#I want to leave lipstick marks on his face

[potchi-fics]

note: g!p caitlyn. contains overstimulation, breeding kink, and jealous cait yummy. ang sarap niya fuckkkk sarap sarap sarap ALSO I DIDNT REALIZE THIS WAS SO LONG (not proofread. and i kid you not, my google docs crashed THREE TIMES while i was writing this. this is my new years present to yall--2024 may be down but cait's dick is up)

“darling, you know we have to go out in thirty minutes,” caitlyn’s distant voice called out from your closet.

you’re currently doing up your make-up in front of the mirror, doing finishing touches, “yeah, i know, baby. i’m about to be done. how about you?”

      you see her come out of the room, whistling when you see her outfit, it’s an all-black outfit: jacket with a black button-up, trousers, and loafers. simple yet elegant. she walks towards you while fixing the cuffs of her button-up.

“you look absolutely beautiful, darling,” her arms snake around your hips, kissing the side of your neck, “do we have to go?”

just in time to finish your make-up, a giggle escapes your lips, and you turn around to face her, your own wrapping around her neck, “you look gorgeous, baby. and you, house kiramman, are the ones hosting the gala, stupid.”

      she gives you a tight-lipped smile, her eyes squinting for a second but you see it, she doesn’t want to go. you gently pull her down, how she grew so much is still a mystery to you.

“it’ll be done before you know it,” you peck her lips, your lipstick leaving its mark on her—you rub it away tenderly, “come on, honey. we are gonna be late.” your kisses seemed to repeat, enunciating every word with a kiss.

caitlyn hums in content, her eyes closing, “you do realize your lipstick is fading the more you kiss me, right?”

“i’ll retouch in the car.”

…

      the gala is everything you expected: formal, rich people. you step into the venue and you immediately spot mrs. kiramman and her husband.

she hugs you, “i’m glad you two are able to make it.” she makes her way to her daughter, “surprised you’re here, can’t seem to pull you away from your work.”

“good thing i’m here, mrs. kiramman,” an arm wraps around your waist, kissing the top of your head, “caitlyn here is married to her work, i swear. and here i thought i was gonna be married to her first.”

“i am not married to my work.” caitlyn grumbles, sticking closer to you. “i am a very busy woman, is all.”

      you two converse with her parents for a while before an attending guest invited himself in your little party, taking away the older couple. that leaves the two of you alone. you grab a champagnes, offering caitlyn a glass. 

for about an hour or two, you two got separated, engaging other people. you give caitlyn a smile, who is on the other side of the room when you catch her gaze. she’s been watching you occasionally, keeping an eye on you.

and she doesn’t miss how a woman is trying to hit on you. of course, you’re oblivious to it. caitlyn’s eyes glint dangerously under the light, her teeth grinding when she sees the woman touch your arm, lingering for someone who’s supposed to be a stranger, undressing you with her eyes, and even going as far as touching your back, it barely made contact, but still. and that’s enough for her to down her champagne, make a beeline for to you, her strides strong and wide.

“oh, and this is my partner, caitlyn kiramman,” caitlyn rightfully takes her spot beside you, squeezing herself in between you and the stranger, “hi, honey.”

“hello,” she gives your little crowd a charming smile, though it holds a little bit of malice. she pulls you closer to her, “i may need to steal her away. we have some business to attend to, i’m afraid so.”

      without giving you a chance to talk, you two walk away—you’re glad though, you are tired of their stuffy personalities. a confused expression takes over your face when caitlyn leads you outside of the venue, leading you to a hallway and going through door after door.

your gaze observes the room, and you assume that the two of you are very far away from the party. she locks the door, unbottons her jacket, taking it off, and throws it on a couch.

“cait, where are w–”

      you didn’t get to finish your question because her lips were on yours the moment you spoke, her hand going on the side of your neck, fingers softly digging themselves into your skin to tilt your head up, deepening the kiss. 

you whimper when you feel her tongue take a swipe on your lips, asking you to open your mouth and you do. her tongue slithers in, licking every part of your mouth. she is demanding, yearning—like she wants all of you.

her knee presses between your legs, you let out a whimper of pleasure, grounding yourself on her thigh, your hands clutching the fabric of her shirt. 

“grind yourself on my leg, darling.” she pulls away to say, her voice deep and husky, “i’m waiting.”

      you’ve never been so happy to wear a side-slit dress. thanks to the access, you’re able to grind on caitlyn’s leg, rubbing your clothed pussy; the numb pleasure takes over your mind, caitlyn’s adding to your pleasure by leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, collarbone, lips, everywhere her lips could reach.

your hips stutter, and your clit going sensitive—it’s maddening, you need more. but caitlyn won’t give it to you, not yet. you let out a gasp, burying your head on her shoulder, the pleasure slowly taking over your whole being; it’s as if your body is on fire. 

you start to feel lightheaded. desperate for more, you grab your hand, leading it under your dress, your other tugging it higher, a flush creeping up your neck at the thought of doing this outside your home.

“hmm?” caitlyn knows how to make you beg, she resists your movements, throwing a teasing smile your way, “what is it you want, my love? i’m gonna need you to say what you want.”

you narrow your eyes at her, your gaze betraying the frustration you try to keep at bay, “honey, you dragged me here. take responsibility.”

“of course, darling.” caitlyn clutches a handful of your dress, crumpling it as she pulls it higher to expose your lower body. she removes herself from you and kneels, her hand gripping your undergarments, yanking it down in a rough, deliberate motion, taking it off of you. “i’ll take responsibility.”

      she puts one leg over her shoulder, caitlyn looking up at you as she takes one lick at your awaiting cunt, studying how close your eyes, head tilting back against the wall; watching how you stifled a gasp, but a faint sound slips through. 

desire coursed through her, undeniable and all-consuming—she went harder, deeper, sinking further into you, her nose bumping with your clit. your hands dart down, gripping her hair with desperation and need. she flattens her tongue for you, and you take that chance to grind your hips. you can feel yourself dripping, it’s beginning to travel down your legs. 

a low hum of satisfaction reverbed around the room, sending vibrations on your cunt—caitlyn is loving every second of this. knowing that only she can see you break down like this. her dick is begging to be let out.

you push her away, your breaths coming in short pants, and due to her being caught off-guard, she fell on her backside, staring up at you wildly. in an instant, you’re on your knees, crawling to where she is, coming between her legs.

your fingers fumble with the button of her trousers, pulling it down along with her undergarments, setting her weeping cock free. 

