#and how he’s always touching the plush in some way

[lovelykil]

m-m-more killua content please .. (I say while twirling my hair between my fingers) it would be very..very nice ..(flustered(

FREAK LIKE ME──

۫ ♪ killua (older ver)

hcs

note; ive been lacking so heres some freaky shyat with pretty boy

kisses from you always make him flustered, shy, and awkward but he can never get enough of your sweet lips. He's always melting into you, hands gripping your sides, and body trembling just from your soft sighs against his mouth he's swallowing like lemonade on a hot day. He's chasing your lips like a needy puppy when you start to pull away—unable to function if you stopped kissing him so he just pulls your hips closer towards him, hands gripping the plush of your skin with a slight whine. So close you can practically feel his hard-on, stiff and solid growing beneath you. It makes you smile.

his face always flushes, embarrassed because all it takes is a single kiss for him to get throbbing hard.

when he misses you, he doesn't say it directly, hardly does. But when he hasnt seen you in a while? His kisses are rushed, hungry, and utterly breathless as you try to keep up, try to breath... but he doesnt let you. His tounge slides in too soon, hand cups your throat, and teeth grazing your lip so feverishly its like he wants to eat you or something. The kiss is so desperate, so needy like he's been thinking about it since the second you left.

he has a smooth mouth when he's teasing you, holding your thigh up while his free hand creeps higher up your leg as he's in between you... But never really touching you where you want him the most. And it's irritating, you glare at him, brows furrowing and jaw clenched but he soaks it all in with that stupid smirk and saying shit like:

"what's wrong princess? You're so quiet."

"you gonna have to use your words if you want something."

his voice—so intoxicating, low and calm when he speaks to you and its really just his normal voice... it drives you insane how bad you have it out for him like when you sat on his lap once when he was playing his game. He started to bounce his leg up and down, slow at first just soaking up those soft moans of yours as his thigh hit your sensitive areas. And after a few minutes of the agonizing slow pace and begging him to go faster, he gave you what you wanted after you pleaded so pretty near his ear, arms clinging around his neck and hips jerking foward.

He didnt have his headset on, took it off long time ago, and continued to play without it while bouncing you on his leg faster—muttering things to you that made your face hot, your pussy hotter.

"you like that, huh?"

"im not even touching you and you're a fucking mess, how cute."

instant flutter in your stomach.

for some reason with you on his lap coming undone because of him, made him determined to finish you and his game.

mentally fucks with your brain with his casual touches. Somehow always behind you, his hands low and around your waist or hips, fingertips grazing your skin from below your shirt. Your breath hitches, heart thumping, eager for his next move... but all he does is lean into you to whisper in your ear,

"I could get you wet without even kissing you."

then walks away with no sweat, just a smirk imaging your reaction.

tbh this one might just be for my personal enjoyment buuuutttt when he practices his guitar he uses it to torment you. He knows you're watching–staring at him hard, intensely. Watching the way his slender fingers graze the strings with precision, the way his silver hair falls in front of his eyes, shielding his face, the way he man spreads on your bed, adjusting himself every so often while holding his guitar—he knows it's driving you crazy. So as the sly asshole he is, he teases you.

"You gonna keep staring at me like a creep or you going to come over here?"

he's not much of a moaner, more like soft grunts, gasps or groans burried deep in your neck or near your ear. It's incredibly hot either way you love to hear him when he's sliding himself into you, nice and slow with his wet swollen lips parted, just softly gasping at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

or when youre sucking him off, doing a new tounge trick you learned just to impress him. And hell, it did. He holds your hair up with a shiver, panting heavily with dazed glossy eyes as he mumbles "fuck..." and when he's close, hips jerking up in desperation- is when he completely losses himself to you and moans so deliciously you feel it in your underwear.

or when you grind on him, fully clothed or not. The way you're rocking your hips against his bulge—it hurts, bad. All he can think about is thrusting his cock into you, just needing to feel you–be inside you. He's such a mess, mouth opened wide, brows twitching, hands gripping your thighs, gripping so hard he leaves purple bruises, eyes watering every time you kiss him and at the same time hump him like a dog in heat. You practically inhale his muffled whines and kiss away his tears. And when he cums, praise him.

"you sounded so pretty baby, you shouldnt be so quiet."

"...shut up."

but he loves to hear you and praise you to the point of submission. He's got that voice that melts you when he praises you. Placing his palm on your stomach, feeling the outline of his dick go in and out of you, watching it real time, you, his cock, all of it.

"fuck—you take me so well, 'm so good for me..."

when he fucks you on his lap, hand squeezing around your throat just barely, a finger against your pulse, his free hand rubbing your clit in circles and his hot breath fanning your neck. Your loud desperate moans and gasps just fuel his desire to break you fully. He kisses the back of your neck and whispers lowly near your ear.

"'god, you love when I ruin you like this, huh? You gonna start doing anything I say for now on?"

"yes! yes–anything!"

"good girl."

secretly loves when you pull his hair. Feeling your fingers tug at his hair as you cry out his name like it was a prayer, arching hard, thighs squeezing him in between your legs as he eats you out immediately makes him soak his sweats. He wanted to make come first, but you have such a way with him its ridiculous.

this also implies during missionary, your legs locked around him so tight he's not sure if he can even keep himself from coming so soon, but when you grip a fist full of his hair begging him to keep going in your weak voice—he crumbles and burries his face in your shoulder, whimpering at the feeling in a sweaty mess as his cock throbs inside you.

or when your on his lap and you pull his head back, fingers digging into his silver mane to roughly smash your lips into him. He's not sure why but he finds it incredibly hot and can't help but whimper.

pretty possessive with you in bed, bruising your neck, thighs every inch of your skin with hickeys and love bites is something you can never escape from, but I mean why would you? He wants people to know that you're not single and most definitely his. He likes holding your neck only because you told him to do so once and he grew accustomed to it. Loves to see you in a blushing lewd mess beneath him as he asks "who do you belong to?" While kissing your warm skin.

lowkey has a praise kink, not really lowkey though.

it irritates him the way he gets so turned on when you call him a "good boy." or famously, "my pretty boy." But you know what? He crumbles anyway when he's leaning into you, back pressed against your chest with your hands wrapped around his pretty cock, pre cum already leaking as you pump him. He throws his head back on your shoulder in a whimpering, blushing mess, mumbling curses when you tell him he's so cute like this.

he has a mouth that can seriously make your stomach flutter/pussy throb without him even touching you. He'll say the filthiest things while he's inside you, holding your hips roughly:

" 'm so tight for me, baby."

"fuck–I'ma knock you up.. so good.."

but if you dirty talk back...

"you gonna come for me, pretty boy?"

"whimpering already? You're so sensitive tonight."

he explodes. Red-faced and quite literally falling apart. Probably won't speak to you for like a couple of hours or even 2 days— purely out of embarrassment.

hes's a soft dom, but literally a switch tbh lol, not a big fan of hurting unless you want him to but even that he's a bit wary. You would need to catch him in a bad mood–sexually frustrated probably. He'd rather focus on your comfort and pleasureee than his own.

desperation kink FOR REALZIES

he hates begging, pleading, yearning but the more he falls for you the worse it gets for him. He has never begged for anything in his life, not when he was being tortured. But this kind of begging? It is completely foreign to him and he will do anything for you to touch him in ways he has always craved to be touched.

he'll be in his room, hand hung over his mouth as he jerks himself off desperately. Imaging it's you, imaging you telling him he's sounds so pretty and looks adorable in this state. His brows twitch thighs squeeze, and muffled irriated whines slip from his hand as he just stops because there is no way he can jerk himself off like this without you here... so he shows up unannounced, and uninvited at your door a few moments later with a pleading and embarrassed look. You're wide eyed staring at him till your heart melts at his words.

"please don't make me go back home, I–I need you. Make me feel good... please."

the times you are on top, hovering over him–barely touching him. He's already so hard it hurts, his whole body aching to feel you, grab you, but you won't move until he begs. And sure as hell he does with flushed cheeks, twitching brows, and a crack in his voice.

"p-please... please kiss me—please ride me... anything."

he's so easy.

[softtoxin]

girls best friend

yandere! boyfriend! nam-gyu/female! reader/yandere! bestie! se-mi

summary || nam-gyu and se-mi absolutely hate each other because they both have what the other wants. things come to a head.

warnings || yandere content, unhealthy relationships, established relationship between nam-gyu & reader, wlw mentions, bc se-mi is obsessed with reader, no games au, objectification, smut, nam-gyu eats reader out while se-mi listens, use of noona and oppa, nam-gyu calls se-mi a bitch a lot in this, so, misogyny, intoxication, reader is drunk, no penetration

nam-gyu hated her.

his fingers twitch incessantly as he watches se-mi wrap her arms around your shoulders, her tall figure towered over your own. she's whispering something in your ear, and you smile at your best friend sweetly, happily swaying with her as the two of you dance along to the beating music that blared in the club.

nam-gyu was supposed to be working, but all his attention was focused on you and your best friend, and tbe way she was touching up on everything that belonged to him.

you belonged to him.

those sweet smiles belonged to him.

"ey, nam-su, hook me up!" thanos' voice grates on nam-gyu's ears, and he shoots his friend a glance before turning his attention back to you and se-mi. "it's nam-gyu, idiot." he says under his breath, not truly paying any attention to the man beside him.

his nights were always like this when he brought you to work with him. never much of a party-goer, whenever your boyfriend asked you to come to the club he was promoting, you always brought that emo bitch with you. nam-gyu hated it. nam-gyu hated her.

but there was no getting rid of se-mi, not when you adored her to the moon and back. you liked to act as though she'd hung the moon and the stars, despite her not really doing much of anything.

se-mi was your noona, just like how nam-gyu was your oppa.

he hated to think that she was the same level as him, but you could never pick between the two of them.

he'd asked you to too many times to count.

nam-gyu really hated that bitch.

ᡣ𐭩

the drive home is quiet. some idol music you liked was playing on the car stereo, and nam-gyu tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he drove down the desolate street of your apartment complex.

you're asleep in the passenger seat, and se-mi sits in the back, her cheek pressed against the cool glass of his window. he would have shouted at her to get her skin off his shit, but you were fast asleep, the little bit of soju you'd had making you pass out as soon as his shift ended. the little dress you'd worn to the club had ridden up your thighs, the silky pink material revealing the soft flesh underneath.

his thighs.

nam-gyu reaches one hand over and squeezes the plush flesh of your thigh, his cold rings digging into the soft skin as he does so. he doesn't miss the little sound that escapes your lips despite your hazy mind.

'se-mi is spending the night, okay, gyu?'

nam-gyu can remember the soft sound of your voice as you let him know that your friend would be sleeping in the guest room of your apartment. it was a room specifically for se-mi, one that housed several articles of her clothes and toiletries, and it just blared in your boyfriends mind that she could drop in at any time considering she had a key.

it admittedly made him jealous, but he'd never say it aloud. the last time nam-gyu had tried to get rid of her, it almost ended the relationship he worked so hard to keep, his manipulations not enough to sway your adoration for your noona.

it pissed him off.

nam-gyu huffs as he shuts the car off, the haze of tonight still fogging his mind for the most part. money and drugs filled his subconscious, but nearly as much as his insecurities when it came to your relationship.

se-mi opens her door first, her tall figure coming around to open your door. nam-gyu tightens his grip on the steering wheel as she pulls you into her arms, your sleepy whines making his cock stir in his pants. he'd been on the edge for hours, and now he had to deal with your bitch of a friend until tomorrow afternoon when you and se-mi would leave for your late classes at uni. he'd probably have to jerk off in the bathroom, and just the idea of it makes nam-gyu frustrated beyond belief.

se-mi lays you on your bed, rubbing at her own tired eyes before covering you with a thin comforter. she smiles dimly, the drunken haze only spurring on her exhaustion. you turn your head into nam-gyu's pillow, breathing in his scent, a soft smile coming across your lips as you slept.

se-mi sighs, patting you on the head before heading to the door, a pissed nam-gyu standing in the doorway.

he didn't scare her. as far as se-mi was concerned, your boyfriend was just a pussywhipped junkie who most definitely didn't deserve you in any capacity.

she bumps his shoulder on her way out, and nam-gyu tightens his jaw, glaring at se-mi's retreating figure.

he shuffles into your shared bedroom, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

his cock was throbbing now, the little dress, baby pink in color, was one of his favorites. it was easy to maneuver, easy to pull up. nam-gyu climbs into bed, his dark eyes focused on your sleeping body. he was dripping into his briefs, now. his tip rubbing against the fabric painfully, and he cups his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants.

"baby..." nam-gyu nuzzles his head into your neck, taking in your scent. you had been drunk off your ass, and he knew you wouldn't be doing anything for him until se-mi left.

he couldn't wait until tomorrow night.

biting his lip, nam-gyu let's out a curse of 'fuck it' before sliding the comforter off your sleeping body, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in the sight of that pink dress hugging your figure. your thighs are practically spilling out of the fabric, the soft cotton of your panties now visible to his prying eyes.

nam-gyu groans, glancing towards the cracked door of your bedroom.

se-mi was an insomniac, but he really didn't have the mental capacity to care if she heard him.

pulling the bottom of your dress up, and then pulling the top part down below your breasts, the fabric is bunched up over your stomach, and nam-gyu wastes no time before popping a nipple in his waiting mouth. the soft flesh hardens under his tongue, and he moans immediately. his whimpers and gasps are muffled by your breast, but he somehow manages to still be loud, nam-gyu's heavy breathing echoing in the room. you whine in your sleep, your thighs squeezing together even as you're held down by your boyfriend.

the haze of the marijuana nam-gyu had smoked earlier made the throbbing of his cock intensify, and he humps his clothed cock against your inner thigh as he nursed on your tit. it felt good, good enough to have him reeling after only a few thrusts against the fat between your legs.

a thick cover of saliva is left behind once nam-gyu pops your nipple out of his mouth, sticky strings dismantling as he lets out a pathetic whine. licking his lips, nam-gyu hungrily thrusts his clothed cock against your panties, a wet spot formed in the soft fabric. a loud moan leaves him as his hips stuttered, cock jumping in his briefs as his orgasm rocks his body.

"baby... fuck!"

nam-gyu wastes no time, lifting himself from his position over you, his fingers twitch as he pulls your soaked panties off, throwing the ruined cotton across the room. something you'd most definitely nag at him about in the morning. the bare flesh of your cunt was certainly a sight, and he groans once he glides a finger between your folds, the sticky warmth clinging to his fingers.

"mgh, nam-gyu!" your eyes are hazy and you can barely keep them open, but the sensitivity of your drooling cunt had woken you up. you whimper softly, your cheek pressed into your boyfriends pillow as his index finger strokes over your clit.

you grab at nam-gyu's wrist, trying to stop him from pushing you any further.

even in your drunken haze, you remember that se-mi was in the room across the hall, and the door was cracked open. she could hear and see everything if she was awake.

"you've been teasing me all night," nam-gyu whines, his lips trailing wet kisses down your stomach. "i've been so patient, baby."

nam-gyu's lips slide over your entrance, and his tongue pokes out to run over your clit. you squeak, tears build up in your eyes at the sensitivity.

whilst nam-gyu licks and sucks at your cunt, you're unknowingly being watched by your best friend.

se-mi listens and watches through the crack of your bedroom door, her hand dipped into her pajama pants as she rubs her clit with a certain desperation. she gasps against the inside of her free hand, juices coat the inside of se-mi's thigh as she braces herself against the doorframe.

it was a beautiful sight, she thought.

your thighs were wrapped around nam-gyu's head as he fucked you with his tongue, the wet sounds were soft and erotic, it makes se-mi throb.

as you approach another orgasm, se-mi closes her eyes, only focusing on the sweet moans and whimpers leaving you. she could pretend that your shitty boyfriend wasn't there, she could imagine herself in his place. se-mi could see herself between your thighs, her nimble fingers finding that special spot inside of you.

she could treat you so much better.

"oh my... god!"

se-mi whispers her pleasure as her clit throbs painfully. she cums, her juices squirting on the inside of her pajama bottoms, absolutely ruining the flannel. thighs shaking, se-mi cracks her eyes open, only to see nam-gyu had clambered on top of you, his wet lips once again around one of your sensitive nipples.

the guilt never comes, and instead, se-mi focuses her gaze on the sight of your abused hole. she wanted nothing more than to bend you over and breed you with her strap.

se-mi retreats to her room, and nam-gyu is left to kiss and bite you in solitude.

it's only fair, he thinks.

to let se-mi get a taste of something she'd never have.

if she ever tried, he'd murder her.

YALL

this came to me in a vision, and I had to write it 💔

[philistiniphagottini]

In His Eyes

A/N: This is my first time writing and posting for lads, so please be nice. And please read the content warning before reading this fic. Will also be uploaded to my A03.

Comments/reblogs highly appreciated.

cw. fluff, comfort, mentioned/past self harming, nudity, no smut, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

It was just past sunrise, the first morning rays creeping through the curtains and kissing your warm skin with its intimate blessing. Songs of birds filled the air yet it did little to disturb your deep, rich slumber as you lay comfortably on your back, hands tangled beneath the fluffy pillow that supported your head. Your lover, Rafayel, lay beside you, having been the first to wake up and greeted to the lovely sight of you still fast asleep. The sheets had slipped down your bare body, the fine silk just barely clinging onto your wide hips and soft waist from the previous night. 

A soft smile graced Rafayel’s lips as he traced the tip of his paint brush along your prone body, the touch of the bristles featherlight on your heated skin, like the delicate touch of rose petals ghosting over your skin as you continued to sleep soundly. The painter was ever so slow and meticulous with his work, sweeping his paint brush along the swell of your round cheeks before tracing the fullness of your plush lips. His lavender eyes sparkled under the light as he lay next to you, barely a whisper of breath leaving his parted lips as his brush drew invisible lines over your skin. He knew the intimate touch of your skin beneath the warm press of his hands yet his brush had yet to experience the same euphoria. 

He continued to sweep his paint brush along your plump skin, moving from your face along your neck and across the dip of your collarbone. From there drawing a line down your chest to your soft, pudgy stomach. He took his time, letting the brush wander and naturally fall into the dips and curves of your body, feeling the way your plumpness squished under the soft press of his brush. He teased it around your navel several times, a soft chuckle breezing past his lips when the ticklish sensation made you pull the cutest face in your sleep. You only slightly shied away from the touch, falling still once more and allowing Rafayel to continue his journey. 

He re-traced his brush along the path he had just taken, his eyes naturally following along to each stroke as he appreciated your chubby body. He absolutely adored you, no matter how much you would deny that he would like your fat body with a stammer and a flustered expression. He knew that if only you could see yourself through his eyes that he would be definitely able to change your mind about it. He hummed softly as he lay flat on his stomach, feet idly kicking in the air behind him as his brush finally started to trace along the length of your arms. He could swear he feels the faint beat of your pulse beneath the bristles as it lingers on your wrist, his eager eyes drinking in every detail as the brush dipped between the gaps of your fingers before slowly ascending back along your forearm.

He released a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, his lips pressing into a thin line as he lost his smile for just a brief moment. He could feel his brush dipping into the countless scars littered across your fresh, the thin, meticulous lines slashed across your skin and cutting deep having long healed over. He always felt a twinge of pain in his heart at the sight, already knowing the story behind each individual cut and scrape. Time had healed you but had left a visible, lasting mark on your skin that could never be erased. His brush eventually started to draw along the lines of your tattoo on your left forearm, a means to cover old wounds. Yet some white lines were still visible, eating at the fraying edges of black ink imprinted into your skin. You had told him the meaning behind the tattoo too. He thought it suited you. Your body was flawed in your eyes but he thought it was a precious gem, a testament that you had lived and were still standing, despite the hardships. 

