you were going to show him who was really in charge. he couldn’t help blood rushing south as his mind started fantasizing about what you were planning for him.

you grin devilishly when you catch sight of his cock straining against his dress pants. oh you were going to have so much fun breaking him.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“oh! oh yeah— fuck! faster please please!”

you’ve seen many beautiful things in your life. but the sight of your lover presenting his bare ass for you to rail as he sobbed out your name like a prayer definitely topped them all. he let out choked moans when your cock continuously hits his prostate. his grip on the pillows rival that of a vice as his tears wet the covers. he thrusts back against your cock to the best of his ability as the bruising grip you had on his waist prevented him from moving the lower half of his body. forcing him to stay still and take it.

you let out a shaky breath as you gazed down at the so called ‘master in the sheets’. now a pathetic, beautiful mess as his tight hole took you in. just the sight of his tear stained face and velvety ass was enough to almost make you spill inside him. you increase the pace of your hips. your sweat slicked balls slapping against your lover’s ass as the volume of his moans and cries increased. the clap of your bf’s ass meeting your pelvis filled you with pride as you couldn’t resist the temptation of slapping his cheek. his hole tightened significantly around you.

“haha. guess your friends were wrong about you, lovely. was this what you wanted? embarres me so i can show you who you really belonged to? hmm?” you lower your torso as you teased him by slowly grinding against his sweet spot. he raised his head to look up at you.

“i’m yours. always make me feel good. go faster again please. i’m close, ‘m sorry— ah!”

your pace returns to rough and quick as soon as the words left his pretty mouth. “good boy- hah- cum for me,” you breathlessly command him. he followed your orders instantly, biting his pillow cover to muffle his pathetic sob as his cock spilled white on the sheets.

his climax triggered yours, you sigh as you fill him with warmth. you knew that this wasn’t going to be the last round, so you rest on top of your lover’s back until he gave you the ‘okay’ to continue. you could feel his chest rise and fall as he tries to catch his breath. if you weren’t paying attention intensely, you would’ve missed the breathless “i love you” he told you.

you cover his sweat coated back in soft kisses, you couldn’t even reach his neck, “i love you too, gorgeous,” you whisper back. you bite back a groan when he started grinding against your cock, signaling that he was ready for round two.

you loved destroying stereotypes.

ur fav tall af characters <3

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[s0dium]

THAT'S A RED FLAG BABY

JJK MEN AND RED FLAGS

A/n: Yessirrrr MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis: Jujutsu men and their red flag in a relationship or generally and how it shows through when they fuck

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Yuuta Okkatsu, Sukuna Ryomen, Choso

Warnings: Emotional abuse, narcissism, controlling behavior, dub-con, semi-public sex, spitting, fingering, rough sex, male masturbation, degrading, praise, teasing

~

Gojo Satoru- Narcissist  

Since he was a kid, Gojo has been praised and called many things

The honored one, the strongest, gifted and so on

But what people don't see is behind those beautiful sapphire eyes, is a goddamn narcissist through and through

He thinks, no he knows that he is the best, best at everything

This includes what goes on in bed.

And its not only that, the white-haired fox only cares about himself too in the sheets, abusing his unnatural stamina and using you like a cock sleeve for his own taste

At least he can be nice about it sometimes

Gojo is relentless. Its almost like your his personal cock sleeve, his dick shaping your insides and abusing your cervix despite your choked sobs and whines for him to stop, to simply slow down. He holds the back of your head with his hand, allowing you to look down at the way you two are connected; how he retracts his hips until his tip barely pokes out, admiring the slick coating his shaft before slamming back into you again.

"Ahhh~ P-please Satoru please...."

Gojo rolls his eyes and scoffs. Why were the people that surrounded him always so weak? Even you. It's a good thing you feel like heaven he could almost forgive you.

Tears stream down your face. Every time the tip of his dick rams against your cervix a powerful feeling mixed with pain and pleasure that surges through your body making you tremble and shake. You're losing your mind. Everything is so good, and, God, you can't ignore how handsome Gojo looks right now. His white hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the muscles of his toned abdomen are flexing and unflexing. He is gorgeous, and, boy, he knows it. Even the way your pussy squeezes and spasms around his dick sends more bolts of electric pleasure to dance through your skim.

"Shhhh, just take it 'kay? You're doing so good for me baby." Gojo coos.

Geto Suguru -Controlling

It starts off small, a comment here and there on your choice of friends, a small criticism on where you were going to spend the evening because wouldn't you have much more fun spending it with him?

Then he's starting to pick out outfits for you. Modest but pretty ones for outside but short skimpy clothes for when you're only with him. It even gets to the point where he is controlling your finances, making you only use his credit card, and its not about the money, you can use as much as you want for all he cares. It's about the control, you being helplessly reliant on him.

And Geto has such an easy time getting away with his controlling tendencies, showering you in praises and sweet nothings about how he just wants to protect you. And the way his violet eyes gleam at you, you almost always believe him.

Don't for a second think that he's insecure because it's far from it. The raven-haired man just wants to have you all to himself, he just wants to protect you from the cruel cruel world out there.