“care to explain what’s going on here, caitlyn?” there’s huskiness to your voice, smooth yet commanding—your hands wrap themselves around the base of her cock, your mouth going dangerously near it, “go on then.”

caitlyn speaks the words, but her eyes give her away, “nothing is going on.”

“try again, baby.” you kiss her tip, a flinch is what you get from her. you continue to kiss everywhere: her dick, her thighs, her abdomen, her navel.

only did she speak when her lower body is covered in lipstick kisses, and she’s left throbbing in need. she grits out, “blame that woman. she was too touchy.”

“oh?” she lets out a groan of frustration, leaning back on her elbows, throwing her head back, and closing her eyes, “jealous?”

“i don’t get jealo–”

“then allow me to assure you.”

      you take her dick inside your mouth, inches after inches going down your throat, and all she can do is watch you take it. a guttural moan escapes her lips, her hips slightly lifting off of the ground—you close your eyes when you feel her go even deeper.

for a second, you stay there, deepthroating caitlyn, your nose buried in her neat patch of tamed hair, shaking your head ever so lightly; caitlyn loves it when you do that and she gives you a growl of appreciation.

she grabs your head, her other palm lying flat on the floor as leverage, and her hips take off. caitlyn’s eyes are unfocused, a distant haze clouding them as she soaks in the sight of you happily taking it.

“you love this, don’t– fuck, don’t you?” she murmurs. “always such a good girl for me.”

      to answer her question, you swallow around her, the motion made her falter, breaking her rhythm. your hands pressed firmly against her hips, keeping her down—you pull up, sucking only the tip, eyes meeting, and then slowly going back down.

“all the way to the base for me, darling,” she gently pushes your head to guide you, her cock twitching when your nose meets with her hair once again, “there you go. good girl. i’m close.”

you come back up suddenly, maneuvering yourself to straddle her hips, your hand darting down to lead her inside of you, “not yet.”

caitlyn grits out the words through clenched teeth, “it’ll be difficult in this position, darling.” she places her hands under your knees, your hands shooting out to wrap around her neck as she stands up.

      you feel the wall on your back, she drops one leg, keeping one leg lifted. the groans that leave you both as she enters you are raw, eyes fluttering close. god, she just keeps on sliding inside of you, you swear she’s kissing your cervix. 

caitlyn withdrew slowly, then returned in, taking her time with every inch. your hand comes down to cover your mouth, you’re still in public, after all. and caitlyn notices. a sudden slam of her hips made you let out a soft moan, but barely audible.

her relentless harsh thrusts never let up. caitlyn feels so good, you feel so good around her, you squeeze her so good; your whimpers, your ragged breaths hitting her throat, mewling out her name like a broken record every time the head of her gushing dick of precum hits your spot, it’s all too much for her. her head drops down to your shoulder as she cums—the wave of sudden warmth filling you taking you by surprise, your eyes unfocusing, tightening around her cock. 

by the time she’s done filling you up, she’s still moving her hips, pushing through her sensitivity. she needs this. she needs you.

she puts down your leg, turning you around, not pulling out of you. with your palms on the wall, her hands find your hips, holding it with a bruising grip, each slam of her hips on your backside sending you forward.

“only i could touch you like that, my love,” her frustration seeps through her thrusts, the claps of your hips mixing with your broken moans, “who does she think she is.”

      your knees buckle, but thanks to her strength, she holds you up. she may look lanky due to her height and weight, but she’s pure muscle. you grip her wrist, unable to form words because how could you when you feel her deep inside your gut, when you feel your slick trailing down your leg, making a mess on the floor, or simply the feeling of her cock going in and out of you.

your orgasm comes out of nowhere, catching you and her off-guard, your body shudders in pleasure, shaking and spasming, triggering another one from caitlyn. she bends down, groaning in your nape as she fills you again.

her thrusts transition into lazy ones as you ride out your orgasms. you nuzzle your cheek against her head, your throat beginning to sore, swallowing with difficulty. 

she pulls out of you, letting you two slide down the floor. you take this chance to lie on your back, your legs shivering, your forearm covering your sweaty face. you feel her firm but gentle touch on your legs.

her hands are back on the back of your knees again, forcing them up until you’re nearly folded in half, further ruining your dress, “one more.”

      she slides her cock in, your eyes rolling back in pleasure at the new angle—she is much deeper in this position. she feels your cunt flutter, pulling her in if that’s even possible. 

she begins her ruthless pace again, your breasts bouncing in your dress with the force of her thrust, determined to fill you up, to cum inside of you again and again. the pleasure is drowning you, whimpering when she hits your spot, then abusing it over and over and over again. you lift your head to see her dick disappear inside your sopping sensitive cunt, and to listen to the wet noises every time caitlyn thrusts back in you.

she wasn’t much better than you—her ruthless pace is becoming sloppy, uncoordinated, chasing her own high. her choked moans, breathy sighs as you milk her, feeds your ego.

you don’t make a sound when you cum for the second time, only the fluttering of your pussy makes it known. caitlyn doubles her effort by circling your clit, effectively intensifying your orgasm. only did she allow herself to cum when your fingers dig into her sides. 

she forces her dick in you, going deeper than ever before. the spurts of her gushing dick emit a soft sigh from you, she presses her face into your neck as she legs go of your legs. you hold her, playing with the hairs on the back of her head, not letting go until she’s done filling you up.