Before his mind could get swept away in wistful reminiscing, you had started to stir awake. 

Your long lashes fluttered over your round cheeks as your eyes cracked open. You immediately squinted with a soft grown, the sunlight just a tad too bright for your liking at this hour of the morning. You recognised Rafayel’s silhouette despite your blurry vision as you felt something tickle along your arm. In your hazy mind you saw Rafayel’s paint brush brushing against the scars along your arm and you almost squirmed from how ticklish the sensation felt. 

"What are you doing?" you asked in a soft rasp; voice heavy with sleep and eyes threatening to slip close again at any moment. 

A soft smile touched Rafayel’s lips as he pressed his brush to your skin with a firm stroke, the baby hairs on your neck prickling to attention from the soft bristles kissing your bare skin. 

"I’m just memorising you" Rafayel replied, lifting his brush with a small wave before it pressed back down against your shoulder. "Seeing how you feel under my paintbrush so I’m able to replicate it later on my canvas."

He ended his sentence by tapping the tip of his paintbrush along the bridge of your nose and it evoked a small smile from you. It fell only a few seconds later as he absentmindedly traced his brush back along the jagged dips of your arms once more. 

"But…"

You trailed off, foggy mind unable to put together another coherent sentence as your body was still in the midst of waking up. But Rafayel knew what you wanted to say, the words that lay on the tip of your tongue. ‘Did that have to include your flaws and hideous scars?’

With a patient smile Rafayel lifted his brush once more, his free hand reaching for your face as he leaned forward. He cupped your cheek, fingers curling gently around your chin and tipping your head further in his direction as his lips fell to your forehead. 

"Every inch of you" he whispered, softly and slowly as his voice touched the shell of your ears until the skin burned. "Including your chubby tummy and old scars."

You managed to pull a disgruntled face at him in silent protest but you couldn’t manage much else. You were too stunned into silence by his heartfelt gesture. It made your head feel light as Rafayel wrapped his arms around your pudgy waist and pulled you in closer, large hands resting on your plump hips as he squeezed until the fat spilled between the digits of his fingers. 

"Come on, don’t pull that face at me" he softly cooed, folding you further into his arms as he landed another kiss to your forehead. "I promise it’ll turn out perfect. You can trust me."

You hummed softly in response, your eyes slipping close once more as you sunk further into your lover’s warm embrace. You would perhaps bring up the topic again when you had properly woken up. Or maybe you wouldn’t and simply put your trust in this whimsy artist’s capable hands. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you nudged your face into the crook of Rafayel’s neck, feeling the gentle timbre in his voice vibrating against your skin as he started to speak again. 

"So, what does my cutie want for breakfast?" he mused. "If you ask nicely, I may even spoil you with breakfast in bed."

[the-nasti-files]

Something Wild

Demon x Chubby Fem!Reader - Word Count - 11,835

No use of y/n!

The wild doesn’t ask—it claims. With heat, with hunger, with hands that know you.

This *might* become a series. I haven't decided yet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“I know you’re awake,” he says, voice like smoke and velvet. “Open your eyes and look at me, love.”

You force your lashes to lift, heart hammering as you blink up at the stranger in your bedroom. All the true crime podcasts in the world didn’t prepare you for this—darkness curled into the shape of a man, sitting at the edge of your bed like he belongs there.

He chuckles, low and amused. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches. He’s massive. Broad shoulders stretch beneath a black tshirt that looks like the seams are about to give way. His eyes drink you in, dragging slowly over every inch of your body beneath the blanket. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t pretend to be polite.

“You surprised me,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect to find you here. I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.”

Your voice scrapes out raw. “E-excuse me?”

He leans closer, one hand lifting to brush your cheek, deceptively gentle. Warm. Possessive.

“Did you really think you could run from me forever?”

You want to shrink back from the touch, but you simply can't. “Run from… I don’t— I don’t even know who you are—”

His fingers trail through your hair, stroking idly like he’s petting something he already owns. Something obedient. Tamed. His smile is full of secrets and something darker—something hungry.

“Of course you don’t understand. Not yet.”

He leans in close, lips nearly brushing your ear, voice dropping into something cold and unrelenting.

“But you will.”

His hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head back until you have no choice but to look into his eyes—so deep and golden you could drown in them. He watches you like he’s memorizing every flicker of fear across your face, and then he smiles.

“You really are pretty, aren’t you? I can see why they all wanted you.”

“They… who?”

“Oh, love.” He laughs softly. “You’ve got no idea. So many admirers. All sniffing around like dogs in heat. But I’m the one who got here first.”

“This has to be a dream,�� you whisper. “Some twisted—no one’s ever even looked at me like that.”

Another laugh, this one quieter. Almost fond. His fingers slide from your hair to your chin, tilting your face up.

“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how wanted you are.”

He leans closer, his breath hot against your throat as he murmurs, “There are plenty of creatures who’d love to sink their teeth into you. But I’m the one who caught you.”

His fingers trail down your neck, making you shiver despite the heat radiating from his body. You try to pull back, but he tightens his grip on your shoulder—firm, commanding, inescapable.

“You want to know why I’ve been searching for you?” he murmurs. “Because you’re special. Rare. And I always get what I want.”

Your heart stutters. “What do you want from me?”

His lips curl into something feral.

“You’re breedable, little one. And that’s not something I come across often. Breedable humans are few and far between.”

“Breedable?” you choke, voice shrill.

He purrs, hand sliding possessively down your side. “Oh yes. And you’re exactly my type. So soft, so full in all the right places. Just looking at you makes me feral.”

Your body tenses beneath the blanket as his eyes drag down your curves, slow and consuming.

“Such pretty eyes. That plush little body. You were made for this. Made for me.”

“I don’t— I don’t understand—”

“Shhh.” He strokes your hair again, gentler now. Calming you like a creature about to bolt. “Don’t be afraid. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

He leans in, lips barely brushing your cheek. “Let me take care of you. Let me own you. Everything you could ever need—warmth, safety, pleasure—you’ll have it. All you have to do is give yourself to me.”

Your voice is barely a breath. “What are you?”

He laughs, low and amused, then bares his teeth. Sharp. Predatory.

“What do you think, little bird? Can’t you see what I am?”

Your eyes fixate on the twin curves of horns half-hidden in the wild mess of his hair—black and spiraled like bone. His skin shimmers in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, deep grey-blue like smoke given form.

“You’re… not human.”

His grin widens. “Smart girl.”

Then he moves. Swift. Smooth. One second you’re lying back, the next you’re in his lap, straddling him, thighs splayed across his hips as he pulls you close—arms coiled around your waist like steel.

“There we go,” he whispers, hand tipping your chin up again. “That’s better. Look how perfect you are like this. Right where you belong.”

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers biting into your flesh like he’s marking you. The scent of him invades your senses—earth, smoke, something wild and ancient. Heat radiates from his chest, burning through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

You’re trembling.

He notices. Smiles.

“You can touch them,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “My horns. I know you want to.”

Your fingers lift before you can stop them, brushing against the smooth curve of one horn. It’s warm, bone-hard, pulsing faintly with some kind of energy.

He lets out a pleased sound—half purr, half growl—as you stroke him. His head falls back, eyes fluttering shut.

“That feels good.”

Your hand jerks back. “You can… feel that?”

“Oh yes.” His voice is thicker now, breath hitching against your throat as he presses closer, inhaling the scent of your skin.

“My kind feels everything. Every breath, every brush of your fingers, every beat of your little heart against mine. It’s intoxicating.”

Your voice trembles. “What is your kind?”

He hums, lips skimming your throat. “A demon, if you like. A thing from the pit, pulled from darkness with teeth and heat and want. And now… I want you.”

His hands slide down your back, strong and insistent, dragging you flush against him. You can feel the hard length of him beneath you, thick and hot even through your clothes.

“You’ve got so many questions,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “I can feel your curiosity, little bird. But I don’t think questions are the best use for that pretty mouth of yours right now.”

Your hand presses flat to his chest, halting his advance. He’s solid under your palm—burning hot, heartbeat deep and slow like some ancient drumbeat.

“Not so fast,” you say, lifting your chin.

He leans back slightly, still holding your thigh with one large hand. His grip tightens just enough to remind you who has the power here, even if he’s humoring you for now.

“Oh? Trying to take control now, are you?”

“I have questions.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, low and dark. His hand strokes up your thigh, lazy and possessive.

“Of course you do. Curious little thing. I suppose I can indulge you—for a moment.”

You blink up at him. “A creature from the pit… does that mean the Christian belief system is correct?”

He tilts his head like a raven considering shiny bait. His eyes flicker with interest.

“In a way, yes. The idea of demons, of otherworldly creatures born beyond the veil, exists in many belief systems. Christianity just wrapped it up in fire and brimstone. But I’m older than their Bible. Older than their fear.”

“So you’re like... a common thread,” you mutter. “God, I’m going to rub this in my coworker’s smug Catholic face.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound sinful and indulgent.

“Humans do love being right. But yes—consider me a link. A whisper that never left your bloodline’s stories.”

His hand tightens on your leg again, drawing you in.

“But enough theology. We’ve got more... interesting matters to discuss.”

“Nuh-uh.” You lean back, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He exhales, exasperated but amused, and reclines against your headboard like he’s settling in for a game. His hand never leaves your skin, still stroking your leg in idle circles.

“Very well. Ask away, little bird. I’ll play along.”

“Other creatures,” you ask, watching his expression. “Do they all look like you?”

His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued by your curiosity. “No. We’re all different. Horns, wings, fangs, scales… we come in all forms. Unique. Terrible. Beautiful.”

Your eyes light up at that. “So there’s a variety.”

Another soft chuckle. His hand squeezes your thigh in reward. “Yes, love. A delicious variety. But we do have one thing in common—we take what we want.”

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unable to resist running your fingers over one of his horns again. Smooth and warm, curling wickedly over his ear. You stop suddenly, blinking at him. “Wait. You never told me your name.”

He hums, eyes gleaming with mischief. His hand snakes up to grab your wrist, guiding it to his mouth. He kisses the inside slowly, lips hot against your skin.

“Why would I give you my name?” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk. “Names have power. You know that. If I gave you mine, you could command me.”

A flutter races through your stomach at the casual intimacy of the gesture, at how easily he shifts between teasing and dangerous.

“Well, I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?”

He smiles, still holding your wrist. “Then give me a name, little bird. Something of your own making. A nickname. Something harmless.”

You sit back slightly, studying him with narrowed eyes. You’re not going to admit that he’s every single depraved little thing you’ve fantasized about when your vibrator’s within reach and your standards are low. But gods, it’s hard to think with him watching you like that.

“A nickname…” you murmur, tapping your chin. “It needs to be good. Can’t just call you ‘sir.’”

His grin turns sharp, delighted.

“Oh? You sound almost demanding. Trying to rile me up?”

“What? No.” You laugh, curling your legs a little more snugly around his hips. “I’m just not calling anyone ‘sir.’ It’s weird.”

“Such a strong-willed little human,” he purrs, his grip on your wrist loosening as his other hand slides to your waist. “Not afraid of me at all, are you?”

You shrug. “Not really.”

That surprises him. He chuckles softly, gaze glittering with something deeper now.

“Interesting. Most would be trembling. But you…” He pulls you in until your chest presses against his, your breath catching. “You’re curious. Intrigued.”

“Oh, I’m very intrigued.” Intrigued by what I’m sitting on.

“I can tell.” His hand tightens on your waist. “I can smell it on you. Your mind’s buzzing. Your blood’s warm. You’re practically glowing with it.”

He leans in, voice velvet against your skin. “You want to know more, don’t you?”

You nod eagerly, grinning. “But first, I need to find you a name.”

You point at your phone on the nightstand, making a grabby hand. “Hand it over.”

He snorts, clearly amused, and hands it to you with a flick of his wrist.

“Alright, little bird. What do you plan to do with that?”

“Google.” You settle a bit more firmly into his lap as you start typing. “Gotta name my monster.”

He watches you with interest, one hand still resting warm on your waist.

“Favorite things?” you ask. “Places, smells, colors? Give me a starting point.”

He considers that. “Hmm. I’m partial to deep, rich colors—crimson, indigo, black shot through with gold. And I love the scent of rain.”

Your fingers pause. “Petrichor?”

His eyes flash, pleased. “Yes. That’s the word, isn’t it? The scent of wet earth and plants, the sky pressing down on the land. It’s intoxicating.”

He leans closer again, nuzzling into your hair, voice low and intimate.

“Almost as intoxicating as the way you smell.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest. “So jewel tones and damp earth. Quite the romantic notions, really.”

He hums, his hand sliding up your side until it settles between your shoulder blades, heavy and warm, as his thumb brushes over the ridge of your spine.

“Yes, I suppose they are.” He considers for a moment. “But there’s charm in that sort of romance, don’t you think? Something old. Elemental.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer before he tilts his head. “And what about you, little bird? Tell me—what are your favorite things?”

You keep scrolling, distracted by the screen. “Strawberries. Iced coffee. And I love the smell of tomato vines—not the fruit, just the green from the plant itself. It’s sharp, kind of… nostalgic.”

He makes a pleased sound low in his chest, clearly taken with your answer.

“Tomato vines. That’s a rare one.” His eyes glint as he leans in slightly. “And strawberries and iced coffee—sweet, with just enough bite. That does suit you.” Then, softer, “Do you garden?”

Your fingers pause as you glance up, a flicker of emotion catching you off guard. “We did. Growing up. My mom always had a big garden in the backyard. We’d spend hours out there...”

You trail off, your voice quieter. “No space for anything like that on my little balcony now.”

He notices the shift immediately. The heat of his palm at your waist tightens slightly, grounding you.

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “You miss it, don’t you?”

You nod. His voice lowers with something approaching sincerity. “Have you tried bringing the green indoors? Small pots, sun-soaked windows?”

“I’ve got a few,” you say, thumbing through your screen again. “Hoyas. Euphorbias. They’re weird and beautiful and low maintenance.”

He studies your face for a moment, the intensity of his gaze making your skin prickle.

“You have a connection to nature,” he says softly. “It clings to you. Wild things always recognize their own.”

You smirk. “I do like playing in the dirt.”

That earns you a laugh, bright and unexpected. “Not afraid to get your hands dirty, then?”

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. His touch lingers, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth like he’s thinking about replacing his words with something far less innocent.

“There’s something rare in that. Most humans don’t know how to touch the world anymore. But you…”

He trails off, and you grin suddenly, interrupting him.

“I’ve got it!”

He arches a brow, interest piqued. “You’ve got what?”

“A name,” you say triumphantly, peeking over the top of your phone.

His grin spreads, slow and sharp. “Oh? You’ve decided to name me, then?”

His hand is still at your waist, thumb dipping beneath the hem of your shirt in lazy, circling strokes that are far too distracting for something so casual.

“You have to tell me if you hate it.”

He chuckles, voice warm and indulgent. “I promise to be honest. Now come on, don’t leave me waiting.”

You squirm slightly in his lap, tossing your phone to the side. “Now I’m nervous. I’ve never named a creature before.”

He laughs, clearly delighted by your nerves. “No need to be nervous. I’ll be gentle.”

Another grin. Another hand on your cheek.

“Well… unless you ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Doubtful.”

Your gaze drops to his mouth—sharp teeth and that wicked tongue—and your stomach swoops.

He catches the glance, smile turning wolfish.

“There are plenty of things I’d like to do to you, little bird. But biting?” He leans in. “Not unless you beg.”

You swallow hard.

“So?” he murmurs, voice curling like smoke. “What’s it going to be, then? What’s my name?”

You bite your lip, breath shallow. “I think… Kisa.”

The tension in your gut winds tight as you wait, eyes searching his face.

He stares at you for a moment, then—surprisingly—smiles. Not just amused, but something gentler. Softer. Something that makes your throat catch.

“Kisa,” he repeats slowly. “That’s… quite endearing.” He tilts his head. “And why that one?”

You lift a hand to stroke over one of his horns again, fingers trailing the smooth, curling shape.

“It means ‘rain’ in some languages. But in others, it means kitten.” Your lips twitch. “And you do purr like one.”

A deep purr vibrates through his chest in response—he’s pleased, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. The sound makes your thighs clench instinctively.

“Aah. Clever girl,” he murmurs, voice thick. “It’s fitting. I do have a soft spot for pet names.”

He’s still watching you, dark eyes roaming over your features like he wants to memorize the moment.

“And besides,” he says, voice low, “rain is my favorite scent. You chose well.”

Your voice comes out small, breathless. “So you… like it?”

His hand slides up, fingers threading through your hair, his other arm snug around your waist.

“Yes, little bird. I like it.” He presses a kiss just below your ear. “And I like you, for giving it to me.”

A flush rises in your cheeks. You can’t help it—you’re giddy at his approval.

He notices. Of course he does. He chuckles and draws you even closer, your thighs tightening around his hips as he murmurs, “You’re awfully cute when you’re trying not to squeal.”

You bury your face in his shoulder. “Maybe I want you to like me… for more than my breeding abilities.”

You cringe a little at the word.

He snorts, delighted. “Ah, yes. But you must admit, they’re very desirable traits.” He pauses, then adds with mock thoughtfulness, “I’d imagine there’s quite the queue of creatures who’d love to breed you.”

You groan into his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“But I’m not just interested in that, little bird,” he murmurs, tracing gentle lines along your back. “You’re not just a vessel. You’re… you.”

Your brows lift. “That’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He laughs, eyes sparkling. “True. But accurate. And I am beginning to find your personality almost as enticing as your thighs.”

He grins wide, wicked. “Though I must admit…” His hand trails down to your belly, palm pressing low. “You’d look absolutely exquisite swollen with my offspring.”

The words hit hard, low and hot. Your breath hitches.

He chuckles at the reaction, his hand continuing its slow, possessive stroke over your belly.

“Can’t you just imagine it? All round and heavy. Marked by me. Claimed.”

Your mouth opens, but your thoughts are slow, tangled in heat.

“Marked?” you echo, dazed.

He hums. “Mmm. Yes. Creatures like me—we mark those who belong to us. A scent, a touch, a magic that lingers.”

You blink. “Belong?”

His gaze sharpens. His hand spreads over your stomach. He leans in close enough that you can feel his smile against your jaw.

“Yes, little bird,” he murmurs, voice curling around you like smoke. “You belong to me now. Mine. Claimed. Protected. Property.”

The spell breaks instantly. “Whoa there, hoss.” You flatten a palm against his chest, firm. “Let’s get something straight—I am not property.”

He laughs, low and amused, his hand still spread over your belly like he’s staking a claim.

“Oh, my little pet,” he purrs. “But you are. Whether you admit it or not. I’ve chosen you. Claimed you. That makes you mine. And mine?” His fingers flex possessively. “Mine are protected. Cherished. Controlled.”

You hold up a finger between your bodies, eyes narrowed. “No, no. That’s not how this works, Kisa. You don’t own me. I don’t care how many horns you have or how nice you smell or how big your dick is.”

The moment shifts. His eyes narrow, going dark and sharp like the moment before a storm. His grip tightens just enough to make your breath catch.

“Oh, but I do own you,” he growls. “You’re mine. You’ll obey. You’ll listen. You’ll kneel, if I tell you to.”