"Didn't I tell you to ask me first if you are going to wear an outfit like that?" Geto whispers in your ear but you can barely focus on his words. The curl of his fingers inside you is just too numbing; the way it hits, prods, and massages a spot deep inside your walls that you can only dream about reaching on your own. Geto's fingers are so thick too, almost filling you up as deliciously as his dick does. Almost. "Mmm- I- I, I didn't-" You gasp for air and try to bury your face into your hands. He currently has you against a wall of some bathroom stall but that fact seemed all but lost to you right now. The pleasure was building in your core and fast. Your legs were starting to shake and a numbing electric feeling had taken course throughout your body. You didn't have to open your eyes to know that Geto was smirking.

Suddenly, Goto curls his fingers in a way that deeply presses your g-spot and the dam of pleasure that had built inside you breaks. Your jaw goes slack and your whole body trembles with electricity.

"Didn't expect for you to crack so easily" he chuckles against your ear, and you collapse into his chest. Yuta Okkatsu- Too obsessed

You would think this is a good thing right? You could never love someone too much, but it was different with Yuuta

Sure you had a crush on him, sure you touched yourself to him plenty of times (which Yuuta knew of very well) so the feelings weren't all that unreciprocated

But theres a line, there's a line that Yuta always seems to cross

From taking pictures of you to texting you constantly, christ you even found your panties in his drawer, yuta love was overwhelming.

Yuuta knows that he should wake you up, but he cant bring himself too right now. You just look so beautiful, so perfect under the soft glow of the night sky. Also, he just feels so good right now, Yuuta can barely think so much as speak. "Mmmm-mmm" he whimpers against the pillow, slowly grinding his clothed erection against your bare leg. How would you react if you knew your boyfriend was humping you while you sleep? Would you push him away? No no you're too kind for that, you would probably help him, probably pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings until he finished. Yes, if he knew for a fact that you'd help him when you wake up, what's stopping you from helping you now? Careful not to wake you up, he picks up your hand. It's so small compared to his but wraps so well around his throbbing member. He glides your thumb across his red tip to collect the precum before slowly sliding your hand up and down. The pleasure is immediate. It makes him bury his face into your neck to to press sloppy, wet, hot, and bitten kisses along your skin.

Sukuna Ryomen- Sadist

Where to start with Sukuna. Sukuna is the red flag.

Actually, even that is a complete understatement. Sukuna is straight-up cruel, rather he is a sadist through and through.

Manipulation, degrading, humiliation....although he wouldn't physically abuse you, with emotional abuse he won't hesitate.

You expect compassion, sympathy, and kindness from him? Fat chance. It is hard to see Sukuna being in any relationship at all.

Sukuna certainly doesn't love you, but he sure does love the sex though

Like any good sadist, his sexual pleasure derives from your physical or emotional suffering.

"Aw look at you, fucked you dumb did I?" Sukuna chuckles. A tattooed hand snakes between to your cunt, lightly rubbing your clit before delivering a sharp slap to the nerve.

Your eyes widen and your hips instantly buck up, unintentionally sending his dick deeper into you. The position he has you in is brutal. Both of your legs are thrown over Sukuna's shoulders and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. "Open ya mouth" He orders, but you are too lost in the pleasure that is blooming in your stomach, the pleasure that is making your cunt flutter and squeeze desperately around his fat cock. "I said open." Sukuna delivers a particularly harsh thrust before stilling inside you; keeping the tip of his dick smushed against your cervix. The sudden movement snaps you out of your haze and you obediently widen your mouth letting your tongue hang out. Sukuna lets a glob of spit fall from his lips onto your awaiting tongue. You don't need to be told to swallow, you do so on habit, giving him a soft smile as you do so.

"Fuck, ya so perfect, such a good girl."

Choso- Jealous 

Choso is the type of man who keeps to himself. The type of man to blend in a group or fade into the background.

But that doesn't mean he notices things. In fact, he notices things a bit too well.

Was that your coworker who touched your shoulder? You say that he is just a friend but who should a friend be able to touch you so easily?

He won't hesitate to bring up what he notices either, he says he's not accusing you of anything, that he trusts you, but he totally is.

He hates it when people get to close to his brothers so it posits that he loathes it when it comes to his lover.

How did you get here? How did an argument turn into this?

You want to scream, you want to thrash and tell Choso that he's got it all wrong, that you didn't mean to see your guy friend when you went out to have lunch. It was just a harmless bump-in that turned into a long conversation. Thats it. But the feeling of Choso's dick filling you up, his harsh thrusts and the fucking delicious friction of the drag, Jesus, it's just- it's just so good your mind that your mind is a white sheet.

You are on all fours but you don't know how much longer you can keep the position up. Not with the way he's ramming your pussy from behind.

“You are mine," he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal is brutal. "Mine," he swears, and he pulls you up so your back is pressed against him and you are upright. Choso doesn’t slow his movement though, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing up and down from the harshness of it all.

“You wanna cum? Good, cum."