“fuck, cait, are you trying to get me pregnant or what.” you allow your limbs to relax, and you feel her cum drip down out of you. you’re sweaty and sticky all over, your throat sore, ears ringing, legs are shaking, pussy filled with her cum, eyes still unfocused, “you are an animal, honey.”

      you feel her kiss your jaw, her breaths still ragged, hitting your neck. you both moan as she pulls out, your face burns at the sight of her creamy cock, still twitching, and dripping with cum.

she sits back and leans on the wall, hissing when she grabbed the base of her dick. your whole body is screaming at you to lie down, however, you crawl again to her, sitting next to her. her eyes close shut and she lets her head fall on top of your head.

taking this chance, you wrap your hands around her softening dick; she reacts quickly, her fingers gripping your wrist.

“ah-ah. hands off, honey.” you pull your hand off your wrist. slowly, you jerk her off, swiping your thumb over her head, “just one more.”

      you let a mischievous smirk form when you see her face contort into pain and pleasure, the sensitivity becoming too much for her.

you pump your hand, relishing every time her cock twitches in your hand, every time her hips try to pull away from your hand. you see her hands form a fist, this must be painful for her.

“i did say i’ll assure you, didn’t i?” you kiss her cheek, your mouth lingering on it, “can you cum for me again?”

caitlyn’s hips start to subtly thrust up to meet your pumps, she feels your every touch, every line on your hands. her mouth hands open, her eyes remain closed, she’s pulsing in your hand.

“you’re the only person i touch like this, cailtyn.” your breath hitting her ears adds to her pleasure that is spreading all over her body. “yeah? just like this?” 

“da-darling,” caitlyn gasps out, “too sen-sensitive.” you grip harder, pump harder, “please, i can’t anymo-more.” 

      her back arches off the wall, eyes opening suddenly when she feels you take her tip in your mouth, sucking her like candy. she makes an attempt at pulling her hips back but it’s no use. it hurts. It hurts so good.

you hollow your cheeks, your hand following your mouth as your slurp, gag, and suck. caitlyn doesn’t know what to do, it’s too much for her—the burning pleasure on her cock. yet she yearns to cum.

you go back up for air, taking her tip in, not giving her a break, and your hand pumps the remaining inches. “go-gonna cum, darling–”

      without letting her speak, you quickly push her in you, smiling when you feel her cum inside of you again. she wraps her arms around your torso, grounding you unto her dick as she thrusts up, her cum painting your walls white again.

she muffles her groans using your chest, hugging you so tightly, that her muscles are flexing under her clothes. a sigh of contentment leaves you when she stops rocking her hips up, her dick softening inside of you.

“still jealous?” her breaths were ragged, coming in short gasps as she tried to steady herself. “come back to me, cait.”

oh, you done broke her.

[hellsslibrary]

Sae + feminization and breeding kink please I need it

You can make him an omega too if you want

"Come on, dude. Skirts were originally made for men, they rock them way better than girls..."

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : THIS WAS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN. If anything, for the script I took that extra scene where they assumed Sae was a crossdresser, but if he really was and that makeup bag wasn't from Aiku's ex, yeah. So you can imagine that picture of Sae.

!!Warnings: crossdressing, light feminization, breeding kink (obviously), top!reader, bottom!Sae, no dom/sub boundaries, but Sae is a little more dominant if you choose (sorry, power bottom Sae world domination), praise and worship, riding, thoughts about what Sae would be like if he were a girl, but they're not serious, at the end Sae puts lipstick on your lips because I thought it was cute.

The soft rustle of the sheets, Sae's almost inaudible sighs, your moans, the slight groaning of the bed and the slapping of bodies against each other echoed in the large bedroom. Your eyes were fixed on Sae's calm and contented face as he slowly rode your cock.

His damn long eyelashes were even more visible because of the mascara on them, his lips were tinted with cute pink lipstick, and his cheeks were blushing not only from your actions with him. There were gold earrings in his ears, as well as a small necklace around his neck. On his torso was your shirt, which was not buttoned up, and on his hips was a regular pleated skirt and fuck... It was the hottest view in the world.

"So... What were you angry about when you came?" you ask, breaking out of your thoughts about admiring the perfect man on your cock, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you.

"I'm not angry, just a little disappointed. This infantile striker from the U-20 was rummaging through my bag... Found makeup there," Sae says evenly, interrupted by a light sigh from his lips as your hips slightly moved up during his bouncing. "They put it down to the fact that I have a girlfriend or something. It doesn't matter, don't think about it."

"You? A girlfriend? Funny..." you giggle, squeezing his waist tighter, which is why he started pushing on your shaft a little harder, pressing his hips on you. "When you reveal our relationship, it's obviously... Will make them disappointed? What should people think in such a situation? I don't know."

"I'm telling you, don't think about it. Even if they thought it was mine, it doesn't matter at all," Sae shakes his head at your thoughts, tightening his grip on your chest, leaving red marks from his nails there.

"Mmm, what do you think you would look like if you were a girl? Well, I mean, your breasts... I think it would be small, it would suit you. Maybe A-cup? Maximum B-cup..?"

"Idiot, what are you thinking about? If I were a girl, nothing would have changed... You just wouldn't get out of my cunt," the midfielder whispers, frowning slightly, moving his hips in a circular motion and then shrugging his shoulders. "But I think so. Small breasts sound logical. You are gay, why are you having such thoughts?"

"I don't know... You'd be such a queen... You're still the queen, though," you chuckle, lightly pressing on Sae's lower back, making him arch back, admiring his slender but muscular curves.

He just raises an eyebrow at these words, but doesn't pay attention to them, closing his eyes again and just focusing on how your cock feels inside him.

But your eyes didn't close for a second. How could they when a literal deity was riding your dick? Exactly, no way. You tried to absorb his every reaction, the way his breathing hitches, the way his hips twitch, the way his eyelashes flutter, the way he bites his lip to hide his moans, all of it.

You would literally worship this body without ceasing, if it were physically possible, of course. He would kiss every inch of you, come up with the most original and romantic epithets just for him, just for the beautiful man in front of you.

"Sae?"you ask carefully, looking at him, and his only reaction is to mumble. "You like it when I'm in your bussy, right?"

Sae's eyes immediately open and he stops his movements, looking at you with such a disapproving look that even your cock inside Sae moves from humiliation... Or something else.