He leans in, heat radiating off him like a furnace. “You belong to me, little bird. You are my property.”

You don’t flinch. You glare.

“Mmm… no. That’s not how this is going to go. I may be down to get absolutely wrecked by some demon who crawled through my bedroom window, but I’ll be damned if I get treated like shit again. Got it?”

That stops him. Just for a beat.

His face twitches—annoyance? Confusion? But then something else flashes behind his eyes. His body stills.

“Again?” he echoes, voice lower. Tighter. “What do you mean, again?”

Your arms cross. Jaw set. “My ex was an abusive piece of shit. And I’m not doing that again.”

You don’t back down—not from the hulking shadow of a creature in front of you, not from the weight of your own truth.

He goes quiet. The anger drains from him slowly, something else slipping in—like oil into water. He studies you in the silence, something colder, deeper, running behind his gaze.

“You’ve been… mistreated.” It isn’t a question.

His hand lifts from your belly to your waist, gentler now.

“Someone hurt you.”

His voice is barely more than a rumble, but there’s something raw in it now. Not rage. Not dominance. Something heavier.

“Who dared to lay hands on what’s mine?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, arms still crossed. “It’s not happening again. And I’ll skip what I’m sure would’ve been a transcendent fucking if you’re going to act like every other possessive asshole with control issues.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away for a second, like he’s trying to breathe through something thick and difficult.

“You think I’m being a dick,” he mutters, “for making you mine. But that’s how my kind works, little bird. We take. We claim. We mark. That’s instinct. It’s how we love. It’s how we protect.”

His gaze slides back to yours, searching.

“But… you’ve been hurt. Used. And now you think I’ll be the same.”

His voice cracks faintly at the edges. Like it costs him something to admit it.

“You think I’m going to treat you like he did.”

You shrug, defensive. “You’re sure talking like it.”

He looks like he wants to snarl again, to protest—but something flickers behind his eyes. A beat passes. Then he exhales slowly, shoulders slumping slightly. The fight bleeds out of him, replaced by something you don’t expect:

Understanding.

“I’m possessive. I won’t lie about that,” he says at last. “That’s hardwired. I claim. But I don’t hurt what’s mine. I protect it. Fiercely. Obsessively. I would gut the thing that harmed you.”

The way he says it is chillingly sincere.

You frown, caught off guard by the shift. “Promise?”

He looks at you like you’ve just questioned whether the sky is blue. Like the idea of lying to you is offensive.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I promise. I won’t hurt you. Not like that. Not ever.”

There’s something in his voice—almost vulnerable. It cuts through your cynicism, cleaves past the armor you wear.

You blink. Hesitate. Then lift your hand.

“Pinky swear,” you say, voice softer than before.

He blinks, baffled. Then rolls his eyes. But his pinky wraps around yours all the same—surprisingly gentle for claws tipped in black and a body built for carnage.

“Pinky swear,” he repeats.

You smile, faint and disbelieving. “You know what that is?”

“I’ve been watching humans for a long time, little bird,” he says, brushing your cheek again. “I know more than you think.”

Then, quieter, more serious: “I know what happened to you wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. That someone broke something in you. But I’m not going to do that. I refuse to do that. I don’t want to own you like a thing. I want to treasure you.”

Something in his voice aches. It stirs something deep inside you. Something tired and lonely and wanting.

You swallow. “So what, you’re some demon who only wants to knock me up and protect me?”

He grins, canines glinting. “Not only.”

His hand strokes over your stomach again, slow and warm.

“I do want to fill you, little bird. Stretch you wide, mark you deep. Watch you swell with my seed.” He growls softly against your ear. “But I also want to hold you when you fall asleep. Feed you. Keep you warm. Rip apart anything that threatens you.”

It’s not romantic. But somehow, it is?

“I’m still struggling to believe all this,” you admit.

“And yet you haven’t told me to leave,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You haven’t run. Your thighs are still spread across my lap.”

You flush.

He inhales deeply. His eyes darken.

“You want this. You want me. Don’t you?”

“I—” You falter, because he smells so good—like the deep woods and spiced smoke, like something rich and wild and forbidden. Like temptation wrapped in shadow and claw.

He grins at the way your breath stutters.

“You like the way I smell,” he purrs, nuzzling into your neck. “Like the forest. Like the storm. Like your ruin.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Is it… normal for you to smell this good?”

He chuckles low in his throat, the hand on your belly tightening just slightly—enough to remind you who’s holding you, who you’re straddling.

“I can’t say I’ve been complimented on my scent before,” he murmurs, voice a rich rumble against your skin. “But I imagine for a little creature like you, the scent of earth and wild things… it hits something deep. Something instinctual.”

His fingers trace lazy circles on your belly, deceptively gentle. Reverent.

“Maybe it’s primitive. Maybe it’s nature calling to nature. Wild recognizing wild.”

His hand shifts, gripping your hip, pulling you in tight against him. He leans in, close enough that your noses almost brush.

“Or maybe,” he breathes, “there’s something more. Something primal. Something written into the marrow of our bones. Something that says you and I were meant.”

The way he says it makes your head spin. Maybe it’s the heat of his body pressed to yours. Maybe it’s the dark velvet of his voice. Maybe it’s the word itself, echoing in your skull like a bell.

“Fated,” you whisper.

His mouth curves in a slow, knowing smile, fingers grazing your side like he’s memorizing your shape.

“Yes. Fated,” he repeats. “There’s something in me that knows you. That recognizes you. The earth sings your name. The trees whisper for you.”

His hand slides slowly up your side, drawing goosebumps in his wake, and his voice drops to a near-whisper.

“And I can’t help but listen.”

Then he pulls you flush against him, one arm coiled around your waist, his body solid and unyielding beneath you.

“Your scent calls to me,” he murmurs. “Your soul hums the same frequency as mine. My body knows what it needs, little bird.”

His lips ghost over the edge of your jaw.

“It needs a mate. A soft, fertile thing to care for. To breed.”

A whimper slips out of you before you can stop it, breath stuttering in your lungs as your heart kicks against your ribs like a trapped thing.

“A… a mate?” you repeat, dazed.

“Mhm.” One hand rises to cup your cheek, his touch unexpectedly tender. His eyes drink you in—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your trembling limbs—with something like reverence.

“Yes. A mate. Someone to belong to. Someone to cherish. To protect.”

Then his eyes darken, pupils swallowing the simmering gold, something possessive and ancient glinting behind them.

“To breed.”

You swear you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming. Like fireworks detonating in your chest.

“B-breed,” you stammer, barely able to breathe the word.

He chuckles, a low, velvet thing, and strokes your cheek again.

“Of course. You were made for it,” he purrs. “This soft little body… so ripe. So lush.”

His hand drifts down, mapping you again—over your hip, down your thigh, back to your waist, possessive and claiming in every glide.

“To watch you grow swollen with my seed… to see your body stretch and bloom with my offspring. It would be beautiful. A masterpiece. A walking mark of mine.”

You feel like you’re going to combust. The heat between your thighs is unbearable, throbbing, desperate.

And he smells it. The sharp, intoxicating tang of your arousal hits his senses and he growls, deep and low, dragging a clawed hand up to grip your thigh, fingers pressing in just enough to sting.

“My little bird is getting all worked up.”

You let out a sharp gasp when his nails bite into your skin, dragging you closer, the pressure between your legs making your head spin. There’s no hiding your need now—your body is trembling, aching, begging.

His other hand slips into your hair, gently fisting it, tilting your head back just so. Then he leans in, inhaling at your throat.

“Mmm, that sound,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your neck. “You liked that. The way my claws dug in. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering.

He purrs again, pleased, his fangs grazing your skin as he nips lightly, tasting.

“And you want more, don’t you? More of my claws. More of my teeth. More of me.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, and the hunger there is ravenous.

“Say it. Say you want more. Say you want me.”

“Yes, please,” you whimper, desperate and undone.

His smile turns wolfish.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “You know how to beg. How to surrender.”

He grips your thigh tighter, dragging you against him as he tilts your head back even further, exposing the tender line of your throat. Then his mouth is on you—sucking, licking, biting, marking—leaving bruises like promises down your neck.

“So eager,” he growls between kisses. “So willing. You’re already a fucking mess in my lap, and I’ve barely touched you.”

He pulls back enough to admire the marks blooming on your throat, then trails his fingers over your cheek, your jaw, finally gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Are you wet for me already, little bird?”

You nod, dazed, barely coherent. He smirks, satisfied.

“Thought so.”

He gives your thigh another squeeze, like a reward.

“I think it’s time for a little test. Let’s see how good you can be.”

His eyes burn into yours as he leans closer, his voice dropping into something soft and commanding.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and the word feels like surrender—like sliding into something dark and warm and inevitable.

“Good girl.”

His praise ripples through you like a shockwave, and his hand slides higher, fingertips brushing the edge of your core.

“I’m going to touch you now,” he murmurs, his voice like honey and thunder. “You’re going to stay still. You’re going to let me see what’s mine. Understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice cracking with need.

“Good girl,” he repeats, and the way he says it makes your toes curl.

His hand trails over your thigh, nails grazing lightly, teasing the edge of your underwear.

“Dripping for me already, aren’t you, sweet girl? You ready to be ruined?”

You moan softly in response, nodding frantically, too wrecked to find words.

“Show me,” he commands, eyes locked on you like a predator scenting blood.

With trembling hands, you reach for the hem of your oversized T-shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. You sit in nothing but your underwear, exposed and flushed and trembling in his lap.

He growls, low and satisfied, and his eyes devour you.

“There you are.”

His voice is low, almost a purr, as his hands come to rest on your body—smoothing over your belly, your soft sides, the curve of your ribs. Each touch is slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing you by feel alone.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers gliding across your skin, tracing the plush swell of your waist with something like awe. “So pretty.”

The words rumble up from deep in his chest, reverent and dark, as if your softness is sacred.

His hands roam, mapping every dip and curve with the care of someone exploring hallowed ground.

“Too chubby,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. That old, familiar twist of anxiety coils in your gut.

He freezes.

His eyes find yours, sharp and dark and unreadable—and then his expression shifts, something fierce and protective flashing across his features.

“No,” he says simply. “You’re perfect.”

His hand moves, slow and certain, cupping the soft of your belly, his thumb grazing gently across your skin.

“Soft. Plush. Luxurious.”

His touch travels up, and then his thumb is brushing across your lower lip, gently tugging at it with a low growl.

“And you taste so sweet, too,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “I could eat you up, if you let me.”

Your breath catches. His fangs graze your lip—barely there—and it’s enough to unravel something inside you. You whimper, eyes fluttering closed as you lean into the touch, your body already trembling.

He chuckles softly, pleased by. One of his hands stays possessive on your waist, the other wandering—petting, claiming, cherishing. He touches you like you’re something precious. Something his.

“Is my little bird going to be good for me?” he purrs. “Are you going to let me play with you, sweet girl?”

You nod, desperate and dizzy, your hands clutching at his shoulders for something solid—something to keep you grounded as your body aches for more.

“There’s my good girl.”

He praises you with a soft growl, one hand trailing down to your thick thigh, the other moving to the waistband of your underwear. He lingers there, the heat of his palm making your skin buzz.

“May I take these off?”

The words are murmured low in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, and gods, why is it so hot that he’s asking?

“Yes,” you whine, breathless.

His laugh is soft and pleased, and then his hand is sliding beneath the cotton, easing your underwear down over your hips and thighs with a reverent slowness.

“There you are,” he murmurs again, like he’s seeing you for the first time. “My pretty little birdie.”

His fingers trail over the newly exposed skin, skimming your bare thighs, your soft hips. His gaze is dark and hungry, devouring you.

“Such sweet skin,” he breathes. “So soft. So delicate.”

He leans in, running his nose along your inner thigh, inhaling deeply. The groan that rumbles from his chest is downright sinful.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” he growls, mouth brushing the soft swell of your hip. His eyes dip lower, landing between your thighs.

“My pretty little bird is so wet for me.”

The pads of his fingers brush over your slick folds, rough and gentle at once—enough to make you gasp, hips lifting instinctively toward his hand.

But he tightens his grip on your hip, holding you still.

“Patience,” he chides, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. His fingers move in soft, maddening circles, teasing your most sensitive flesh but never quite giving you what you need.

“Kisa,” you whine, desperate.

“I know, my dearest,” he croons, clearly savoring the sound of your need. “I know exactly what you need. But we’ve barely even started.”

He nips at your hip, the scrape of his teeth making you twitch beneath him. Still, his fingers keep up their slow torment, feather-light over your soaked skin. He watches you squirm, breath ragged, body flushed.

“So eager,” he murmurs. “So needy. Look at you—already trembling, already begging for it.”

His breath ghosts over your thigh, warm and sinful.

“I can smell how badly you want me,” he murmurs. “How much you need me.”

“Then touch me,” you gasp. “Please.”

He chuckles, amused but indulgent. His fingers press more firmly against your slick heat, circling your clit with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs. “Begging so sweetly. You want me to make you mine, don’t you?”

Your body clenches around nothing, and a frustrated whimper escapes your throat, pitiful and aching.

“Oh, poor little birdie,” he croons, voice full of mock sympathy. “So desperate. So wet. So ready to be ruined.”

His fingers tease, still not quite enough, dragging the need higher until it feels like you might break.

“Do you want it, baby? Want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your voice cracking. “Please, please—”

“There’s my good girl,” he murmurs, proud and pleased. “You’re such a sweet little thing when you beg for me.”

Then finally—finally—his fingers slide between your folds and press inside, slow and sure. You gasp, hips bucking, and he growls low, curling them just right.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Such a good girl, taking me so well. You were made for this. Made to be filled. Touched. Claimed.”

Your body arches, thighs trembling as he works you open with maddening precision, stroking that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“So good for me. So tight. So sensitive. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yours.”

“That’s right,” he growls, thrusting his fingers deeper, his mouth brushing your throat. “All mine. My soft, perfect little bird. And I’m going to make you scream.”

He growls low in his throat, voice thick with possession, even as his fingers keep you teetering on the edge. His touch is still maddening, still precise—faster now, more urgent. His thumb circles your clit with practiced ease, drawing out soft gasps and desperate whimpers.

“Are you going to be good and come for me, princess?” he purrs, voice deep and commanding. “Going to let go and come for me like a good girl?”

You feel like you’re unraveling, each stroke of his fingers shooting lightning down your spine. Your body is taut, trembling, every nerve lit up and reaching for more.

“Please… please, I need—” The words break apart on a moan as your hips buck helplessly into his hand.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face. “Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want.”

There’s something almost cruel in his smile—almost. But it’s laced with hunger, with adoration. He loves seeing you like this—so undone, so desperate, begging just for him.

“More,” you cry. “I need more—please, Kisa—”

“That’s my good girl.”

The praise melts through you, sweet and searing, as his fingers pick up speed, working you with ruthless devotion. His other hand clamps onto your hip, claws dimpling the soft flesh to hold you steady as you writhe against him.

His claws bite into your hip and it’s bliss—the sharpness blooming into pleasure that makes your vision swim. You gasp, head thrown back, the pain sparking something deeper, something darker.

“That’s it, baby girl. So good. So wet. I can feel you—gods, I can feel how close you are. Just from my touch. Just from my voice.” His mouth dips to your ear, hot breath teasing your skin. “All because you’re mine. Say it. Say it, pretty bird. Say who you belong to. Who owns this sweet, dripping little pussy of yours.”

“You! You—you, Kisa. All yours,” you cry, voice breaking under the weight of it.

“That’s right,” he purrs, rough and pleased. “My good girl.”

He doesn't let up, coaxing you to the edge and shoving you over with practiced control.

“Come for me, sweet thing,” he croons.

And you do. The orgasm crashes through you like a storm, stealing your breath and every last ounce of control. Your whole body seizes, trembling hard enough to make the room tilt. It’s blinding, unbearable, perfect.

You can’t move.

You can’t think.

He laughs softly, dark delight curling around the sound as he watches you come undone, completely shattered under his hands.

“You liked that,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers slow and slick. “You loved giving in. Being mine.”

He brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes fixed on yours, and licks them clean with a satisfied hum.

“Well, isn’t my little bird delicious.”

Your body is still twitching, too sensitive to respond, your mind floating in that warm, soft haze. You can barely keep your eyes open, and he loves it. You can see it in the way his mouth curves—something feral beneath the fondness.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “So perfect. So completely mine.”

He leans in, his voice dropping into a silky murmur.

“Do you want to know how I knew you’d taste so good to me?”

Your breathing is shallow, lips parted, but you can’t even answer—not with words.

“I knew,” he continues, almost purring, “because you were made for me. My little bird. Mine to hold. Mine to keep. Mine to take—over and over again, until there’s no doubt in that soft, aching body of yours who you belong to.”

You moan, low and weak, your thighs twitching at the mere suggestion. 

He chuckles, clearly pleased by the pitiful sound you make.

“Poor thing,” he croons. “Wrecked after just one… and yet still aching. Still greedy for more.”

“Please,” you whimper, the word escaping before you can even think it.

He tilts his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “Please what, little one?”

His voice is honeyed heat, pure indulgence. He knows you’re falling apart. He likes you like this—pliant and desperate and begging.

Because you would let him do anything to you.

And he knows it.

He watches the way your body trembles, the way your thighs clench and twitch even as you gasp for breath. His expression is all hunger now, but still touched with that unsettling tenderness that makes your heart twist.

“You’re such a greedy little thing,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles along your trembling thigh. “So sweet. So good. But one’s not enough for you, is it, my girl?”

You manage a shaky nod, lips parted as you suck in a breath. “N-no… I still… I want…”

“Oh, I know what you want,” he growls, leaning over you again, his voice brushing your skin like velvet. “You want to be filled. Claimed. You want to be bred until you’re too swollen and sore to even think about standing. Don’t you?”

His hand slides up your belly, fingers splaying wide across the plush curve, reverent and possessive. “You want me to use this perfect little body. Again. And again. And again. Until you’re stuffed full and dripping, marked inside and out.”

You whimper, legs falling open for him instinctively. It’s like your body is answering for you.

“There she is,” he croons. “That’s my girl. That’s my good, obedient little bird.”

He dips lower, mouth brushing over your stomach—pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses into the soft give of your flesh. His fangs graze gently but never break skin, and it sends a shock of need pulsing between your legs.

“You’re so soft,” he groans. “So fucking perfect. I could spend hours here. Days.” His voice vibrates low against your belly as he drags his tongue over the curve. “Everything about you calls to me. The way you taste. The way you sound. The way your body gives way under my hands.”

You feel his breath ghosting lower and lower, his lips skimming across your skin, making your breath catch.

“I’m going to make you come again,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “And you’re going to take it. All of it. You’re going to lie there and be good and let me make this pretty pussy mine.”

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open slowly—reverently, almost—and you can feel how soaked you are, the cool air teasing across your folds making you shiver.

He groans when he sees you. “Fuck, baby. Look at you. Already making a mess for me.”

His thumbs spread you gently, gaze dark and starved. “You need this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, trembling. “Please.”

And then his mouth is on you. Hot and hungry, tongue broad and slow at first as he licks a thick stripe to your clit. You cry out, hips bucking, but his strong arms lock around your thighs and keep you pinned.

He moans into you like you’re his first and last meal. Every stroke of his tongue is deliberate, like he’s savoring every drop of your slick.

You can hear the wet sounds, obscene in the quiet room. He’s feasting on you, growling low in his throat as if the taste of you drives him feral.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants against you between strokes. “Let me eat. Let me drink you down like the sweet thing you are.”