"What is it... Bussy?" He's asking, even though he clearly doesn't want to know the answer to that question, judging by your face, which is red with shame and obvious excitement.

"Pussy. Man's. Like a boy plus a pussy and you get a bussy..."

Sae just blinks slowly at your explanation, and then sighs as expected. After all, what did he expect from you? And he resumes his movements, making you whimper softly at the feeling of him squeezing around you.

"Yes, I like it," he whispers confidently, flicking your nipple, which makes you blush even more, but you're clearly smiling contentedly, and then you raise yourself up on your elbows and kiss him.

The elder Itoshi just sighs, but puts his hands on your shoulders, responding with a kiss, which is why most of you have to push into him obviously not rhythmically, given the not particularly comfortable position, but it doesn't matter. The way his lips slide against yours and you feel the faint taste of chocolate from his lipstick, the way he moaned softly into your mouth was enough.

He pulls away first when he notices that you're whimpering from lack of movement and gently pushes you back onto the pillows, eyeing you. A barely visible smile suddenly appears on his face, only the corners of his lips turn up.

"Sae, why are you smiling, hmm?" you ask, rubbing his sides, thinking maybe he's amused by your impatience or something, but the next second he grabs your chin, grabbing something from the bedside table and opening it.

"You look good with my lipstick," he whispers, carefully smearing the lipstick on your slightly moist, pouty lips, and then pulling away, slowly running his thumb along the edge of your lips, where his own lipstick smeared after the kiss. "You also obviously enjoyed the taste, no?"

"If you were on my face, it would be even better... Mmm!" escapes your lips, but Sae just snorts and kisses you again, grabbing your chest and slightly accelerating his hips, swallowing your moans with pleasure.

"You're going to be an even better boy and make me cum, and I'll think about it, okay?" Sae asks, whispering it into your lips, narrowing his gaze when he looks at your lust-clouded eyes, and after your quick nod, he just kisses you gently on the cheek.

[writingsbychlo]

daydreaming about the way mattheo riddle fucks. it's not just sex, it's a whole experience. he wants to be sure it's something you're going to fantasise about again, "open those eyes, pretty girl, look at me. remember me so you can picture me properly next time you touch yourself." mattheo likes to take his time, he likes to make it a little messy, he likes to have you gasping and begging, sheets scrunched up in your hands as you leave puddles on his bed because it just feels so damn good. he wants a ring of your lipstick around the base of his cock before he makes you cream on it, he wants your slick on his chin and his fingers and all down the insides of your thighs. he wants to watch his own cum dribble out of you before pushing it back in and smirking at your whines. "hold your legs open, so I can stuff it all back in. you'll keep it all nice and safe, won't you? 'course you will." he wants you shaking so hard your muscles tense up, he wants to come so hard himself his voice is hoarse and he's shining with sweat as his eyes roll back. because he's not a selfless lover, he's just so damn good his selfishness doesn't matter. "fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby. you've got such a perfect cunt." not when edging himself so it feels all the better means multiple orgasms for you, not when watching you cry and whine because it makes him so hard also means he makes you feel things you've never felt before. not when making you scream his name so loud people can hear because he loves to let everyone know means you also get an earth-shattering orgasm. mattheo will fuck your throat and come on your face just to tell you how pretty you look as he lets you suck it off of his fingers. he'd let you scratch your name into his back, or press a sharp heel to his chest, as long as he can inflict a little pleasurable pain too. "would you let me bite you, baby? make you bleed a little, pretty please?" he likes to leave his mark, messy, scratches and bites and hickeys and little fingertip-shaped bruises. he likes to slap your face and your arse and your clit, he likes to push your thighs open so far they ache and bend you into positions you couldn't even imagine before, he likes to press down on your stomach as you some just to make it tighter for himself, and so much more intense for you. mattheo riddle fucks like a man possessed.

[niki-phoria]

i love you baby, baby, baby / 외쳐대느라 내 진심을 동네방네 다 알아

pairing: myung jaehyun x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 435

notes: 大家新年快乐！watched one episode of what? door! and now here we are, inspired by that vid of jaehyun kissing woonhak lol, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes <33, title from BOYNEXTDOOR - serenade

“hold still,” MYUNG JAEHYUN playfully whines over the sound of your laughter. his hands rest against your shoulders; his fingers occasionally brush against the bare skin of your neck. jaehyun’s touch sends shivers down your spine as you squirm at the ticklish feeling. “i can’t kiss you if you keep moving.” 

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle. jaehyun huffs dramatically in response. he leans his head against your shoulder, hiding his face into the crook of your neck to hide his own laughter. you gently pat his back as you urge him to sit up once again. “i’ll stop moving now, i promise.”

jaehyun playfully glares up at you when he pulls away. reaching up, he rests his hands on either side of your face, turning your body until you’re looking at him. “you better.”

you watch jaehyun through the mirror’s reflection as he leans in.  jaehyun’s eyes flutter shut as his lips finally meet against your skin. you all but freeze at the feeling. shivers race down your spine and your breath hitches in your throat. 

the kiss feels too long and too short. what you’re rationally sure was only a few seconds feels like hours. jaehyun’s face is flushed when he pulls away, tinting the tips of his ears a soft shade of pink. for a few moments silence falls between you. jaehyun remains close to you - almost too close. you can see the way the light glints against the specks of glitter in the lipstick that still remains on his lips. his gaze momentarily falters from meeting your own, falling to your lips for just a few seconds. 

butterflies immediately began swarming throughout your stomach. your heartbeat speeds up dramatically in your chest and you can feel blood rush to your face. jaehyun awkwardly clears his throat, bringing a hand up to wipe away the remaining lipstick from his mouth. “how does it look?” 

“well,” jaehyun’s hand slips away from your cheek as you turn to glance at yourself in the mirror. the faint lipstick mark against your skin is misshapen. it looks like little more than a pink smudge against the side of your cheek.

you chuckle softly at the sight, wiping your knuckles against your skin until it fades away. it mixes with the layer of foundation that is already coating your skin. it leaves a faint pink patch against the side of your face. “it looks terrible.” 

“well,” jaehyun laughs softly. you relax at the sound, smiling along with him. he reaches over, handing you the small container of lipstick once again. “that means we just need to do it again.” 

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or reblogging !! and if you want to support me, check out my other works here <33

[bidisasterevankinard]

First lines of 2025 🔥

just like @weewookinard and @quintessenceofdust88 I decided to try and write every day in 2025 and my first lines of the year are for Gabby who loved my other idea and made me think about this particular part (Gabby, I promise stipper Buck would be written eventually too):

Tommy did a lot of intimate and sweet, but also intimate and dirty, kinky, freaky stuff with other men, but he has never felt so giddy about the prospect of what Evan allows him to do. To get him pretty just for Tommy. Not just to look at. But to destroy it. Use it to make him feel good.

Applying the first layer of his favorite of Evan’s ruby lipstick on those obscene plump lips, Tommy gets Evan’s face in the grab of his palm, taking him closer. Basically breathing the same air as Evan, looking at these sinful peach lines he makes brighter with the lust.

He can feel this desire mirroring in the dark blue eyes that look at him a little bit down. 

He made Evan sit so that all Tommy can see it’s his work. It will come the time when Tommy would look at these big oceans crying for him. For now he concentrates on his movements and how good he applies every layer of sticky gloss lipstick. 

Evan has beautiful lips that he gets to make bright bright red. Just for him. Just for Tommy to use on his cock and see every move of Evan’s on him leaving the bright mark of makeup.   

np tagging if you want to try @hippolotamus @mmso-notlikethat @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @wikiangela @repressedqueen @racerchix21 @typicalopposite @powersuitup @perfectlysunny02 @pirrusstuff @loucifersbitch @laundryandtaxesworld @lavenderleahy @actuallyitsellie @aplaceinme @midsummersmorn @hyperfocusthusly @epiphainie @devirnis @desert--moonchild @monsterrae1 @comfortingevanbuckley @cliophilyra @babygirltommykinard

[starst0nes]

Gojo x Reader "Bimbo Protected by a Powerful Obsession"

Warnings: [This story contains themes of Yandere behavior, obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, and intense emotional control. It includes adult themes, hate comments, toxic relationships, and moments of emotional distress.]

Materialist

In a world where fame is everything, Y/N, a bubbly "bimbo" with a hidden side, finds her life taking a dark turn as her obsessive, yandere lover, Satoru Gojo, will stop at nothing to protect her by eliminating anyone who dares to threaten their twisted bond.

Author's POV

Mitsui Y/N, a 20-year-old "it girl" celebrity, was the epitome of perfection. Her radiant smile adorned billboards, her flawless features graced the covers of the most coveted magazines, and her voice became a melody ingrained in commercials. She was the girl everyone aspired to be, a vision of unblemished grace with an untouchable reputation. Not a single whisper of scandal tarnished her name.

Yet behind the shimmering facade, Y/N was blissfully unaware of her own naivety a living, breathing bimbo hidden beneath the glitz and glam. How had the relentless media failed to uncover this side of her? How had her immaculate public image remained untarnished?

The answer was simple: Gojo Satoru.

Y/N perched herself on Gojo’s lap, her sparkling eyes brimming with excitement as she kicked her legs playfully. “Toru, did you miss me?” she cooed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger in that adorably clueless way that drove him insane.

“Miss you?” Gojo drawled, his hands already sliding up her thighs, his touch possessive yet gentle. “Sweetheart, the real question is: how do you expect me to survive without you?”

She giggled, oblivious to the intensity in his tone, and held up a lipstick, her nails perfectly manicured. “Look at this new Chanel shade I got! Isn’t it just the cutest? It’s called Rouge Allure Velvet.”

Without waiting for his reply, she leaned in, pressing playful kisses against his lips, leaving faint pink marks on his impossibly perfect skin. “Do you like it? I think it totally makes my lips pop!”

Gojo smirked, his gaze fixed on her with an almost predatory edge. His hands roamed to her waist, pulling her closer. “Hmm, it’s nice, but you know what’s even better?” His voice dropped, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “You. Always you.”

Y/N giggled again, her eyes fluttering as she toyed with the lapels of his jacket. “Aww, Toru, you’re such a charmer!” She tilted her head, her lips forming a soft pout. “I actually wanted to ask you something important!”

“Anything, baby,” he murmured, his tone indulgent but his eyes sharp, already bracing himself for whatever bubble-headed request was about to tumble from her glossy lips.

Her cheeks flushed as she clapped her hands together. “So, I want to do this movie!” she began, her voice rising with excitement. “It’s, like, a romance—enemies to lovers. Isn’t that so cute? Imagine me being all dramatic and stuff!”

Gojo’s brows twitched, his signature smile still plastered across his face, though a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. “Oh? What role are you taking, sweetheart? A side character, right?”

Y/N gasped, her hand lightly swatting his chest. “No, silly! I’m the main character, duh! I mean, I totally deserve it.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And get this, the actor playing my love interest is so nice! Like, he even said I reminded him of someone special. Isn’t that sweet?”

Gojo’s grip on her waist tightened imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as a flicker of jealousy ignited into a wildfire. “That so?” he said, his tone smooth, though there was an unmistakable edge lurking beneath. “Sounds like you’re having... fun.”

“Oh, totally! We even did some test scenes,” she continued, utterly oblivious to the storm brewing in his eyes. “He’s, like, so talented! And honestly, Toru, he kind of reminds me of you!”

His smile widened, sharp enough to cut. “Reminds you of me, huh? That’s interesting.” His fingers slid under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “But let’s be clear, sweetheart—there’s only one me, and I don’t like sharing.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Sharing? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said with a saccharine sweetness that didn’t match the darkness swirling in his eyes. “Just make sure you’re unforgettable, my love. Leave an impression he’ll never forget.”

As Y/N giggled and began rambling about her wardrobe for the film, Gojo’s mind was already working. A plan was forming, one that would ensure this actor learned his place and that Y/N, his darling, naive Y/N, never looked at anyone the way she looked at him.