Your hands scramble for purchase—his shoulders, the sheets, your own thighs—anything to ground yourself as he devours you.

He pulls back only to press a kiss directly to your clit, then grins up at you, lips shiny and chin wet.

“Think you can come again for me, pretty girl?” he asks, his breath warm against your soaked flesh. “Think you can fall apart just from my tongue?”

You nod desperately, breath ragged, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.

“Then lie back, little bird,” he says, voice dark with promise. “And let me ruin you.”

He dips down again, tongue parting your folds with practiced hunger, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He devours you—tongue dragging over your clit in slow, firm circles before flicking, teasing, then flattening again with obscene, unrelenting pressure.

Your whole body arches, muscles tightening under his touch.

“Oh—fuck, Kisa—” Your voice breaks as your thighs twitch around his head.

A deep growl vibrates through his chest, and the sensation floods your core. He’s practically purring, like he needs this—like tasting you is some kind of sacred ritual.

Your hands shoot down to his head, fingers tangling in his hair—and that’s when you feel them.

The horns.

Warm. Smooth. Solid. Perfect.

You grip them before you can even think about it, needing something to anchor you through the chaos building in your belly.

He freezes. Just for a breath.

Then—

A low, rumbling sound rips from him, deeper than a growl, closer to a snarl. His claws dig into your thighs, not hurting, just enough to make sure you stay right there.

“Ohh... fuck. Yes.” His voice is wrecked. “Hold on, little bird. Use them. They’re for you.”

He dives back in with renewed purpose, tongue dragging through your folds as he sucks your clit into his mouth, lips sealing around it with filthy devotion. And when your grip tightens on his horns, pulling him closer, holding him exactly where you want him—he moans into you like a man possessed.

“That’s it,” he rasps between licks. “Good girl. Use me. Fuck my face if you want to. Just let me taste everything you give me.”

You cry out, tugging him tighter, grinding up into the relentless pressure of his mouth. You're shaking already, hips fighting against the hold of his strong arms wrapped around your thighs.

“You feel that?” he pants. “You’re so close, I can taste it. You’re about to fall apart for me again, aren’t you, baby?”

Your breath is coming in quick, high-pitched gasps, your whole body tensing under the pressure that’s been building since the last orgasm shattered you.

His tongue moves faster, more precise, and his fingers return—two of them sliding into you easily now, curling just right, stroking the place inside you that makes your legs seize up.

“Come on,” he whispers, voice thick with lust and awe. “Be a good girl and fall apart for me again. Show me how pretty you look when you lose it. Show me how good that sweet pussy tastes.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin slick with your arousal, his dark eyes shining with absolute hunger.

“Come for me, baby. Grip those horns and let me ruin you.”

You break with a scream, hips bucking, thighs squeezing around his head as the orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave. You’re shaking, gasping, gushing, your body no longer under your control.

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t dare.

Tongue and fingers work you through it, coaxing every last ripple of pleasure from your body until you’re sobbing with the sensitivity, with the fullness, with the overwhelming ache for more.

Only then does he finally slow. Withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, savoring the wet sound as he pulls free—and licks them clean with a guttural growl.

His voice is wrecked. “You taste like heaven. Like something sacred. I should be worshipping you on my knees every night.”

He kisses your thigh, then your belly, then the underside of your breast as he slowly moves up your body. His hands never stop touching you—rubbing, soothing, tracing lazy circles into your soft flesh.

And when he finally meets your gaze again, there’s something dangerous in his smile.

He crawls up over you like a stormcloud rolling in, slow and heavy with promise. His body radiates heat, shadowing you completely as he moves, and you’re still panting, thighs sticky and trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you.

But he doesn’t press into you. Not yet.

Instead, he hovers—his cock thick and heavy, flushed and glistening—and dragging it along your inner thigh like a threat.

You whimper, trying to lift your hips, to catch him, but his strong hands press your thighs open and hold.

“Uh uh,” he growls, smirking down at you. “Not yet.”

“Kisa—please—” Your voice is hoarse with need, so wrecked and wet you can feel how ready you are. Every inch of your body is screaming for it.

But he just watches you squirm, dragging the tip of his cock slowly up the slick seam of your folds. Not entering. Just teasing.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your fingers fisting in the sheets, trying to resist the urge to grab his hips and force him inside.

He tilts his head, like he’s considering it.

“You’ve already come so sweetly for me,” he murmurs, running the head of his cock over your clit, slow and light, making your hips jolt. “Already soaked me, haven’t you? But you still want more.”

“Yes,” you breathe, almost ashamed by how much you mean it. “God, yes—please—”

He chuckles, low and wicked, bending to nip at your neck again, his voice hot in your ear.

“Beg.”

You freeze.

“What?”

His cock drags down again, slipping between your folds with just enough pressure to make your toes curl—but not enough to give you what you want.

“I said beg for it, little bird,” he growls, lips brushing your throat. “Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I—I need you,” you gasp, trembling, throat dry. “Please. I need your cock—I need it so bad, I—”

“Mmm.” He hums against your throat, the sound vibrating through you. “Better. But not good enough.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, that smug, dark grin cutting across his face as he brushes his cock right up against your entrance—and stops.

“I want to hear you say it. Say what this pretty pussy is begging for. Say you want me to fill you. Stretch you. Breed you.”

You whimper, eyes brimming as the ache in your core turns molten.

“Please, Kisa,” you sob, hands flying up to grip his horns again, desperate. “I need you to fuck me—need you to ruin me. I want to feel all of you—want to feel you inside, filling me up—please, I can’t take it anymore—just fuck me!”

His pupils blow wide at your words, and the snarl that rips out of him is feral.

“Gods, you’re perfect.”

He doesn’t make you wait another second.

With one powerful thrust, he drives into you—slow and deep, stretching you open inch by inch until your body clamps around him like it was made for this. For him.

He growls through gritted teeth as he bottoms out, trembling slightly from the effort of holding still.

“You feel that?” he hisses against your jaw. “That stretch? That fullness? That’s what you begged for, little bird.”

You moan, eyes rolling back as you feel him settle deep inside, your body fluttering around the thick intrusion.

And he stays there—deep, still, throbbing—until your fingers tighten in his horns again and your hips jerk beneath him, wordless, needy.

Then he starts to move.

He’s buried deep, pressed flush to your hips, and the fullness already has your mind reeling—too much and not enough at once.

But then he pulls back.

Not all the way. Just enough that you feel the slow, excruciating drag of him slipping out of you, your walls clinging desperately to every inch.

And then he pushes back in.

Slowly.

“Gods,” he groans, breath catching as your body wraps tight around him. “You feel that? How perfectly you take me?”

You can only moan in response, already shaking, the stretch just on the edge of unbearable.

“So tight,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So wet. It’s like your body knows me. Like it’s been waiting for this—just aching to be filled.”

He draws out again, his cock gliding slick with your arousal, only to thrust back in with an agonizing slowness that makes you whimper.

“That’s it. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch, my sweet thing.”

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but he’s relentless—keeping the pace glacial, dragging the thick length of him through your fluttering walls again and again. Letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every goddamn inch.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek. “So sensitive already. So good for me. Look how well you open for me, how greedy your little cunt is. You don’t want me slow, do you? You want me to take you.”

“Yes,” you gasp, breath ragged. “Yes, I need—Kisa—please—”

“Mmm. You’re begging again,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “So pretty when you whimper. But this is how good girls get claimed. Earned. Not rushed. Not wasted.”

His hand slides up your body, heavy and possessive, splaying over your chest, holding you down.

“I want you to remember this. Every time you touch yourself, I want you to feel it—right here—” he thrusts in, a little deeper, the blunt head of his cock nudging your cervix just right— “where I’ve been.”

You cry out, hips trying to meet his, but he pins you effortlessly.

“Oh no, little bird. I’m in control now.”

He leans in, brushing his lips over your ear, voice a dark lullaby.

“Let me make you feel it. Let me stretch you, ruin you, fill you.”

And then he rolls his hips again—deep, deliberate, claiming—until your body trembles and your voice breaks on another whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Taking me so good, squeezing me so tight. Just a little more, sweetheart. You want to be full, don’t you? All the way?”

“Yes,” you sob, tears prickling. “Please—please, I want to be full—want to be yours—”

He growls, low and possessive, hips grinding deeper.

“You are mine. And when I’m done with you, there won’t be a part of you that doesn’t know it.”

He pulls out halfway, your slick clinging to him, and then presses back in just as slowly, the girth of him splitting you open all over again. You arch, panting, trying to grind down and take more, faster, but he pins your hip in place with a low growl.

“None of that,” he murmurs, voice like smoke. “You asked for this. Slow and deep, remember?”

He rolls his hips, cock nudging that sweet, aching spot inside you with maddening precision.

“Right there. Feel that?” His lips brush your ear, his voice a velvet promise. “That’s me. Deep in this tight little cunt. Making her remember who she belongs to.”

You whimper, a broken, desperate sound, your fingers clawing at his back. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“I can feel you fluttering around me. Like your body’s trying to pull me in deeper. Like she doesn’t want to let me go.”

He chuckles softly, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing in again with a slow, punishing grind.

“You’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby? You getting messy just from how I talk to you?”

“K-Kisa,” you choke, tears pricking your lashes. “I need—please—”

“Oh, I know you need.” His hand strokes down your side, over your waist, thick fingers finding the softest part of your belly. “But I don’t think you’re ready yet. Not until you’re begging like you mean it.”

He takes your wrist and guides you, slow and deliberate, until your palm curls around the base of it. Heat surges through your belly at the feel of it—warm, ridged, real.

“Ohhh, yes,” he groans, pupils blowing wide.

You do, without thinking, anchoring yourself to the curve of his horn as he thrusts deeper, slower, grinding against that spot that has your toes curling.

He smirks.

“Fuck. You like that, don’t you? Grabbing my horns while I fuck you nice and slow, stretching out this greedy little pussy. Makes you feel powerful. Makes you feel owned.”

You nod frantically, your grip tightening.

“You’re such a filthy thing,” he croons, hips rocking deep, deep, deeper. “You want me to split you open while you cling to my horns and beg for more?”

“Yes—yes, please, please, I need—”

“What do you need, baby?”

His voice is all heat and honey now, the kind that sticks to your bones and burns through your chest.

“Say it. Say exactly what you want me to do to you. Be good and ask for it.”

Your voice breaks, wrecked and high with desperation.

“Want you to fuck me deeper,” you sob. “Want to feel every inch—want to feel you own me—please, Kisa, please—fill me up, stretch me out, make me yours—”

He groans, cock twitching inside you at the sound.

“That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He keeps grinding into you, slow and filthy and relentless, his mouth pressed to your ear, his breath hot as his words drip down your spine like molten honey.

“You’re so good for me. So fucking pretty like this. All flushed and begging. Beg for me again, little bird. Let me hear how desperate you are. Let me hear how badly you need to come on my cock.”

Your nails dig into his back, the other hand clenched tight around his horn, and gods, the way he groans when you grip it—he likes it. Maybe almost as much as you do. Maybe more.

“I—please,” you pant, hips trying to chase the rhythm he keeps teasing you with, but he holds you still, letting his cock grind against that aching spot just enough to keep your head spinning. “Kisa, I need it, I need it—”

He hums, mouth pressed to your jaw now, trailing heat down your neck, just behind your ear.

“Need what, baby?” he murmurs, drawing his hips back so achingly slow you feel the stretch of every ridge, every pulse. “This?” Another slow, deep thrust. “Or this?”

He drags his tongue over your throat, his teeth scraping lightly as he presses in again, holding himself there, thick and pulsing inside you.

“Or is it the way I talk to you while I fuck you nice and slow?” His breath is a growl. “The way I tell you how good your chubby little cunt feels wrapped around me. How pretty you look spread out like this. All soft. All mine.”

You whimper, legs trembling, thighs twitching as he rocks into you again. And again.

“That’s it. Let me feel you squeeze me. You like being filled like this, don’t you? Claimed.” He shifts his hips, changing the angle just slightly, and your whole body jolts. “Marked.”

Your moan breaks into a sob, pleasure cresting, writhing just beneath the surface. You’re soaking him, trembling and needy and ruined.

But still, he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

“No,” he croons when your hips buck, when your breath hitches, chasing release. “Not yet, little bird. You beg first. Beg like you mean it.”

You shake, panting, nails biting into his shoulder as your voice breaks against his throat. “Please—please, I need to come—I’ll do anything—please, Kisa, I can’t take it—”

“Say you’re mine,” he growls, thrusting deep and staying there, hips flush to yours. “Say this little cunt belongs to me.”

“It’s yours,” you sob. “It’s yours, Kisa—please, let me come, I’ll be so good—please—”

“Say you want to come for me. That you need to.”

“I need it,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut, body on fire. “Please let me come, Kisa, I need it—I need you—need your cock—I can’t—please—”

He growls, a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest, and then his pace finally changes—just slightly. A little harder. Still deep. Still slow. But now he’s fucking you through it, working that perfect rhythm, grinding into the spot that makes you cry out.

“That’s it. Take it. Let me feel you come. Squeeze me, baby, just like that. Give it to me.”

And gods, when it hits, it shatters you. Mind scattering as everything goes dark from the force of it.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the tear off your cheek.

“Sweet thing,” he murmurs, voice like velvet over gravel, “you came so hard for me, didn’t you? Look at you. Look how pretty you are when you break for me.”

You’re still trembling, hips twitching with aftershocks as his cock stays buried deep inside you. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Your body’s wrecked but greedy, pulsing around him like you’ll never stop needing it.

Kisa’s hand strokes down your side, slow and possessive. The other slips between your legs again—gentle, maddening.

“That’s it,” he breathes, lips brushing your ear. “Still trying to pull me in deeper. Still begging, even now.”

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, boneless and aching and wet.

“Such a perfect little mess,” he croons. “All that sweet heat dripping down your thighs. Fuck, you’re made for this. For me.” His fingers tease where your bodies meet, dragging slickness over your clit in slow, lazy circles. “So good for me. So soft. So wet.”

A whine escapes you, high and sharp, your hips jerking despite how raw you feel. He’s still rock-hard inside you, thick and heavy and twitching with restraint.

“You’re not done, little bird,” he whispers against your skin. “Don’t you dare think I’m finished with you.”

Your voice is a hoarse, desperate thing. “I c-can’t…”

“Oh, you can.” He smiles, all fangs and feral glee, nuzzling into your throat. “You’re gonna come again for me, sweet girl. I’m gonna make you. Gonna fuck you through it until you can’t even say your own name.”

Your hips roll instinctively, trying to get friction, and he grinds into you, so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. The way he talks to you—low, mouthy, filthy—it lights your nerves up like firecrackers.

And then his hand comes up, cradles your jaw, guiding your face to his. “Look at me.” His voice is sharp silk. “Watch me while I ruin you.”

You meet his gaze, glassy-eyed and panting, and he smiles—sharp, dark, hungry.

“Good girl.”

He starts to move again—slow, deliberate thrusts. Stretching you all over again. 

“That’s it, baby. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch.” His hips roll forward again, a little deeper this time. “You’re gonna take all of me. You’re gonna stay open and dripping and mine.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair—and then slip, desperate for purchase, until you’re grabbing hold of his horn again. You whimper at the feeling of it under your palm, and he fucking moans at the same time.

“Ah, fuck. You like that, don’t you?.” His cock twitches deep inside you. “Use it. Fuck yourself on me.”

You gasp, hips rolling, and he groans against your skin. His rhythm stays maddeningly slow—just enough friction to keep you strung out, not enough to tip you over. He wants you to feel it. Wants to drag it out.

“Tell me what you want.”

You’re wrecked, so far gone you can barely string thoughts together. But your mouth opens, and words pour out like a prayer:

“Please—please, I want to come, I need it—I need your cock, I want you to fuck me full, please, Kisa, I’m begging, I’ll be so good—just please—”

He growls, deep and rough, and kisses you hard, biting at your lip as his pace finally begins to build.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathes into your mouth. “You’re gonna come again for me. You’re gonna soak me, clench around me, milk my cock like a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your answer is a sob as his hips drive into you harder.

“Hold onto that horn, baby,” he snarls, snapping his hips. “And don’t you let go.”

The hand in your hair tightens, twisting just enough to send a spark of pain through your scalp—pleasure hot on its heels. His other hand is still at your hip, clawed fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh as he sets a brutal pace now, all that slow teasing cast aside in favor of something relentless.

“Good girl,” he snarls, hips snapping into yours. “That’s it. Hold on tight. Gonna fuck you through it—make that pretty little pussy cry for me.”

You're still gripping his horn, moaning uncontrollably as he drives into you—deep, punishing, perfect. Your thighs are trembling, your breath catching in ragged little gasps as your body reels under the rhythm of him.

“Fuck—Kisa—” It’s too much, too good, too fast, and your whole body is spiraling.

“You feel that?” His voice is all grit and possession, barely holding together. “That’s me, baby. Deep inside. Filling you up. Stretching you open.” His thrusts get rougher, sharper, every one of them shoving you closer to that edge again. “You were made to take me like this. Every inch. Every time.”

Your moans dissolve into high-pitched cries, your voice breaking with every thrust.

“I can feel you, little bird. Feel how close you are. So fucking tight—fuck—it’s like your body’s begging me to come with you.”

His mouth is at your throat now, hot and open, mouthing down the curve of your neck as your orgasm builds to an unbearable pitch. His voice is a filthy snarl against your skin.

“Come on. Come for me again. Be a good little thing and soak my cock.”

You break with a cry, body arching as your release crashes through you—hot and messy and so much—your muscles tightening around him in hard, desperate pulses. You’re gasping, moaning, your hand still locked around his horn, your other fingers clawing helplessly at his shoulder.

“Fuck—” he groans, hips stuttering, barely holding on. “So tight. So fucking tight. That’s it. That’s fucking it—”

He buries himself to the hilt with a final, punishing thrust, his entire body tensing above you as he roars through his release, coming hard and deep. You feel it—feel him flood you with heat, thick and hot and endless, feel the way he jerks inside you as his cock throbs with it, feel the way his arms cage you in like you’re the only thing in the world he needs to hold onto.

“Mine,” he growls, panting ragged into your throat. “All mine.”

You're shaking, gasping, wrecked and so full you can barely breathe. He doesn’t move—still buried deep, still pulsing with the last lazy twitches of his orgasm—as his hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing your lips.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice gone soft and hoarse. “My perfect little bird. Took it so well. So greedy for it. So good.”

You can’t speak, can’t move, but you nuzzle into his touch like you need it to breathe. Because you do.

He kisses you, slow and filthy, tasting the aftershocks on your tongue, and you can feel the possessive purr rising in his chest again.

You’re still trembling when he finally eases his weight off you, but he doesn’t pull out—not yet. He’s so deep, still locked inside, and his body seems unwilling to part from yours. Instead, he lowers himself gently, chest pressed against yours, arms bracketing you in as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

“Shh…” he breathes, brushing damp hair from your face. “Breathe, little bird. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Your legs are shaking, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You feel everything—the aftershocks still pulsing through your thighs, the aching stretch where he’s still nestled inside, the sticky warmth dripping between your legs, too much to hold in.

He noses gently along your jaw, pressing a kiss there. Then another. And another.

“You were perfect,” he whispers. “So perfect. Every inch of you. Took all of me like you were made for it. And you are, you know. You’re mine.”

He’s not teasing now. Not taunting. His voice is low and warm, the words wrapping around you like a blanket.

You shift just enough to let your arms curl up around his shoulders, weak and sluggish, and he responds immediately—gathering you close, one arm cradling under your back, the other sweeping under your thighs. He pulls you into his chest like you're weightless.

“I’m going to clean you up,” he murmurs into your hair, “and then I’m going to hold you. Hold you until you stop shaking.”

You bury your face in his neck as he moves, careful and slow, every step unhurried. He carries you as if he’s made for it—like your body fits his arms, like your softness was sculpted for his strength. He murmurs soft, soothing nothings the entire time.

“You did so well. Let me take care of you. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

The water is warm when he settles you into it, steam curling between your skin and his. He holds you in his lap in the bath, arms wrapped tightly around you, his large hands moving in slow, tender passes over your thighs and belly, between your legs where you’re sore and still dripping.

You wince, just a little, and his arms tighten.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Too much. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I just needed you so bad. Couldn’t help it. But I’ll take care of you now. You won’t hurt for long. Not with me here.”

He cleans you with reverence. Soft cloth, slower hands, everything whispered.

“So soft,” he breathes. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I never thought I’d deserve.”

You melt further into him, dazed and floating, lulled by the sound of his voice and the heat of his body. His touch never leaves you. Not once.

“After this,” he says quietly, “I’ll put you to bed. I’ll hold you while you sleep. I’ll stay all night if you let me. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You hum, too tired to respond. But your fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck, a silent answer.

He smiles against your cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, little bird. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

Ghost who breaks things off with his sorceress FWB when she starts to catch feelings. She's vindicative but sworn to do no harm, and in a rage she curses him into a stuffed toy of himself.

True love, as always, will break the curse, and she's satisfied that Ghost will be miserable for a very, very long time.

Enter you.

The skeleton plush you find at the second hand shop is cute. A little dusty, like it had sat for a while, but soft and stuffed full still, and nothing you can't clean up.

It's an impulse buy.

Ghost wants to stew in his anger, but how can he, when a pretty soft thing like you sleeps with him every night?

When you slip between the sheets in your pink pajamas and crush his polyester face to your bare breasts on a bad day?

He thinks there are worse punishments to bear. He just wishes he could fuck you happy, take the nipple shoving into his face between his teeth until you writhe and beg him to touch you, troubles forgotten.

Watching you cry is the worst, when he can't move, and he can see that you're lonely and need someone to lean on.

He wants to wrap his arms around you and shelter you from the storm.

He stops thinking quite so much about how good sex with you would be, and starts thinking about how he'd like to take care of you.

He'll never be loved like this, not the way the sorceress meant when she'd cast the curse, and it's not fair, but he slowly falls for you anyway, spends his days while you're away fantasizing about how he could make you happy, the life you two could have.

Jokes on him, though, and his ex. There's no purer love than that between a girl and her comfort plush.

Your end of the bargain was sealed months ago.

When he finally crosses that last hurdle one night, he's sitting propped between your legs listening to you sniffle over a romcom. He admits at last to himself he's fallen for you, and the curse snaps.

And suddenly there's a full grown man in your lap.

This is going to take some explaining.

We're dreaming big - prologue here

[nanamisgirly]

cw breast obsession non-sexual, gentle dominance ig, soft intimacy.

my personal fav fantasy is husband!nanami coming home late. he's super exhausted and he finds you already sleeping.

he sighs in relief at the sight of your peaceful body lying on the bed, the moon light peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow over you.

you're wearing a delicate crop top, yellow with tiny pink roses on it, thin straps slipping off your shoulders, and lace-trimmed triangles barely covering your breasts— shifted out of place in your sleep. it's Nanami's fav. because he got the chance to cup your tits easily from behind.

it's not in a lustful way!! he's not groping you with some filthy intent not always at least. he holds them in a comforting way, in a way that makes him exhales deeply the moment he slides into bed, feeling the stress of the day melt away as his large, calloused hand finds its rightful place. right over your chest.

it's comforting, the way they fit just right in his palms— they're not too big, not too small, just perfect. like they were meant to be in his hands, like he was meant to touch you this way. he likes the shape of them, the way they mold to his touch, yielding and soft, a stark contrast to the roughness of his palms. he doesn't squeeze hard, doesn't knead them like he's trying to work you up— just holds.

he loves how soft they are when you're relaxed, when you're warm and tucked into his arms, your body completely at ease. how they don't poke or demand attention. they're sitting there all plush and smooth against his fingers, unbothered.

he loves how your breasts change when you're lying down, how they spread just a little, how they lose that roundness but become so soft, so flat, almost like they're becoming one with his hands. he loves the way his fingers can rest along the curve of your ribs, feeling the gently rise and fall of your breath beneath them.

it's instinctual. reaching for you. holding you. owning you.

his favorite way to touch you is when you're on your back, his face buried in the crook of your neck—your floral scent invading his nostrils—'cause that's where he has better access to your tits. he likes to slide his hand up from your waist, fingers ghosting over your ribs before they settle beneath the swell of your breast— his thumb and index supporting the weight ever so slightly, pressing just enough to feel their fullness. and sometimes most of the times he gives the underside a gentle pinch, his lips twitching at the way your body shifts in response, even in your sleep.

and your nipples. god he loves them sooo much. he's totally obsessed when they don't poke or stiffen under his fingers, just stay warm and smooth against his touch, like they trust him enough to relax. he traces lazy circles over them, fingertips gliding over the subtle change in texture. he never presses, never pinches because he knows if he did, if he rolled them just right, they'd start to react. they'd tighten, harden under his touch, and sure—when the mood was for it—he loved that just as much.

but right now, it was only about feeling you.

and if you make some little sound of protest when he adjusts his grip— he simply shushes you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, whispering, "go back to sleep, darling." and you do. because how could you not when you were so sweetly wrapped in his warmth?

(*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

[silverskyeline]

'messy' 18+

oneshot (request) - logan learns that you can squirt, he indulges in that information (1.8k words) pairing - logan howlett (xmen) x f!reader tags - established relationship, fingering, petnames: babygirl, baby, good girl, praising, kind of overstimulation, squirting, lots of squirting, a little rough, he talks reader through it, wet mentions, reader orgasm, dirty talk, fingers in mouth, logan makes reader taste themselves.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you're splayed out on his lap on the sofa just how he likes you to be, nestled on top of his plush, firm thighs. your knees are bent with your ankles resting over either side of his legs, your back flush with his warm chest, your whole body exposed, open, for him.

logan's thick, calloused fingers lazily stroke your clit, earning soft mewls from your lips as your head tilts back over his shoulder. his other hand is ensuring his middle finger pumps in and out of you at a slow pace, your body craving those broad digits stretching your tight walls.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you're moaning, gripping his arm for dear life as you squirm in his lap, rolling your hips instinctively. it was beautiful, the way he could make you sing for him, the way he could make your body move for him with just a few simple strokes, almost like a puppet, pulling your strings. he would never consider himself your 'master', but god, you'd let him control you whenever he liked.

he smirks, nuzzling his fuzzy beard into the side of your cheek, his lips finding their place at your ear, "that feel good, baby girl?" logan asks, his voice a deep purr. he already knows the answer.

you gasp at his low-toned voice, gruff like gravel but sweet like honey, "yes. . ."

"mh, that's what i thought. . . think you can take a little more though." he huffs, slipping another finger inside.

your walls clench around the sudden new presence and you moan, loudly, craving the feeling of being filled by him in whatever capacity he's willing to give.

"that's it," he coos, picking up the pace, "good girl, gooood girl. . ." logan loves how easily he can slip inside of you, how he'd always find you dripping, cunt aching, core throbbing for him. his sensitive ears perk up at the sweet sounds of your wet pussy taking his fingers in, the wet schlick sounds filling the room.

your cheeks flush, looking down at the way his fingers are making light work of you, your shirt hiked up to expose your breasts. with the pace increasing, and the way he's so sweetly purring filthy words into your ear. . . you feel a sensation start to build.

it's. . . new, almost uncomfortable but not quite. not the same as an orgasm but almost. it pools low in your belly, just a little out of reach.

but his fingers pick up again, slamming deep inside of you, curling just enough. his fingers circling your clit remain slow in contrast, creating a dizzying combination of sensations that have you clenching around him and calling out his name over and over in some desperate plea. desperation for him to continue, for the building feeling, for him, full stop.

the feeling returns. fuck, it almost feels like you need to piss. your cheeks flush, eyes rolling back as you fight back the feeling, but he's rubbing you and touching you and fucking you too good for you to hold anything back.

"logan," you gasp, arching your back, "l-logan wait-"

but it's too late, before he even has the chance to slow down, you squirt. your juices coat his hands, his fingers, dripping down along his arm and onto the sofa below earning a gasp from both of you.

his eyes widen, stopping his movements immediately causing you to whine at the sudden lack of friction.

then there's silence, save for the lewd wet dripping from the sofa onto the hardwood floor.

your head is reeling, did. . . did you just squirt? fuck, you'd never done that before. heart pounding, you swallow hard, instinctively wanting to apologise for the mess, "shit, sorry i-"

"holy fuck. . ." he whispers shakily before you even have the chance to finish your sentence, "where were you hidin' that from me?" you can hear the smirk in his voice clear as day as he talks into your ear.

"what?" you whisper.

he smirks, kissing your ear, "you didn't tell me you could make cute little messes like that, baby."

"i didn't know i could. . ." you admit, biting your lip as you feel the cool air of the room brush against your dripping sensitive core.

logan's eyes widen, the implication of your words nestling deep in his brain, and groin. he was the first ever to make you squirt, the first to make you feel so good that you couldn't help but make a mess for him. pride swells in his chest, manifesting in a low rumbling smug chuckle at the back of his throat.

". . .think you could make another mess for me?" he hums, his fingers on your clit slowly resuming their movements.

you whimper, the new sensation you experienced was foreign but surprisingly welcomed. you had no idea it felt that good, that you could ever do that. but logan has a way of coaxing everything out of you, cock and fingers playing you like an instrument he's mastered.

"don't know. . ." you mumble, suddenly feeling skittish.

it's then that his fingers start fucking you again, gliding in and out easily, your fluttering hole welcoming the movement. "you can, i know you can." he encourages, nibbling at your ear, "you'll be a good girl, you'll make another mess for me, won't you?"

fuck, his words. his fucking words. every single time they had you acting crazy, letting out sounds you didn't know you could make. and he drinks them in, drinks up all those sweet little sounds from that pretty little mouth of yours that he loves so much.

you simply nod, feeling his digits pumping rougher, curling to find that sweet sweet spot once more. you're not sure if you can even do it again, but logan seems pretty fucking set on making him gush for you at least once more.

he scissors his fingers slightly, stretching you, the motion making you whine with pleasure. but when he pushes in a third finger? that's when you really start screaming for him.

"that's more like it, huh?" he grins, breathing deeply through his nose from how hard he's working you, "just needed a bit more, cus' i know you like it thick baby, don't you? like it thick like my cock?"

you want to gasp, to react to his words, but your eyes are rolling back again, mouth stuck open in an 'o' shape as you feel that sensation build once more. your body is tensing, thighs clenching, back arching, eyes squeezing shut. subconsciously you hold your breath as if that'll help. he's got you right where he wants you, right where he knows you want to be.

seconds later you're gushing, more this time - it lands on the hardwood below with a crude splash and coats his hands nicely. logan laughs, a deep dirty laugh as you writhe. he gives a gentle slap to your clit, then a firmer one, causing more to spill from you along with some squeaks.

"there we go, good girl, what a good girl. . ." you can hear the smirk in his voice, the wide grin he's wearing, the smugness lacing every word that leaves his lips, "feels good to make a mess for me, doesn't it?"

you're breathless, panting, overwhelmed in the best way. and then he speaks again.

". . . i think you can handle one more." logan purrs, movements suddenly fast and hard. his fingers fuck deep into you, curling to hit your g-spot with each calculated thrust. the fingers on your clit speed up, rubbing in practiced circles sending sparks of electricity throughout your body.

you want it too, you'd give it to him over and over again, create messes all night long if your body let you.

god you'd do anything for him, especially in that moment, and how could you not? the way his fingers play with you, toy with you, slide into you. . .

"d-don't know if i can!" you admit, huffing, trying to get more air.

but he shakes his head, "yes you can." is all he says, firmly.

and he's right. moments later you feel it pooling in your belly once more, the accompanying orgasm approaching that threatens to throw you overboard. you're lost in a sea of sensations, stars in your vision, his voice in your ear the only anchor you have to reality. you let it guide you, until you're drenching his fingers and jeans once more, voice ringing out within his bedroom as his voice coaxes and praises you softly.

his fingers on your clit come together to slap down against you, each smack against your sensitive bundle of nerves causing more to spray. you're making such a big mess, his jeans are damp. he doesn't care. this is what he wants, and fuck, if you don't feel the best you've ever felt in your entire life. . .

he keeps going, his fingers steadily pumping into you roughly, desperate to get every last drop as he feels you clamp down around his fingers. you're moaning, gasping, gripping onto his arm for dear life as you ride out your orgasm. it's too much, but it's also perfect. logan watches on in deep satisfaction as you writhe on his lap, his bulge pressing against you above him, cock twitching and rock hard just from touching you.

as your body relaxes, so do his movements, slowing down. he glides his fingers in a few times, enjoying the slick sounds they make before pulling them from your still-fluttering hole. he lazily drifts his damp digits along your tummy, leaving a trail of wetness up to your chest until it finds your mouth.

you part your lips gladly, turning your head to look up at him through hooded lids as you take his fingers in your mouth. diligently, your tongue laps at his fingers, reeling at the taste of yourself on him, dripping from him.

"good girl, you're always so fuckin' good for me. . ." he smiles, kissing your forehead as he watches you, his free hand resting on your tummy. you enjoy the feeling of his large palm against you, making you feel comforted whilst also grounding you after that whirlwind of release.

you pull his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, instead kissing along his fingers and down across the sensitive skin of his knuckles. a silent thank you, for making you feel so good.

logan watches keenly, growling quietly at the stirring in his groin. his eyes flash with something. you'd call it mischief.

your eyes flit up to his, knowing what he's thinking before he's even said it.

"wonder what else you can do. . ." he smirks, "keeping any other secrets from me?" logan asks as he rolls his hips against you, prompting you to feel how hard he is for you and you exhale, relaxing back against him.

it was funny, how he could always push you right to the edge when you think you're spent.

and yet have you craving more. . .

you grin, biting your lip, "wanna find out?"

[screampied]

‘ THIS AIN’T FICTION, BABY! (it is kinda..) ★

☆ sum. jjk men finding out you write jaw dropping smut. boo you whore. can you even do half the things you write about? well . .

warnings. fem! reader, feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, breaking the forth wall kekw, smut writer reader, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, squırting, manhandling, cuńnilingus, whiny men, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstim, spıt, impact play, breaking the bed, bréeding, size kinks.

GOJO ☆

“oooooh,” a husky low voice coos right next to your ear. hot breath ghosts against the tiny hairs that stand tall near the back of your neck. you bit your lip whilst you’re in the midst of being stuffed full of cock. just plain evil . . satoru’s got you cockwarming him while a fat thumb of his skims down your phone. “let’s see. gojo smut, gojo satoru x reader, hey that’s me, heh,” and he pauses, a snowy brow raising up in daze once he sees your user displayed in bold near the very top of the search bar. “cockwarming gojo, how fitting, angel.”

“toru, fuck,” you whine, making a cute attempt at trying to snatch your phone away. weakly pawing at his wrist, he holds it up even higher. you gasp, feeling his swollen tip swivel its way deeper inside your cunt. “don’t read it,” you fall back into his chest, moaning once he starts to purposely bounce his thigh. embarrassment had you hot, you could practically feel your heartbeat accelerating by the minute. “ ‘s embarrassing.”

satoru squints, resuming to scroll down the glowing screen before a free hand of his trails toward your pussy. he hums, “aw, pretty girl’s got a hobby i didn’t even know of, hm. here, you say ‘he’s got you right on his lap, suppressing a moan with your teeth dug into the bottom of your lip as you’re taking him fully. .’ such nasty literature,” and the edges of your nails pierce into his pants leg. the half on long black slacks that satoru wore were merely all ruffled and ragged thanks to your pretty fingernails tugging at it with all its might. as he continues to read, you’re whining, desperate to move, desperate for at least some kind of friction. as you’re squirming on his lap, satoru’s eye then twitches. “ ‘gojo satoru also would whine in bed?’ this has to be a typo. .”

and of course, his ego gets bruised.

the pout on satoru’s face was adorable. as you’re trying to sturdy your hips, he buries his face into your chest. “mmph,” he’s shoved right between the softness of your tits, his personal happy place.

although—he had to admit, he was flattered that you wrote such lewd compositions about him. you moan as you’re grinding against him, feeling his achy cock slam into you deep within each wet bounce. satoru makes a mess as he’s buried between your plush mounds, remnants of stringy saliva dribbling down the valley of your chest. pretty, his white lashes flutter as you’re quickening your hip movements and he gasps. “oh, f- fuck, angel. ‘s no fair when you ride me like thaaat.”

and you can’t help but giggle—despite your cock drunken state, he’s still got that little glower of a pout on his lips as you’re rutting into him.

satoru’s clenched abs flex more the second you run a finger down the sharp outline of his pecs, watching him immediately fold at your touch. “but you always whine, ‘toru,” you argue in a shivering voice, your cunt tightly squeezing around his length. his wide girth makes your mouth water, such thickness was just insane. you bury your unstable knees into the center of his thighs before his broad big arms wrap around you.

he’s holding you—almost squishing you.

but just like you wrote, satoru whines the second he ends up cumming early. with the way you ride him and the crazed speed of your hips, he never ever lasted long.

it was cute,

he was always confident until he’s buried deep inside your pussy, whining and sobbing pathetic cacophonies of your name at how good you feel clamping around him. it’s merry lukewarm, as he snaps, a puddle of thick syrupy cum shoots into you deep and he’s an entire frantic mess. pants of airy breath slip out of his pink lips as he’s giving you a fill, biting into your neck to hide his slutty whimpers. “god, ‘m gonna die,” he sniffles, squeezing pressure against your bare ass. you hold onto him tight as he’s pouring such slippery wads of seed into you at once—velvety hot amounts spit inside your pussy and you’re matching heavy gasps for air right with him, entirely in sync. “fuck, fuck baby, mommy.”

“what?”

“s- shut up,” he back tracks, and he sees the smug expression growing on your face. satoru lightly smacks a hand over his face before groaning, his cock all milked and flaccid. “i said baby.”

NANAMI ☆

tender mahongy eyes stare deep into your eyes as your fingers happily intertwine with his. tangled and curled, he’s got a soft grip as his body hovers completely over yours.

with ruffled blond strands running down the front of his forehead, nanami brings a kiss toward your cheek as he’s not just fucking you, but making love to you in missionary. “sweetheart, you left your laptop open you know,” and you moan once you feel his plump tip circle its way inside of your gummy inviting walls. already, you’re coating his entire dick with your slimy slick to the hilt. your eyes widen at his words before the left side of your twitching lip is met with another gentle kiss. “i didn’t mean to be nosy, but i saw a little ‘headcanon’ about me, is that what you call it?”

you glance into his eyes with abashed intent as a burning wave of heat sprays over your face. fuck, the pulse of your thumping heart only grew louder as your first response was utter silence.