After all, she was his. Completely. And anyone who thought otherwise wouldn’t just regret it. They’d disappear.

Secret

Two days into filming, Y/N’s normally radiant, carefree energy had begun to waver. The sparkle in her eyes seemed dimmer, her usual bubbly chatter quieter. On set, her lines were perfect, her presence magnetic, but behind the scenes, an uneasy restlessness had taken root.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the reason. Satoru, who would normally bend time and space to be by her side even if it meant flying across continents on a whim had been uncharacteristically absent. He hadn’t called, texted, or sent one of his usual teasing voice notes. For someone who practically lived in her shadow, Satoru’s silence was glaring.

Seated in her dressing room, Y/N fidgeted with her phone, scrolling through her texts for the hundredth time. Still nothing. She pouted dramatically, glancing up at Ijichi, her ever-anxious assistant, who stood nearby clutching a clipboard like his life depended on it.

“Ijichi,” she whined, stretching out his name “Where’s Satoru?” Her glossy lips jutted out, her voice dripping with need. “He hasn’t even called me! Doesn’t he miss me?”

Ijichi froze, his eyes darting to the floor. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Uh... well, Miss Y/N,” he stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “He’s… busy.”

“Busy?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “What could possibly be more important than me?” Her pout deepened as she tossed her phone onto the vanity with a huff, crossing her arms. “Toru always calls. This isn’t like him!”

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the clipboard tightening. He knew better than to tell her the truth. The truth being that Satoru wasn’t just busy he was furious.

Ever since Y/N had gushed about her charming co-star, Gojo had been in a silent spiral, his jealousy festering into something dark and consuming. He wasn’t the type to sulk or throw tantrums not outwardly. Instead, he schemed. The co-star’s face had been burned into his memory, every word Y/N had said about him replaying in his mind like a cruel taunt.

“Busy doing what?” Y/N pressed, tilting her head, her perfectly styled hair catching the light. “He’s not mad at me, is he? Did I do something wrong?” Her voice quivered slightly, and Ijichi’s heart clenched.

“Of course not, Miss Y/N!” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “He’s just… handling some things. You know how important you are to him.”

She seemed to consider this, her brows knitting together. “Well, he better hurry up and finish, because I need my Toru,” she said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Everything’s so boring without him around.”

Ijichi nodded awkwardly, silently praying for divine intervention. He had no doubt Satoru would make an appearance soon but when he did, it wouldn’t just be to reassure Y/N. It would be to deal with anyone who had dared to get too close to what was his.

And Ijichi pitied the poor soul who’d unknowingly crossed that line.

Learning The Hard Way

On set, chaos unfolded, and Satoru Gojo watched it all unfold with a twisted sense of satisfaction. His crystalline eyes were fixed on the live feed displayed across the sleek monitors in his private suite. Hidden cameras ones only he had access to captured every humiliating second of Y/N’s unraveling.

She stumbled over her lines again, her usual carefree giggle now tinged with nervousness. “CUT!” the director’s voice boomed, his patience hanging by a thread.

“Are you even an actress?” he barked, his tone sharp enough to make the crew flinch.

Y/N blinked, tears threatening to spill, her lip trembling. “Um, excuse me?” she snapped, trying to salvage her pride. “Do you even know who I am?”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always so pretty, so clueless, so mine.”

The director didn’t dignify her outburst with a response, simply waving her off in exasperation. Y/N stormed off set, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as she muttered insults.

“She’s cracking,” Satoru mused, his smirk widening. He had planned this meticulously, orchestrating every detail. From ensuring her entourage was trimmed down to a mere two assistants to letting the media leak whispers of her “difficult behavior,” he had crafted this storm just for her.

The live feed cut to her dressing room, where Y/N was sobbing into her hands, her mascara streaking down her cheeks. “This is the worst day of my life!” she wailed, flinging her phone onto the vanity. “Where is Satoru? He always fixes everything!”

Satoru chuckled darkly, leaning forward to get a closer look at her tear-streaked face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m right here, watching every pathetic second.”

She grabbed a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. “Ijichi!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “Where is he?! Why isn’t he here?!”

Ijichi appeared on the screen, visibly sweating as he stammered, “He’s… unavailable, Miss Y/N.”

“Unavailable?!” she screeched, her voice shrill enough to make Ijichi flinch. “He’s never unavailable! What’s he doing that’s more important than me?!”

Satoru’s grin turned wolfish as he watched her descend further into despair. She looked so fragile, so utterly dependent on him, and he loved every second of it. This was her punishment for even considering a movie with another man as her love interest. The mere thought of her gazing at someone else the way she gazed at him had made his blood boil.

“No one touches what’s mine,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and possessive. “And now she’s learning the hard way.”

The camera feed shifted again, this time showing the headlines flashing across her phone screen.

“Is This the Real Y/N? Fans Shocked by Diva Behavior.”

“From ‘It Girl’ to Drama Queen: Y/N’s Tantrum Goes Viral.”

She sobbed harder, clutching a pillow as she screamed into it. “They’re all just jealous! I’m perfect! Right, Ijichi?” she demanded, her voice frantic.

Ijichi stammered something unintelligible, but Satoru barely heard him. His focus was entirely on her on the way she squirmed under the weight of her shattered confidence, on the way her glossy lips quivered as she whispered his name like a prayer.

“Oh, baby,” Satoru murmured, running a hand through his hair, his grin never faltering. “You’re so beautiful when you’re broken.”

For now, he would let her stew in her misery, let her feel the sting of his absence. And when he finally decided to appear, she’d cling to him, beg for his reassurance, and he’d remind her exactly why she belonged to him.

This wasn’t just control it was devotion, his own twisted way of keeping her tethered to him. And he relished every moment of it.

Gala

Despite her protests, Y/N’s manager, Nobara, had insisted she attend the prestigious gala to repair her image. "You need this," Nobara had said firmly. "Think of the headlines: ‘Y/N Bounces Back with Stunning Appearance.’ You’ll remind everyone why you’re the queen."