“i—” you mutter out, and he chuckles at your lack of words, digging his head into your neck. nanami’s scent was strong, it goes through each of your nostrils and you felt yourself throbbing from his touch alone.

his strokes were tender and precise. he’s swaying back and forth as his bare body continues to rut straight into you. pent up muscles of his that were merely perfectly sculptured—identical to the physique of a greek god, you couldn’t help but stare. you just couldn’t help but ogle at how he’s so pretty, how fat tears of sweat race down both sides of his bulky arms. no one could blame you for writing about nanami, although—the things you wrote about him, they were pretty risqué to say the least. with a growing pout, your arms throw over his shoulders as he’s presenting your cunt blissful deep thrusts. “okay, i write about you sometimes, ‘ken. ‘m sorry.”

“sorry for what exactly? being talented, silly girl?” he whispers in a raspy tone.

nanami cups your chin so you could look right at him, naturally leaning into his touch. he focuses on the way your eyes soften and he’s plummeting girthy inches into you raw. your toes curl, running down his back and tickling the scratch marks that paint against his flushed skin. “don’t be sorry,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss near the crook of your neck. “i’m flattered. although, dirty talk isn’t exactly my forte. you know this, my love,” and you moan, feeling the edges of his teeth playfully nibble at your exposed flesh. as pounds of skin resume to smack against each other loudly, nanami slowly lifts up your leg, tossing it over your shoulder. “my favorite part had to be when you said i pulled on your hair ‘n called you a ‘messy whore’ .”

“y- you weren’t supposed to see that,” you nervously grin . . trying to avoid how you were so close to finishing. just a few more thrusts and that was it, you’d be finished, done for. you’ve felt embarrassed before—but never to this extent. he was teasing you, nanami kento was teasing you. and pathetically enough, your pussy twitched as he recited your exact filthy written words. the bed continues to creak and groan as jolting bodies move and move together, amongst each other, and on top of each other.

with kind eyes, nanami watches as you bring both of your hands up to your face, hoping to shield yourself from any more embarrassment.

“oh, honey,” he coos in a melodically low tone. his cock reached so deep that strangled moans flew out from your lips left and right. his tempo was always just right. he never wanted to lose control, but after reading your work, he knew you’d probably like that. crimson damp lips press under your chin before he grunts, preparing himself to be milked dry.

“hngh, don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he huffs, in a soft alluring voice. everything felt abnormally tender, nanami’s softly swerving his body against yours in irregular addictive arcs in such impassioned ardent. the more you stare into your eyes—the more your blown pupils dilate.

once he cup both sides of your face, you lean into his touch. his base was thick, swollen and full. you craved him more than anything, and it’s as if your words were actually coming to life.

“there she is, that’s my girl,” he grits in a raspy voice, prying your hands away from your face. his touch was forevermore gentle. with a soft smile, nanami presses his twitching ruby lips onto yours as you both prepare to cum in euphoric torrent. bedaubing a plump thumb over your bottom quivering lip, he slows his thrusts down a few beats—hearing you vocal pussy’s squelches before a wrinkle of a smile curls against his lips. “now, now. make a mess on your husband’s cock jus how you write them in your little stories, my love.”

GETO ☆

“oh, boo. looks like someone’s innocent all of a sudden when she’s not writing ‘bout dick, hm? wonder why that is,” geto hums, propped right up between your trembly legs. he’s staring at you with a sly smirk that refuses to wipe off his lips. two of his hands spread your thighs apart more before kissing near your slobbering exposed pussy.

with a cunning grin, he gives your drooling folds a few friendly taps as if it was a little mic test. “finish that paragraph. c’mon, wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.”

a salty taste of shame fills and salivates inside of your mouth as you watch him with heart shaped pupils. he’s got the most hungry gaze, a bit of spit already dribbling from the thin corners of his lips.

“um, okay,” you moan, picking up your phone again, leisurely dragging a thumb down the neatly typed paragraphs. “it says, ‘you whine, taking s-suguru’s thick fingers happily into your slippery cunt. long digits of his rummage their way inside before curling all around. once suguru spits on your p- pussy, he pats it and calls it a good girl.’ ”

“like this?” geto snickers—copying your exact words, using the flat palm of his hand to rub against your bare clit. you whimper, entirely sensitive as his thick digits toy with your soddened folds. your thighs continue to jostle and shake and he found it so adorable at how you just couldn’t stay still. so cute, he’s got darkened irises focused on you and only you the entire time. these seconds felt like hours, and as he gathers a nice amount of saliva, he spits right on your cunt. just like you wrote it . . you gasp at the sloppy cold saliva cascading down your pussy. the cobwebby strands that pour from his lips had such a pretty glimmer to it. the warm breath of geto that fans against your entrance makes you twitch in elated pleasure.

he’s so sloppy, unapologetically. just like your drabble said—he then pats your cunt with an open palm before leaning right up close, pulling a thumb down your pulsating uvula before licking it passionately. “good fuckin’ girl.”

you whine, your knees practically buckling and he’s just eating your expressions up. “y- yes— like that, fuck,” you move a few long black strands away from his face. geto dips two fingers inside and he stretches you out so easily with his digits. your lips form into a cute ‘o’ shape as you mewl out a desperate cry for more. as he’s watching you succumb into such bliss, he’s got such a pretty face. it makes his dick twitch in his sweats at the thought of you writing about how he goes down on you. the specifics, how sloppy he is, even how he spanks your cunt only to then shamelessly lick the slick mess right up with his tongue.

the thought that probably hundreds of your horny little readers read about this, about him, about his tongue . .

geto’s tongue was ruthless.

he lays it flat against your cunt before fluttering his long black lashes closed. he huskily groans, not even caring that you weren’t reading anymore. as his brows arch into a contorting furrow, he slides in two fat fingers. you whimper at the sudden big yet deliciously enthralling stretch, yanking roughly on his hair. “s . . sugu,” he pulls his slick covered fingers out, licking them clean whilst staring you right in the eyes. you tremor within his hold, feeling his palms tighten its grasp on both of your thighs. you couldn’t lie, this felt a lot better than fiction. so much better . .

he’s making out with your pussy, swirling his tongue around and spelling out all of the letters of his name. creating such a mess, your slick then starts to stream down his chin to which he happily licks it up. groaning, geto then slurps at your drenched hole before giving it yet another kiss. his chin had such luminescent shine to it. you cup his face with shaky hands as he’s eating you out through another orgasm and he jibes.

“mhm, your writing could use a bit more dirty talk though,” he critiques, swiping a thumb against his lips before he spanks your cunt for the umpteenth time.

with your legs sporadically quivering, he playfully bites on your clit, watching you squeal as you’re riding orgasm out on his tongue. “oh, and make sure you add in your little fics that i bite pretty clits too.”

CHOSO ☆

“bottom? w- what’s a bottom?”

choso quirks a brow in cute confusion, slouching back as you’re still getting over your most recent orgasm.

both pounds of sweltering skin melt into each other, sticking together like glue as your hips grow unsteady. choso was reading one of your published works and he can’t help but grow curious. the way you wrote about him, how you portrayed him as whiny and submissive, it does something to him—he personally always thought he was dominant. cute. .

“oh, don’t worry about that, baby,” you timidly utter, trying to conceal an incoming moan once his cock buries its way deep in yet again. he’s nice and snug everyone and it drives him crazy. choso’s got a pout—but it quickly turns into a lewd expression once your sopping pussy swallows him right up again. two jittery hands creep their way onto your rickety hips and he moans once he feels himself already bottoming out. “f- fuck, cho.”

his eyebrows were still all furrowed and he’s got a cute scrunched up expression. “ ‘m not a bottom,” choso grumps, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of your mouth. despite the raspiness lingering underneath his tone—you could hear the incoming whine desperately trying to escape. choso’s black ponytails had cute ribbons in them—by you, and he’s biting his lip at the feeling of your hips starting to grind. “i- i can be dominant too.”

“prove it,” you whisper, a bratty impish glint forming in your eyes. choso scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you but it doesn’t last at all because he’s already pussy drunk to the max.

those two words. . those two words was all it took for him to manhandle you like a rag doll, politely and respectfully tossing you into the springy soft mattress.

it bounces from the abrupt weight crashing down and you gasp once choso backs up his words, and oh, he’s fucking you stupid. you let off a gargled three second moan once choso spanks your ass, using one hand to repeatedly drag you back into his chiseled hips. sharp thrusts plow into you with such speed that you’re left with a dumbfounded expression. your eyes were rolling back and your tongue was lolled out as choso was fucking you in doggy.

as much as you write about him, he doesn’t like doggy, mainly because he can’t see your pretty face. it kills him—but he can’t deny that the view of you like this was so pretty, so enticing. your buckling knees lock as you’re cupping a hand over your mouth, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

choso’s cock was so weighty and thick that it’s got a lazy curve, a mean curve that makes itself known in every part of your insides. he’s no stranger to your body, he knows the exact layout. such stamina—you didn’t expect him to be so feral, it’s as if he was an entire different person. “fuck, fuuuck,” he throws his head back, giving your ass more and more hard spanks. the recoil was his favorite. it was just the way your pretty shaped ass would bounce back onto him. he’s in love with love, in love with your pussy, in love with you. “ngh, gotta show you ‘m not a bottom, baby.”

“c- choso,” you whimper, and his fat base swings against your ass, almost shocking you from the electric friction. you’re drooling—he’s got you stupid as your swollen chaste clit bumps up against his pelvis every single time. the bed hollers out a plethora of cries as he’s jerking more and more into you. your cunt’s drooling dewy slick all down the undersides of your thighs. you even make an attempt at trying to touch yourself. with slickness though, choso snatches your wrist away.

“no baby. ‘s my pussy,” he grumbles, pinning an arm behind your back. you’re babbling—squatting forward as he’s feeding your needy pussy with such inches. choso hisses at the brief twinges of pleasure all due to your sloppy grip. you’re brutal, wetting up his base with your dewy slick. he can’t help but stare and gawk at the way your ass presses up against him. choso’s bottom lip quivers at how good it feels and how good you feel. no matter how much of a front he puts up, he’s gonna whine. “f- fuck. teasin’ me with your hips, baby. so mean.”

yet as he’s dragging you back and forth, watching as your chest heaving and your thighs try to clamp inward—you abruptly cum, gushing all over choso’s cock. he huffs at how sudden it was, and he knew you didn’t expect it in the slightest. so pretty, your final orgasmic cries sounded like a sweet candied harmony and he could feel your quavering body breaking down with his shaft still shoved deeply inside. your mess soaks up the entirety of the dark sheet, now being drenched in a damp grey color. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, shaking as your head slumps into the pillow. choso whines at your own pleasure, and he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t finish. he pulls out, crawling toward you before burying his face into the nook of your neck. “c- choso, oh my g- god.”

as your flimsy arms hold him close, accepting his embrace, he goes back to his clingy needy self again, speaking in a shivering soft voice. “h- have you ever wrote about squirting yet?”

with droopy eye lids, you were longing for a kiss. as if he read your mind, he leans in—planting a sultry balmy kiss right onto your lips. “no,” you mumble, moving a few strands out of his face.

choso licks near your neck, one of his hands sprawling your sticky legs apart and he brushes a finger against your slick wet cunt. “w- well, you can always write about that,” and you gasp once he lifts your leg up, easily tossing it over his shoulder. with pleading eyes, choso sighs. “but, can we do that again, baby? i- i think i like when you squirt on me.”

SUKUNA ☆

“breeding kink, interesting,” the demon gruffs, hearing you whine after he swipes his phone from your hand, wondering what in the actual hell could be so important.

he’s reading a strange explicit story of himself that’s apparently called a ‘one shot,’ according to you. how stupid, he thinks. sukuna’s irked vermillion-shot eyes skim through the many paragraphs of filth before he spanks your ass, making you keep your most recent arch.

“ah, seems like y’r even more nasty than i thought,” and your breath hitches once he circles a palm over your stinging rear cheek— an attempt at soothing the sudden pang. hearing your cute muffled whimpers, he mocks your noises. “aw, if you wanted me to ‘breed’ you princess, you could have just asked.”

“ ‘kuna, ‘s embarrassing,” you moan, gasping once he smears his leaky tip against your entrance. he was right - you could’ve ask, you could have asked him to do all the little dirty things you wrote about, you could have . .

swallowing the invisible lump that resides at the roof of your mouth, you imagine yourself being stuffed full of sukuna’s cum. so much to where he ends up getting you all swollen—you’d be nothing but sitting pretty with a cute plump tummy, wads and wads of glossy runny cum just slickly dribbling down the sides of your ass and thighs.

“write like a slut ‘n you even act like one too,” he hums, using a thumb to slide down your pussy. sukuna’s staring openly at how you’re already so soaked, so drenched and he looks like he’s ready to feast. your puffy folds glisten with your own arousal and it’s so so cute. “wonder if you write while havin’ a pussy this sloppy too,” and he smacks it raw, feeling your entire body jolt from the sudden impact. you fall into the soft padded mattress and he darkly chuckles at your weakly spot-on reaction time, aligning himself. “poor baby. spendin’ all this time writing when you could’ve been getting . . ah, what’s the word? oh, right. bred, heh.”

and sukuna does more than just breed you—he quite literally overflows your cunt. he’s a demon, and demons cum a lot.

you’re an entire puddled mess that was filled to the brim.

the sheets were all damp and stained and you’re glistening with droplets of perspiration—radiating from his heat entirely. “s- sukuna, fuck,” you weep out his name, hearing the sloppy spurts of cum still dribbling out of you. such a mess, your mouth waters as you realize just how full you are. you always wrote about this sort of thing but never knew that your silly fiction could turn into mere reality. both of your thighs stick together as you’re left trembling with an arch in your back. he’s cackling at your state, watching as globs of creamy ropes leak out of your slobbering pussy.

“how cute, jus might mess around ‘n get you pregnant, yeah,” the demon jibes, a sharp fang poking underneath his bottom lip. you’re haplessly quivering. your panties that were lazily dragged to the side were all torn and ripped, coated in a ivory white color also. as you’re trying to collect breaths—you then let off a moan once he presses himself deep against you.

your womb was completely flooded, you’re drowning with his stringy cum and with his hot burly body right up against you, you feel him right there. you couldn’t miss it, he’s so long and thick that he’s practically tickling your goopy insides. sukuna wraps a hand around your throat whilst another hand sneaks toward your pussy. “bet you’d like that, fuckin’ freak,” and he’s smearing circles against your folds. you twitch at his cursed hand, his cock still tucked inside of you before he laughs against your ear. “you want a baby, huh. wanna carry my demon babies, don’t ya princess?”

you nod and he lets off a snicker of amusement. “keh. bet you do,” and his voice lowly pitches. you moan, feeling him pull out of your dripping cunt, plugging his spilling cum back in with a single thumb. “fuck, better write about this too, princess. let all your pathetic readers know how much of a sloppy pussy their favorite author has,” and you gasp once he quickly flips you over. sukuna suddenly dives head first between your legs, lapping his flick tongue against your folds. “mmph, now watch me clean you up,” and he spits on your pussy only to then look at it with disgust. “messy girl.”

TOJI ☆

“nuh uh, get the fuck back here babygirl,” he grabs you by the hip, and you let off a moan once his fingers trail up your skirt. a wavering crinkle prods near the edge of his left twitching eye as he’s processing such raunchy words about him. a dry chortle leaves from toji’s mouth as he makes you lie on your tummy, multitasking by slapping his swollen cockhead on your dribbling folds. “ya always told me you were a writer but i didn’t think you write ‘bout this,” he purrs, and your toes curl once he’s aligning himself against your slick heat. but fuck was your cunt just was drooling for him. both folds were weeping for him to just go in already, and yet here he was - teasing you. “really? what’s with the whole ‘toji daddy kink’ thing? i look like the kinda guy that’s into that?”

you feel embarrassment creep up your shoulder. he was reading that part, the part where reader calls him ‘daddy.’

sheepishly trying to crawl away from his grasp, you swallow ignominy. “ ‘s not real, i just made it up toji,” you try to explain through gritted teeth. but as he’s reeling you back into his keen structed hips, you lewdly mewl. he’s just so fucking big, happily massaging your walls freely with just a few inches. your mouth widens as you hear him lowly snickering in the background. a snickering laugh that never failed to make your pussy throb.

toji grabs at the fat of your ass, stubby fingertips poking through your skin. with a mean spank, it’s a non-verbal sign for you to stay still. “y’er a fuckin’ slut with your writing, baby. i bet ya haven’t even tried these kinks,” he teases, and you moan again once his cock delves deeper into your walls. with such ease, you back raises up into an even sluttier arch. “hm, lets see if y’er as nasty as you write,” and you hear him grunt briefly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your neck. toji gets right up close to your ear, flicking his tongue against your soft earlobe. “go on, say it.”

“s- say what?” you squeak, but you knew exactly what he wanted. never in a million years would you have thought toji would discover your little erotic hobby. by now, he’s balls deep—you whine, feeling yet another sharp swat smack against your left ass cheek at the lack of response. you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek in guilt before you hear toji smack his lips in sheer vex.

“c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs in a hoarse tone, salacious timbre pouring on his entire voice. toji feels your pussy dripping around him and he hums, giving you just one single tease of a thrust. your body jerks forward and you whimper sweetly. he’s so close up to you, hard washboard abs of his that were proudly flexing grinds against your back. he’s pressing his muscular weight onto you, careful not to crush you but just enough to. inching his lips back toward your ear, he kisses near your neck. “call me daddy. jus like how you write me, little girl.”

as you’re feeling a few throbbing pangs between your thighs, you shiver underneath him. burying your head in shame between your arms, you whine. “ngh, daddy,” and a weird feeling pools around the insides of your stomach. butterflies and a mixture of flutters swarm inside of you and you moan. once those words slip past your lips so prettily, toji raspily groans. he pistons his hips before not even seconds later, he’s fucking you stupid. babbles of babbles leave from you, and you’re acting just like the main character you write for. ironic, you’re clinging onto the silky cream-colored sheets, bawling up the thinly-made fabric with your clammy fists before squealing. “fuck, daddy ‘m not gonna last.”

“should hear how stupid you fuckin’ sound, baby,” he growls, merciless hips snapping into you at full throttle. you were gonna break, you just knew it. toji’s thrusts were so powerful that you’re left squeaking out pathetic whimpers—his cock stretching you out as if you were elastic. “fuck,” he runs a hand through his messy dark tresses. his shaggy strands were unkempt, overgrown a bit and running down his eyes. he’s got to cock his head up a bit just to see your pretty face and your even prettier ass. “c’monnn, do that cute arch you describe in y’r slutty fics.”

“t- tojiii,” you whimper, the weight of the bed dipping after each continuous stroke. he’s thorough. toji’s maddened fat tip has your legs becoming more and more unstable before he smacks your ass. the powerful hit against your rear rings through each of your ears—and you pout, gnawing on your lip, knowing he wants you to correct yourself. “ngh, i- i mean daddy. ‘m gonna cum, fuck.”

but right when you’re about to finish, you’re interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of wood. you’re moaning—feeling your pussy continue to squeeze around his throbbing length that’s coated with veins all the way down to the tan swollen base. it’s loud, you gasp once the weight of the springy bed suddenly drops and you both collapse—toji falling on top of you. he doesn’t even say anything, and he pulls you up to continue fucking you but you let off a whiny whimper. “you just broke my b-bed.”

“yeah, so.”

“so..? you’re gonna have to buy me a new one.”

“right. about that . .”

[goyardgoyangi]

street racer! sukuna flying you out

You’ve never flown this far for a man before. Not for a boyfriend. Not for family. And Sukuna’s neither of those things—not exactly. Not officially.

But when your phone lit up at 2:03 a.m. with his name and a text that read: Tickets in your email. I want you there, you didn’t even hesitate.

You stared at the screen for maybe thirty seconds, heart pounding like a drum in your throat, rereading the words until they didn’t look like real language anymore.

The airport is a blur of escalators, overpriced coffee, and stiff plastic seats. Your fingers wrap tight around the phone in your lap the entire time, like it might vanish if you let go. You keep checking the itinerary like the tickets will disappear, like he might change his mind.

The flight is quiet. Too quiet. You keep looking out the window even though the clouds all start to look the same after a while. You scroll through old texts—most of them short, chaotic, voice notes, a few shirtless selfies he never even commented on after sending. There’s one photo of you he took when you weren’t looking, sun hitting your skin just right.

You wonder if he looks at it too.

The room he booked was ridiculous—plush king bed, balcony overlooking the city, bathroom big enough to echo in. The towels are folded like little swans, and there’s a basket of fruit on the coffee table that you know he didn’t pick, but somehow it still feels like a love language.

You glance at the bed, then toward the empty side of the room. He’s not here.

Your heart dips before you catch yourself. You’re not here for him like that. Not officially. Not yet.

Still, your name is on the reservation. You wonder if he had to spell it out loud—if he got annoyed when they asked for your ID, or if he said it proud like it meant something. You picture him at the front desk, arms crossed, scowling while the poor receptionist stammers through the check-in. The thought makes your stomach flutter.

By the time you make it to the track, the sun is brutal and the crowd feels like it’s vibrating. Everything is loud: the engines revving like wild animals, bass-heavy music pulsing through the speakers, vendors yelling about merch and drinks and souvenir flags. And there it is—his banner. Sukuna’s face smirking down from the overhead display, tattoos sharp beneath the collar of his fireproof suit. He looks like he was born for this, like chaos bends around him.

You try to shrink into your hoodie. You feel like you shouldn’t be here—like you’re intruding on a moment that belongs to him. You’re just a girl in the crowd, aren’t you? A fly-in. Temporary.

But then— “Thought I told you to be in the VIP tent.”

You turn, heart skipping—and there he is.

Hair tied back, suit half unzipped and slung around his waist, black tank clinging to his chest like it was painted on. His tattoos coil around his biceps, disappearing beneath fabric in smooth lines that look almost sacred. He’s squinting against the sunlight, sunglasses dangling from one hand, and he’s looking at you like he’s been scanning the crowd for hours just to find you.

“Hey,” you breathe, surprised by how relieved you feel at the sight of him.

He looks you up and down, then sighs, “Didn’t I tell you to wait where it’s shady?”

You shrug, trying not to smile. “Didn’t want to be in the way.”

He steps closer, tugging on the sleeve of your jacket with two fingers. “You wearing sunscreen?”

“…No?”

He shakes his head, muttering something about stubborn girls under his breath, and pulls a small travel tube from his back pocket like he knew you'd be reckless. He doesn’t even say anything—just squeezes some into his palm and gently smooths it across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His fingers are rough but careful, his brow furrowed in concentration like he’s tuning a car, not touching a girl.

You blink up at him, stunned silent.

“There,” he murmurs. “Can’t have you going back sunburned.”

“You always take care of your pit crew like this?”

He snorts. “You think I flew you out here just to keep you hidden?”

You roll your eyes at his sass. “Didn’t fly me first class either.”

“You liked that window seat or not?”

You try not to laugh, but he sees the way your mouth pulls into a smile, the way your eyes soften. He always sees it.

You always do this—pretend it’s casual, pretend he doesn’t mean more than he should. Pretend the butterflies are just nerves, pretend you’re just friends with benefits with frequent flyer miles. But the way he’s looking at you now… the way he touches you like you matter? It makes pretending feel stupid.

He steps in until your toes nearly touch. “Come with me.”

You blink. “Where?”

“To the pit. I want you there when I line up.”

Your brows lift. “Are you sure?”

He leans in, voice low. “I don’t want to look over and not see you.”

Your chest twists. “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ do,” he says easily—like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been true.

You’re still short-circuiting when he laces his fingers with yours and starts pulling you through the crowd. His hand is warm, a little calloused, his grip loose but certain. It’s not just for show. He doesn’t let go, not once. Not when security waves you through. Not when pit crew nod in passing, glancing at you like you’re familiar. Like you belong.

It’s chaos around you, heat and noise and movement, but he stays close—always checking if you’re still beside him. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand once, slow and thoughtless. You wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

When you reach the pit, his car glints under the sun like a weapon. Matte black, red striping, the number 20 on the hood. Same number tattooed on his hands. You’re not even into cars, but you have to admit—this one looks mean. Fast. Like it has a heart that beats the same as his.

He lets go of your hand to shrug on his fireproof jacket and zip it up. A crew member hands him his helmet. You catch him sneaking a glance at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“You nervous?” you ask, voice soft.

He’s quiet for a second, then glances at the track, then at you. “Nah. Not about the race.”

That shouldn’t hit the way it does, but it does.

You cross your arms, chewing the inside of your cheek while he tugs on his gloves. You don’t know what to say. You’re not even sure what you are to him.

But before the crew can herd him toward the lineup, Sukuna turns to you again.

“You stay right here, yeah?” His voice is low, almost drowned out by the rising engines. “Don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t,” you say quietly.

He steps in close again, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes locked on yours.

Then—just when you think he might lean in to whisper something—

He kisses your forehead.

Not your cheek. Not your lips.

Your forehead.

It’s simple, but it knocks the air out of you.

He pulls back just a little. “Be good.”

You nod, a little dumb. A little dizzy.

And when he turns to walk toward the car, you already know—whether he wins or not, whether this thing between you ever has a name—you’ll remember this moment forever.

[sunni-stuff]

He married you immediately after his discharge, deciding rather quickly that why wait, he knew what he wanted, he had all the time in the world now that there wasn't a lingering cross hair on the back of his head 24/7.

So he tied the knot, a quaint ceremony with only the lads and a few of your family members, nothing too fancy while appealing to all of your demands.

Next was the house, Simon insisted on building himself only to be joined by his old team, who refused to leave him alone despite not being in the military anymore. They all spent years together, side by side, in some of the shittiest places imaginable, and now they were helping him build his dream cabin a bit a way from the city, his little peace and quiet.

Price teases him for gaining weight, a testamant of your cooking. Johnny jokes about Simon needing to share, earning himself a glare that could boil water and Gaz? Well, he couldn't help but snag a couple bites of your food whenever possible, eating from the retired lieutenants lunch.

The ongoing peace was something Simon never imagined for himself.

Truth be told, he wouldn't have retired at all if it wasn't for the uncontrollably shake in his hands when idle. Simon tried to hide it—get control of the tremors. But nothing could, and eventually, it became an issue. No longer was he able to sit in long perches. The insistent shaking left him mixed focused, unable to concentrate.

Simon wasn't a man who liked to admit he had a weakness, so the true nature of his discharge had always been a mystery to you. Until he returned to your temporary home one night, struggling to pour himself a glass without his hands battling their own ongoing earthquake.

All it took was your gentle touch on his arm, cooing if he was alright to ease the trembling. He didn't know how or why you had such an effect on him. Simon placed the cup away, hands sinking into your plush hips, face buried in your hair, your softness a palm to his unease, salve to his wound, an angel sent from heaven just for him, a sinner who didn't deserve this life.

What would he do without you?

[cathnospam]

Your best friend Bakugo kisses you in your sleep..

It’s weird, yeah, but he doesn’t seem to want to stop himself.

All, because of ONE kiss you both shared after graduation. Your lips were soft and sweet as cotton candy, so plush and pillowy he almost caught himself getting mad when you pulled back.

It was a simple action, you both agreed it was just something that was the heat of the moment since you both never had a first kiss, it really didn’t mean much

Or so Bakugo thought.

He nearly became secretly obsessed with your lips, the lip combos you wore he paid more attention, sometimes buying you new glosses to try and leaving them on your desk, the way they curve when you smile, he doesn’t even do eye contact that much with you anymore he just steals glances at your pretty little mouth. He hated it.

He hated how much he wanted another kiss. It was like an irking craving he was conflicted to satisfy.

He would always sleep in your dorm on weekends, wanting to relax even though some may argue he is just your little Velcro bestie. You fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie and while reaching over to grab a blanket his lips brushed against yours.

Bakugo’s movements stilled. Your lips were just as soft as they were 2 months ago. He was still obsessed, it was as if he got a taste of Heaven, and your kisses was from an angel.

So he dipped his head again with caution. Nearly holding his breath as his lips landed on yours. You didn’t wake up.

Bakugo rubbed his soft warm hand on your cheek while his became hot, mumbling on how stupid he is to do such a thing without you knowing. He had a mind to kiss you harder, maybe you’ll wake up and catch him. Slap him back into some sense because he wasn’t making any.

And he did, but you still didn’t budge.

Eventually it became a routine, he’d come over, you dose off before he does and he steals small pecks here and there while you slept beside him, he wasn’t the best kisser so he practiced. Some nights he would wake up just to kiss you again.

Pecking his lips on your cheek down to your lips and kissing you, it helped him become softer with his touches towards you as well. He liked doing it.

Eventually he will tell you, he doesn’t want to keep up this routine especially if you’re both aren’t in a relationship, he usually holds you tightly against him, admiring your face before he leans in.

Many mornings you wake up on his chest or buried in his neck. Grinning, kissing his cheek as he was a deep sleeper himself.

You liked all the kisses he gave you while you slept too.

[bbokicidal]

[REUPLOAD] skz + hands (and how they use them)

warnings: hand kink, sexual content (MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), squirting (hyunjin), putting that i mention jeongins church ring in here bc some people are religious n i aint tryna stir the pot

notes: a reupload from my previous blog !!

Chris : Man absolutely fingers you to the Gods. He's the type to know his hands drive you wild and he will absolutely use it to his advantage. That little 'Hall of Fame' move? Yeah - he's doing that shit to you under the dinner table when you join the boys for a night out. He's extremely good at using his hands to coax an orgasm out of you. (And you best bet he rubs over your clit with his thumb. Man is too experienced in fingering at this point. He knows all of your weak points.)

conclusion: uses his index and ring finger during sex + thumb for the clit <3 skilled enough to use one hand and make it amazing

Minho :  He... *sigh.* I'm going to be that person and say that when he fingers you, you can feel the veins in his fingers. Not in a gross way - in a like, textured... ribbed-for-your-pleasure-dildo kind of way. His hands are soft - incredibly so - and because of how the blood pools in his hands any time he lowers them below his ribcage, you just feel it when he's kneeling over you and two fingers deep in your pussy. He'll use his free hand to touch and pinch at your clit though - he's a little too disoriented to use just one hand. But he loves the way his hand looks when he grabs at the plush of your thigh and the veins in his hand become more prominent the tighter he holds onto you, keeping you open for him.

conclusion: uses his middle and ring finger during sex, uses the opposite thumb for the clit <3 too eager to use one hand, gets messy and uses two

Changbin : He - Girl. He.. *sigh pt. 2* He's the type to not...? finger as much? But more, use his hands to spread your pussy open for him so he can shove his tongue as deep as possible into you. He's going to use his hands to hold your thighs apart (as if his broad ass shoulders dont push your thighs open enough) but he's going to do it specifically by putting his hands on the junction between your thighs and hips and splaying his fingers are far apart as he can. (also an ass grabber.)

conclusion: enjoys some good handfuls of ass while he eats you out

Hyunjin : Absolutely fingers you - but always does three instead of two because he's an overachiever. He's going to be fucking you with his fingers so hard that the fucking wet squelches that come from your pussy are NOTHING short of absolutely drop dead sinful. Y'both goin' to Hell for the way he destroys your pussy with his hand. Also, who cares about the clit. You're not even going to be worrying about that because you'll be too busy squirming and crying at the way he fucks you with his fingers.

conclusion: the type to fuck you with his hands so hard that you squirt. that's his end goal.

Jisung : Less of a finger-er, more of an eater. A grabber. Very grabby. He'll hoist your legs over his shoulders (mf is broad and nobody ever talks about it bc they're too focused on his waist) and slip his arms (which are again- big as FUCK) under your thighs so he can rest his hands on your abdomen. He likes feeling over your sides and tummy, maybe even reaching up to pinch your nipples and he's absolutely going to be just groping and kneading at your breasts when you start to squirm against his face.

conclusion: likes to grope and grab, knows you enjoy the feeling of his hands on your body.

Felix : Again, less of someone who fingers and moreso someone who eats. Man is hungry. Man needs that meal. Man - needs that meat. (LMAO SORRY) Anyway absolutely will grab at you while he eats you out. But unlike Ji where he's groping and grabbing and whatever - Felix will slap his hands on your thighs, arms wrapped under your legs, and then he'll lay there and eat - and knead at your skin while he does it. There is never a moment where his fingers aren't digging into the soft plush of your thighs and kneading the skin, pulling lightly on it and feeling how it bulges between his fingers. He's weak for it.

conclusion: thigh man 100%

Seungmin : The type to start by eating you out and letting you relax and think you're being taken care of but then slip his middle finger in and fuck you with it while he abuses you with his tongue. No warning, just a sudden intrusion that's definitely not unwelcome. Uses his free hand to pin your abdomen/hips down to the mattress so you can't move around too much. Also the type to absolutely bury his face in your pussy and try 'n get his tongue as deep into you as he possibly can. A messy eater.

conclusion: eats you out like you're his last meal but likes to keep you on your toes and wiggly. he thinks you're so cute.

Jeongin : We all know he's got pretty hands. (next to seungmo, imo.) So we know he's going to use his long fucking fingers to destroy your pussy. Definitely the type to use his middle and ring finger to fuck you, free hand splayed over your thigh to push it away from his head. You swear on God he's pushing at your cervix every time he goes knuckle deep and it makes you try to close your thighs but he refuses to let it happen and holds you open. Where Seungmin fucks you with his tongue and his fingers - Jeongin fucks you with his fingers and lets his mouth take care of your clit only. But his tongue is a topic for another time. 

conclusion: certified clit sucker. has the longest fingers known to mankind and keeps his rosary ring ON while you fuck.

[enhaboon]

something soft grew here | lhs

pairing: single dad!heeseung x fem!reader

genres: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn

wc: 8.4k

warnings: mentions of past grief (deceased wife/sibling), child illness (fever)

synopsis: when heeseung moves into a quiet neighbourhood with his daughter after losing his wife, not expecting love to bloom again—until it did.

notes: my first fic! i was trying to find something with a similar storyline but i couldn’t so i just wrote my own LOL english is my first language but i lowkey still suck at it haha… hope y’all enjoy it!

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung didn’t mean to move in during spring, but the season didn’t ask for permission.

it was the kind of weather that made the world look deceptively alive. branches tipping open into bloom, skies bright but gentle, the smell of soil clinging to the air like it wanted to be remembered.

he hadn’t noticed at first.

not when he was hauling boxes alone from the car to the small house with the creaky porch. not when yuri stood in the driveway beside him, hugging a plush bunny she no longer spoke to. not even when he stepped into the quiet space they were supposed to make feel like home and thought: it’ll never be hers.

grief has its way of hardening you. pulling everything soft in you inwards and convincing it not to come back out.

heeseung used to be warmer. he thinks.

maybe.

but that was a different version of himself — a version that still laughed easily, that held her hand in grocery stores, that braided his daughter’s hair without trembling fingers.

that man was buried with her.

and now he was just this.

a man trying to build a life out of rubble, one unpacked box at a time.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri didn’t talk much in those first few days. she nodded when he asked if she was hungry, followed him without protest, sat cross-legged in her little pink room while he arranged furniture half-heartedly. sometimes she stared out the window, toward the neighbour’s house — the one with the white picket fence and the flowers blooming wild across the front yard. they were mostly pink. some tall and reaching, others low and curled. the kind that made you pause for no reason other than beauty.

he hadn’t noticed them at first.

but yuri had.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

it happened on a morning like any other. sunlight slicing through half-closed blinds, cereal bowls barely touched. he’d been sweeping leaves from the front step when he looked up and realised yuri wasn’t in the yard anymore.

his chest tightened.

but then he saw her. small. crouched near the fence. her hands full of freshly picked flowers.

panic pushed his steps forward. “yuri!”

she jumped, startled and turned around.

the woman whose garden it was stepped outside at the same moment, barefoot on the stone path, a watering can in her hand and a soft expression on her face.

“i’m sorry,” yuri said quickly, clutching the blooms. “i just wanted to take some for appa. he always brings flowers to mommy.”

heeseung’s mouth went dry. the woman’s expression shifted. something gentler settling behind her eyes.

“it’s okay,” she said quietly, crouching down to meet yuri’s height. “you can take them. that’s a very kind reason.”

heeseung reached them, placing a hand lightly on yuri’s shoulder. “i’m so sorry,” he said, this time more firmly. “she shouldn’t be here.”

“it’s alright. really.”

he shook his head. “she didn’t ask. that’s not okay.”

“i didn’t mean to steal,” yuri whispered.

“i know,” heeseung said, softer now, but still tugging her gently back toward their side of the fence.

“let’s go.”

she didn’t argue, only looked over her shoulder once.

the woman gave her a small smile and a wave.

heeseung didn’t return either.

but later that night, while yuri slept curled on her side and the house exhaled into its new silence, heeseung sat at the table, staring at the crumpled flowers his daughter had picked.

a part of him ached at how much they reminded him of the bouquets he used to leave at the cemetery. how little hands still tried to comfort when they themselves needed so much.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the next morning, he left a single flower on the woman’s porch.

he didn’t leave a note. didn’t knock. just placed it on the step, looked once at the blossoms still swaying in her front yard and walked home.

it became a quiet ritual after that.

a flower each morning. fresh. carefully chosen. sometimes wrapped in brown paper. sometimes left bare.

she never mentioned it. never came to the door. but the flowers kept appearing.

so she began placing them in a narrow glass vase on her windowsill.

sometimes two. sometimes three. always displayed where he could see them when he passed.

he didn’t mean for it to mean anything. but there was something oddly grounding about it.

the stillness of it. the silent exchange.

and somehow, he kept going back.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri didn’t ask questions at first. maybe she knew not to. maybe grief had taught her which silences to honour. she stayed close, never strayed again.

until one afternoon, when he found her sitting by the garden gate, hands resting on the edge of the wood, eyes focused on the woman’s house.

“she said i could help her water the plants,” yuri murmured. “only if you say yes.”

heeseung froze.

“she’s nice,” yuri added. “she said the plants like when you talk to them.”

his chest pulled tight. he looked across the path to where the woman stood among the peonies, hair tied back, sunlight touching her cheeks.

“i don’t know her,” he said quietly.

“i like her,” yuri whispered.

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the fence between them.

eventually, he nodded. once.

yuri lit up. ran across barefoot.

he watched them — his daughter, laughing again. the woman kneeling beside her, guiding her hands to the soil.

something about the sight felt dangerous.

like hope.

like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready for.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung kept his distance.

at first, he told himself it was for safety. for caution. he didn’t know her. not really. just a name scribbled on a mailbox and a presence that always seemed soft around the edges. but kindness, he’d learned, wasn’t always permanent. and warm people could disappear too.

so he watched from afar.

he stood near the sidewalk while yuri helped water the beds. watched her brush soil from her knees and point at the lavender stems like she was discovering a new world. sometimes he stayed just long enough to hear their voices drift back — low and contented, the kind of conversation where no one was in a rush to leave.

heeseung didn’t say anything. just nodded when y/n offered him a polite smile. folded his arms. waited until yuri looked up and waved her goodbye.

she always waved goodbye.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the house didn’t feel as quiet after that. not in the usual way. yuri began humming again — soft, off-tune, usually something she picked up from the garden. she started talking about soil and bugs and “companion planting,” which she explained like it was magic. heeseung listened, half-amused, half-wary.