Reluctantly, Y/N agreed. But as she sat in the back of the luxury van, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a pout, she couldn’t help but feel a sliver of hope. Scrolling through her phone, she found supportive comments that lifted her spirits.

"Y/N getting an invite to the gala while your faves are watching from home. Iconic."

She smiled to herself, murmuring, "One more car," as she prepared to step out and reclaim her spotlight.

Then, she saw it.

Through the tinted windows, her eyes locked on the car ahead as the door opened. Out stepped Utahime Iori, a veteran actress known for her elegance and poise. But what made Y/N’s heart drop was the man beside her—Satoru Gojo.

Her Satoru.

He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit, his white hair perfectly styled. But what shattered Y/N was the way his hand rested so casually on Utahime’s bare back as the cameras flashed.

Y/N’s world crumbled in an instant.

“Why is Satoru with her?!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with hysteria. Her hands trembled as she clutched her phone, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Why is my Satoru with her?!”

Nobara reached out, trying to calm her down. “Y/N, relax. It’s probably nothing—”

“NOTHING?!” Y/N snapped, tears streaming down her face. “He’s touching her! He’s supposed to be here with me! I’m his everything! How could he do this to me?”

The driver, sensing the situation spiraling out of control, bypassed the red carpet entirely and headed straight to the hotel. Y/N refused to budge from her seat, curling up in a corner of the van like a wounded animal. She furiously dialed Satoru’s number over and over, but it went straight to voicemail each time.

Each unanswered call felt like another stab to her chest.

When the van door finally opened, Y/N didn’t bother looking up. She sniffled, her voice weak. “Ijichi, I told you to leave me alone. Just—go away.”

But the voice that responded wasn’t Ijichi’s.

“Still doubting my presence, Y/N?”

Her head shot up, and there he was. Satoru Gojo stood in the doorway, his trademark cocky smile firmly in place. His eyes glinted with something unreadable, a mix of amusement and something darker.

“Satoru!” she cried, her voice breaking as she launched herself into his arms. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs wracking her body as she clung to him like a lifeline.

“Shhh,” he cooed, his arms wrapping around her effortlessly. In one smooth motion, he carried her to the backseat and settled down with her on his lap. His hand stroked her back soothingly, but there was a possessive edge to his touch, a silent reminder of who held the reins.

“What was that, Satoru?” she hiccupped, her face buried in his chest. “Why were you with her? You’re supposed to be with me! Always with me!”

He tilted her chin up, wiping away her tears with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His expression was soft, but his gaze was sharp, watching every flicker of emotion on her face.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “Utahime is just a business partner. That’s all.”

“Really?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Really,” he assured her, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re the only one for me. Always.”

“But—” she started, her insecurities bubbling to the surface.

“Always,” he repeated firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Do you think I’d let anyone else take what’s mine?”

Her tears slowed, her sniffles softening as his words sank in. Satoru’s arms tightened around her, his smile turning predatory as he whispered against her ear, “You’re all I’ll ever need, Y/N. And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

There was no doubt in her mind she was his. But what she didn’t see was the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the dark pleasure he took in her jealousy and need for him. Because in Satoru’s mind, nothing was sweeter than reminding her, in his own twisted way, that she was utterly and irrevocably his.

Hero

The next morning, Y/N woke up to an eerily quiet internet. Her fingers automatically reached for her phone as she snuggled deeper into the silk sheets. What she saw left her blinking in confusion. Every negative comment, every viral video mocking her, every tabloid article dragging her name gone.

Vanished.

She scrolled furiously, her fingers trembling. "What...?" she muttered, her lips parting in disbelief. The posts that had kept her up all night crying, the ones that had painted her as a diva and a failure, had completely disappeared.

Curiosity spiked, she tapped on the actor’s profile the one she’d been working with. His bio had been wiped clean, his latest post a bland apology about “unforeseen circumstances.” Confused, she searched for the director, only to find his name plastered across trending hashtags. Not for praise, but for scandal.

#BlacklistDirector, #ToxicWorkplace, #UnfitForHollywood.

Her jaw dropped further. What shocked her most, however, was Utahime. The veteran actress had released a carefully worded statement overnight.

"My relationship with Satoru Gojo is strictly professional. I deeply respect his personal life and regret any misunderstandings caused by last night’s gala."

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she pieced it all together. The once-vicious online storm had been replaced by a sudden vacuum, as though someone had erased it all with a single command.

From the living room, she heard the faint clink of a coffee cup being set down. Satoru.

Wrapping a blanket around her, she padded out to find him lounging casually on the couch, one arm slung across the backrest, his legs crossed as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He looked up as she entered, his signature smirk already in place.

“Toru,” she began, holding up her phone, “everything’s gone…”

“Hmm?” he hummed nonchalantly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“All the videos, the comments… it’s like they never existed,” she whispered, confusion lacing her voice.

He set his cup down with a soft clink, his cerulean eyes gleaming with amusement. “Weird, huh?”

Her lips parted as the realization began to dawn. “You… you didn’t—”

“All you need to know,” he interrupted, his tone light but firm, “is that no one messes with my girl.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. A mix of gratitude and unease swirled in her stomach, but the overwhelming emotion was relief. She crossed the room, sinking onto the couch beside him. Her head rested on his chest, her fingers clutching the hem of his shirt.

“You’re my hero, Toru,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

His hand slid up to thread through her hair, his touch gentle, but the sharp edge in his gaze betrayed the dark possessiveness simmering beneath his calm exterior. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Hero, huh?” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a dangerous undertone she was too blissfully unaware to catch. “Sweetheart, I’m not a hero. Heroes save the world.”

His fingers tightened slightly in her hair, tilting her head so she was looking up at him. His smile was still there, but his eyes were shadowed with something far more intense. “All I care about saving is you. Because you’re mine, Y/N. And you always will be.”

Y/N, oblivious to the weight of his words, giggled, snuggling closer to him. “I’m glad you’re here. Everything’s better when you’re with me.”

He hummed in agreement, his hand now tracing patterns down her back. But his gaze flicked to the window, his thoughts elsewhere.

The actor? He hadn’t just been fired Satoru had made sure he’d never work again. The director? His “toxicity” would keep him blacklisted for decades. And Utahime? Well, she had learned her place, quickly clarifying her “strictly professional” relationship with Satoru and making sure the press had the narrative they needed.

Satoru’s grip on Y/N tightened as a dark, possessive smile curled at his lips. She didn’t need to know the lengths he’d gone to for her. She didn’t need to know the strings he’d pulled or the threats he’d made.

All that mattered was that she was his. Always. And he’d ensure that anyone who dared to come between them learned the consequences.

For now, though, he was content to hold her close, basking in the warmth of her naive trust. Because Y/N might have seen him as her hero, but Satoru Gojo was far from it. He wasn’t a hero.

He was her everything and she was his obsession.

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

From being seduced to being a smoothie

[blvdheart]

cuddling with re2 leon I WANT

idk his voice is so gentle he would be a great ASMRtist…i feel like re2 leon specifically would be kind of a yapper at night…catching you up on everything and rambling about work and his plans and how much he likes you and UGH

[pari-143]

Spread my legs like the sea. be the man Moses could never be <3

[aka-indulgence]

@black-wolf-spirit-art made me this gift recently 🥺

It’s so pretty and cute ;-;;; I look pretty and cute here!!!

Thank you so much for drawing this for me ;v;;; it’s my dream to smooch him One Million Times

[redhotarsenic]

My brain’s finally letting me watch dubbed tristamp hell YEAHHHH

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your Mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually, I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[arminsumi]

Clingy!Satoru who calls you every night that you're not in his bed, so he can snuggle his pampered butt into bed and fall asleep to your voice; cheek squished comfortably into the pillow, murmuring soft and sleepy I miss yous into his pillow while you adore him through the screen.

Clingy!Satoru who liplocks you like he's trying to glue himself to you. His lips never want to leave yours, there's always a reluctancy when he pulls away from a kiss and oh, the way he pleads for kissy marks — he wants to be decorated in them, "More please... here, and here... and here... huh? It won't look goofy; it's my lady's lipstick. I'm gonna show off your marks to everyone."

Clingy!Satoru who stands behind you in a queue — because you "look too good from the back" and he needs to block the people behind you from getting a good view of what belongs to him. With a dorky smirk on his face, his fingers nip at the back of your clothes, his eyes obsess over every inch of you from your head to your shoes.

In public, especially in long queues, Satoru leans down to your neck and speaks to you with his lips grazing your skin.

Clingy!Satoru who keeps his arms around you while the two of you are talking in a group, his biceps pressing at your sides. He habitually grazes his fingers over your tummy, stopping and smirking each time he receives a swat from you.

Clingy!Satoru who trots after you, tall stature lingering in your shadow, following as you pave the way to wherever it is you're taking him. He'll clumsily bump into you from the back when you abruptly stop because he keeps such a terrible tailing distance.

Clingy!Satoru who is glued to your body in bed even during a heatwave. It always plays out the exact same way every night:

You're sweating, the air is too thick. But Satoru doesn't care; he clings to your back despite being a literal heater himself.

"Satoru." you swat him away for the fifth time. He groans and inches away — but a few minutes later he's scooching back into spooning position.

"Satoru, seriously. You're too hot."

"I know." he smiles against the nape of your neck, arms wrapped firmly around you.

Swat.

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[helluvapoison]

imagine leaving lipstick marks on lucifer

18+

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

imagine harmlessly kissing his cheek before he heads out to a meeting. you pull back and laugh to yourself. lucifer looks at you dreamily but when your giggles don’t cease he gets nervous

“what? do i have something on my face?”

“yes, actually.” you sigh out a final bubble of laughter, scanning your vanity for a wipe to clean his cheek

lucifer’s breathe hitched when he peeped in the mirror. whipping around, he snatches your hands thus stopping your hunt. his eyes are wild, he’s literally bouncing with excitement

“gimme more,” he breathes

“luci, you were supposed to leave already!”

“please? pretty please with a cherry on top? one more and-and i’ll go. yeah, just one more.” he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you

“you, lucifer, the king of hell,” you stepped closer and closer until he stumbled back into your vanity. he completely forgot he was holding onto you. “are gonna go to a meeting covered in lipstick?”

lucifer whined, a heavy blush erupting across his face. his fingers tightened and he swallowed thickly on nothing

“covered?” he peeped

“oh you poor thing,” you hummed, “you can’t think about anything else, can you?”

you slid your leg between his and felt the answer. with a moan, lucifer’s head dropped back but you were quick to catch and cradle it. his hat fell and rolled off the vanity onto the floor. nosing his exposed neck had him trembling in anticipation

“please?” he slurred

“this isn’t responsible, ducky.” you replied, pulling his bow tie loose and adding it to the ground’s collection

“no,” lucifer agreed breathlessly

he pathetically gripped your shirt, trying desperately not to grind against your leg

“but it’s what you want?”

you were already unbuttoning his shirt with one, adept hand

“yes.”

even though lucifer knew it was coming, his body jolted when you kissed his neck. he was always so sensitive, so responsive, so good

you gifted him loving bruises that would later peak out of his collar, and in return he sang for you. his moans and whimpers were your favorite to hear and he never failed to give you what you wanted. lucifer couldn’t stop himself from rutting against your leg as you painted him in a shade that was undeniably you

after successfully transferring the lipstick onto lucifer, you retreated. gods did he whine when you did. you pulled his hair to force his gaze towards the mirror

“look how pretty you are,” you purred in his ear, gently planting a kiss there too

out of the corner of his eye, lucifer could see the collar you gave him. it damn near drove him over the edge. his dick was painfully hard, it was a miracle he didn’t cream his pants

“gonna go to that meeting?” you teased sweetly

lucifer shook his head like you’d asked something ludicrous, “nuh-uh.”

“good,” turning his head back to you, you presented the tube of lipstick, “i wanna get messy.”

[iceunhie]

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.