“she said flowers like friends,” yuri told him one night at dinner. “some grow better next to each other.”

he didn’t know what to say to that. but she smiled anyway.

y/n had a gentle kind of presence. soothing, without needing to fill silence. heeseung noticed how she never asked questions that reached too far, how she didn’t pry. she just listened, offered yuri a second set of gloves, explained things in a way that didn’t talk down. it was the first time since the funeral he’d seen his daughter light up like that.

he knew he should be grateful.

but instead, he felt the dull edge of fear pressing into his ribs again.

because this, whatever this was, was something yuri could get used to. and he couldn’t promise it would last.

he never wanted her to know the weight of losing someone twice.

that fear stayed quiet for a while, buried beneath summer air and the sound of yuri laughing as she chased a butterfly between rows of cosmos. heeseung kept his guard up, even as the mornings blurred into routine. even as he found himself lingering longer at the gate. even as his fingers stopped trembling when he packed yuri’s snacks and told her, “you can go over after school, if she says it’s okay.”

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one afternoon, as yuri dug beside a row of marigolds, she asked without looking up, “y/n, what’s your favourite flower?”

y/n leaned back on her palms, squinting at the sky. “that’s hard,” she said. “but maybe… pink bleeding hearts.”

yuri giggled. “why?”

“they’re delicate,” y/n said after a pause. “they only bloom when the conditions are just right. and they don’t last long. but when they show up-” she reached forward, brushing a petal with her thumb. “-they’re unforgettable. they remind me of people i’ve loved.”

yuri was quiet for a beat. then she glanced toward the sidewalk.

heeseung had come earlier than usual. he stood just beyond the gate, one hand in his pocket, watching them with that unreadable expression.

he said nothing. but he heard.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

that night, heeseung sat alone in the living room long after yuri had gone to bed, a cup of untouched tea resting on his knee.

pink bleeding hearts.

he’d never heard of them before.

he looked it up. learned they were rare in their climate, especially outside of peak season. found a nursery an hour and a half away that might still have one in bloom.

he bookmarked the page.

didn’t place the order.

not yet.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

it rained before anyone expected it.

the sky had been overcast all afternoon, but the clouds didn’t seem angry, just heavy, thick with a quiet tension. y/n had just stepped out to take in her laundry when she noticed the wind shifting, cooler and quick, carrying the scent of something wet and inevitable.

the downpour came suddenly. thunder low. then louder. rain fell in sheets, drumming against the roof.

she had barely gotten back inside when a knock sounded on the door.

urgent.

she opened it to find yuri standing on the porch, soaked from head to toe, curls stuck to her cheeks, her little fists balled at her sides.

“my umbrella broke,” she sniffled. “appa told me to wait, but i got scared so i ran here.”

y/n pulled her in without hesitation. “you did the right thing, sweetheart. you’re safe.”

she wrapped her in a blanket, toweled her hair gently. made hot chocolate, even though yuri didn’t drink much of it. the girl clung to her like a second skin, eyes wide every time thunder cracked outside.

fifteen minutes later, the door opened again — this time without knocking.

heeseung stood in the entryway, soaked clean through, eyes scanning the room until they landed on yuri, tucked against y/n’s side on the couch.

“you ran off,” he said quietly.

“i’m sorry,” yuri mumbled, eyes flicking to her lap.

heeseung looked at y/n next. “i didn’t mean to barge in. i just- she wasn’t there- i panicked.”

“it’s alright,” y/n said. “she’s fine. cold, but safe.”

heeseung exhaled slowly. he stepped farther into the room, rain dripping from his sleeves. he looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, whether to scold, to thank, or to disappear.

but y/n stood and handed him a towel.

he blinked at it before taking it wordlessly.

“do you want to sit?” she asked gently.

“i shouldn’t stay.”

“it’s raining.”

heeseung hesitated, then lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the armchair. he sat like someone who wasn’t used to resting anymore.

for a while, there was only the soft roar of rain, the quiet clink of a spoon against a mug, yuri’s head resting heavier against y/n’s side as she began to nod off.

“she talks about you,” heeseung said suddenly, voice low.

y/n looked up.

“yuri. she… she talks about you when she’s not here.”

“i hope that’s a good thing.”

he let out something that might’ve been a laugh. barely there, but real.

“she calls you the flower lady,” he said. “says your hands are like her mom’s.”

that made y/n freeze for a moment.

“i didn’t mean to let it go that far,” heeseung said. “i didn’t expect her to get this close. i just thought… it’d be temporary.”

y/n didn’t look away. “and now?”

he looked at the window. rain streaked down like melted glass.

“i don’t know,” he admitted. “but i’m scared of her needing people i can’t promise she’ll get to keep.”

y/n swallowed.

“i get that,” she said. “but you don’t have to disappear just because it might end.”

his gaze met hers. dark. raw.

“i already did once,” he murmured. “and it ruined her.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty. it was full of things unsaid. shared grief. loneliness neither had named out loud yet.

“maybe it didn’t ruin her,” y/n said finally. “maybe she’s just... growing through it.”

he looked back at yuri, asleep now, her tiny fists unclenched for once.

maybe, he thought, she is.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri started coughing on thursday.

just a little at first. dry and tucked behind her sleeve, like she didn’t want anyone to notice. she still asked to visit y/n after school, still tugged on her boots and insisted on helping dig up weeds between the marigolds.

but by the weekend, the cough had a wheeze. her forehead was warmer. her laughter came slower.

heeseung noticed immediately. took her to the clinic, filled the prescriptions, canceled her garden time. told her firmly, “rest first. you can go when you’re better.”

yuri had nodded, but her eyes went glassy in disappointment.

the nights grew restless. she tossed and turned, whimpered in her sleep, called out once for her mother in a voice that broke something in heeseung’s chest.

but what cut deeper was the name she said next.

“y/n…”

it was almost a whisper. almost not there.

heeseung sat in the hallway, back against the doorframe, palms pressed to his eyes.

by midnight, she was burning up. and when he couldn’t get the fever down, when her cheeks flushed too red and her breath came in short bursts, he did something he hadn’t done in years: he knocked on someone’s door for help.

y/n opened her door in a hoodie and mismatched socks, hair slightly messy from sleep.

he didn’t wait for pleasantries.

“she’s really sick. she kept asking for you.”

y/n blinked once. then stepped aside without a word.

inside, the lights stayed low. y/n moved with practiced ease — cool cloths, lukewarm tea, whispered reassurances. yuri clung to her, weak and sleepy, but calm for the first time in hours.

heeseung sat silently in the corner, watching it all.

“how did you know what to do?” he asked after a while, voice hoarse.

y/n looked over her shoulder. “i’ve had long nights too.”

he didn’t ask what she meant. didn’t need to.

he could see it now. that quiet echo in her, the same one in him. loss didn’t always scream. sometimes it just lingered.

when yuri finally drifted off, curled between a blanket and y/n’s arm, heeseung didn’t move.

“she never asks for anyone,” he said quietly. “not even family.”

“she doesn’t see me as a stranger anymore,” y/n said, just as softly.

he looked at her, really looked.

“i don’t think i do either.”

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the next few days passed gently. yuri recovered slowly, her laughter growing stronger again. her visits to the garden resumed in small doses. first half an hour, then longer, her hands back in the dirt like they never left.

and heeseung began to stay.

not every time. but more often than not. sometimes with a book in hand. sometimes helping. awkwardly at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold a trowel. but his hands were steady. and he listened.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one evening, y/n handed him a mug of chamomile tea and sat beside him on the porch. yuri had gone home early to rest. the sun dipped low, painting the sky in faint pink and gold.

“you asked me once how i knew what to do,” she said.

he glanced at her.

“i lost someone too. a brother. years ago.”

he said nothing. just waited.

“he was older. the kind of person everyone leaned on. when he died, i didn’t know how to hold anything anymore. so I started planting things. watching things grow gave me back some kind of balance.”

heeseung’s fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

“i kept telling myself if i could help something grow, maybe i wasn’t breaking,” she said.

he looked down at his lap. then said, barely audible, “i started bringing flowers to the grave because i didn’t know how else to talk to her.”

y/n didn’t reply. just reached out, let her fingers graze his lightly.

“maybe you’re still talking to her,” she said. “in your own way.”

the silence after that didn’t feel heavy. just quiet.

settled.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung showed up one morning with dirt on his sleeves.

y/n had just stepped out to water the daisies when she saw him standing by the gate, holding a small terra-cotta pot in both hands. he looked awkward. like he didn’t know how to hold it properly. like it might break if he shifted too much.

inside the pot: a young pink bleeding heart plant, its delicate arch already blooming into soft, heart-shaped blossoms.

y/n froze. “you found one.”

“i remembered what you said. about how they only bloom when the conditions are right.” he glanced down. “it wasn’t easy. the guy at the nursery said they’re out of season. but there was one left.”

her voice was barely a whisper. “you didn’t have to.”

“i know.”

he stepped forward, handing it to her. his fingers brushed hers. and this time, neither of them pulled away.

“i used to think letting anyone close again was a mistake,” he said. “that if I stayed quiet long enough, the pain would keep its distance.”

her eyes softened.

“but then my daughter started bringing home soil under her nails and stories i didn’t know how to finish.”

y/n smiled, lips trembling.

“she brought me to you,” he added. “and i guess... something soft grew here too. even in me.”

there was no grand confession. no sudden kiss. just the bloom between them. real, living, held in her hands.

they planted the bleeding heart just inside the gate.

together.

it stood there quietly, its fragile blossoms nodding in the breeze like it understood the way grief and love could grow in the same space.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

time didn’t rush after that. it unfolded gently.

yuri returned each day after school, dirt smudged on her cheeks, asking if they could plant “one more thing” before sunset. heeseung started helping without being asked, started staying without needing a reason.

sometimes they all sat on the porch with tea and silence. sometimes he brought groceries without being told what to get. sometimes he let his hand rest lightly on y/n’s knee, just enough to say: i’m here.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one morning, as she trimmed back the overgrown mint, y/n looked up to find a bloom resting on her doorstep again.

just like before.

but this time, heeseung stood behind it.

she arched a brow.

he gave a small, sheepish shrug. “didn’t know how else to say i missed you yesterday.”

y/n laughed. “you were literally here last night.”

“still,” he said, stepping forward, voice quieter now. “i used to leave flowers because i felt like i owed you something.”

“and now?”

he reached up, tucking the bloom behind her ear.

“now i just want to.”

she didn’t answer right away. just leaned into his hand slightly, heart fluttering in rhythm with the wind.

as they stood together near the bleeding heart —now in full bloom, more vibrant than either of them thought possible— heeseung looked at her for a long, soft moment.

then said, “maybe i’ll just keep showing up.”

a pause.

“with flowers.”

end.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[monstersholygrail]

It isn’t often that your Wolf Hybrid bf isn’t touching you, a Puppy Hybrid, in some way, shape, or form. A hand smacking your ass as you pass him, his grip on your waist as he draws you into his chest, and his face always tucked into your neck to catch your scent.

But it’s always a million times worse when he’s in his run. Cute smacks on your bottom turn into full blown spanking as he bends you over the nearest surface and rails you from behind.

His hands grab your waist and as soon as your back hits his chest he’s grinding his hard erection into the cleft of your ass. Practically tearing through your clothes to get to your dripping cunt.

And every time he goes in to sniff at your scent, he doesn’t just stop there. Dragging his nose down your soft curves till he’s stuffing his face into your pretty pussy and feasting on you like a man starved. Prepping you and fucking you, refusing to stop until your scent is perfectly mixed in with his.

Then just as his rut stops and he thinks he’ll be able to give you, his poor pup, a break, your heat starts. And of course you’re absolutely no better. Despite all of your bfs concerns for how much your soft squishy body can take he can never deny you a thing.

Even as unlike him you never give him a warning. You always seem to come out of nowhere and pounce on him without a moments of hesitation. He always follows by grunting as his back hits the ground, his arms curling around you to make sure you don’t get hurt.

“Maybe wanna give me a moment to breathe, mama?”

You nearly cum right then and there from the nickname alone. Your bf must notice what he said too and maybe it’s remnants of his rut but the nickname does something wild to his body, his cock growing rock hard instantly.

Which of course you use to your advantage, whimpering and whining as you hump your bare soaked pussy against his clothed bulge. Making your bf growl furiously, hands moving to guide your hips against him. He can feel your gushing pussy soak through his pants and his cock twitches at the warmth radiating from your core.

“Need my cock don’t ya, pretty? Won’t stop pawing at me till I fill ya with my seed, hmm.”

You can’t even talk, your head all cloudy and thick, and your body burning with so much need you feel like you’re about to explode. Your tail thumps heavily behind you, demanding he take care of you.

“What’s that, baby? I’m not quite sure what’cha want.”

A sick smirk spreads across his face as his hips buck and grind against your sopping cunt. Pleasure explodes behind your eyelids but it’s just not enough. You need him inside of you, praying he understands and takes you just like you need.

“C’mon, use your words, now. Neither of wanna wait on your bratty ass.”

A annoyed grumble rolls through your throat, puppy ears falling back and tail thumping a little harder. He knows what you need but he’s always gotta make it difficult. Never wasting a chance to tease you till you just can’t take it anymore.

“Baby—nngh— please! Fuck me, dammit!”

Your bf snarls and before you can even blink even flipping you over onto your back tearing your clothes to shreds. As his big red tip brushes through your throbbing folds, you instinctively reach for it, back arching into him.

“Aye, that’s it, ma. Lemme take care of ya. You just sit back all nice and relax.”

Then he’s sliding into you, his thick girth stretching you so good your eyes roll back in their head. His claws dig into your plush waist, holding you still as he starts fucking up into you like he’s the one going through a heat and not you.

Your cries of ecstasy bounce off the walls each time his cock slams back into you, his pace relentless, never giving you a moment to catch your breath.

With all the strength you have left you cling to him and try and meet his desperate thrusts. But with a rough growl your bf pushes your hips into the ground and spears into you even harder. Making you absolutely crazy with lust.

“Dont. Move,” he rasps, “Didn’t get it during my rut but mark my words imma get you pregnant during this heat. Make you a real mama.”

His words have your cunt gushing around his cock and the brutal rocking of his hips sends you flying higher and higher. Each thrust brings a loud squelch, letting him know just how unbelievably turned on you are.

Moans pour out of you in waves as your body begins to shake. Squirming and writhing on your bfs hard cock as much as you can before he pins you down even harder. A dark chuckle leaving him as he watches you.

“You want that, huh? Fuckin’ show me. Milk my cock. Augh!— Take it, t-take every drop!”

His hand snakes down and expertly begins rubbing tight circles in your swollen bundle of nerves. You’re wound so tightly you can’t hold your climax back as it blows through you, your scream so loud it rings in your ears as you violently tremble in his arms.

Your Wolf bf lets out a terrifying roar and follows right after you into the bliss of your release. His pace never faltering as he works you both through your orgasms.

The second it begins to fade your bf scoops you up into his arms and rolls himself on the ground, making you use him as a pillow. You go to voice your concern about the hard floor but almost as if he knows what you’re about to say before you say it he quickly shushes you. Placing a hand on the back of your head he starts to pet you.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, baby girl. Just relax before the next wave of heat comes.”

You whine softly into his skin but listen to his words, knowing it’ll come sooner than you’re ready for. But you have no doubt your bf will be there to work you through it, spilling you with as much of his cum as he needs for it to take.

[rafesangelita]

Hi! Do you still do rafe smuts? How about he’s maybe smoking/doing lines with his friends and you are getting needy and he doesn’t give you attention and he’s treating you very mean and calling you clingy? He ends up fingering you in front of them. I just want to be his cokewhoreeee

warnings: icky!rafe, mean!rafe, dubcon (?), heavy drug use, teasing, rafe’s friends are gross, dirty talk, groping, slapping, finger sucking, degradation, dumbification, marking, biting, voyeurism (?), public sex, fingering, suggestive ending

“rafeeee!” you whined, tugging on his arm so he could look your way. topper and kelce merely glanced at you before their bloodshot eyes scanned down your bare legs, both of them exchanging a look before nodding in your direction as if to remind rafe you were sitting next to him. “watch out.” rafe warned, shrugging you off before going back to laughing with his pervy friends. you couldn’t understand why rafe was always so set on you attending parties with him if he was just going to ignore you the whole time.

huffing through your nose, you watched as rafe rubbed his gums with his finger, a groan rumbling from his chest as he savored the taste of blow on his tongue. “i’m eating this shit like it’s candy..” he shook his head, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he leaned back against the plush cushions of the couch. with rafe’s arms propped up on the top of the sofa, you took the opportunity to curl up into his side, his warmth providing you with a few seconds of comfort before he nudged you away. “quit your shit. seriously.” he glared at you, sending a pout to take over your features.

kelce and topper looked at you like you were there purely for their amusement, their heavy stares burning hot against your skin. rafe always teased that his best friends had it really bad for you, both of them pleading with your boyfriend to let them make a move on you. rafe shut down their advances of course, but god did it make him feel cocky. draping your legs across rafe’s lap, you waited for him to push you off but his defenses never came. your dress was so short, you were sure anyone could catch a glimpse of what was underneath— more specifically what you didn’t have on.

trailing your foot over rafe’s clothed cock, he took a mean bong rip before you sat up, propping yourself on his thigh as you left a string of kisses up his neck. “mmm— what are you doing?” you moved your hips, a whimper tumbling out of your mouth as you moaned at the slight friction you felt against your needy cunt. “just want you to touch me..” you whispered in his ear, grabbing his hands and guiding them over to cup your tits through your dress. rafe swallowed thickly, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he gave in and squeezed the swells of your breasts.

“yeah? you just want some attention, huh?” he glanced over at his friends and smiled when he saw their hungry gazes trained on your backside. you nodded, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips as he took you fully in his lap, turning you around so you could face kelce and topper. your cheeks heated once you made eye contact with them, a soft moan sounding from you as rafe forced your legs apart. “well you got it now.” he laughed, barely lifting up the hem of your dress so the guys could steal a peek of your pretty pussy.

“tell them they can’t have it.” you let out a shaky breath at his words, your eyes fluttering closed when you felt rafe cup you between your thighs. “y-you can’t have it..” you gasped when rafe delivered a soft slap to your cheek. “tell them they can look but they can’t touch.” he dipped his fingers between your folds as you repeated his words, your jaw falling slack as he gathered your slick and circled your clit. topper leaned back in his seat while kelce laughed incredulously. “how do you get them to be obedient like this, bro?” a smug grin took over rafe’s features as he wrapped his free hand around your neck.

“you’re not fucking them right.” at this, rafe started pressing harder circles into your sensitive bud, the action making you jolt. “if you fuck them stupid, they start acting like it,” he laughed, “look at this brainless slut, you think she has a single thought running through her head right now?” you were in hysterics when rafe finally stuffed your cunt with his fingers, his long digits slipping in with ease. kelce scoffed, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward to hear your sweet cries. rafe tightened his grip on your throat before nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear.

you all but melted when he curled his fingers, hitting that soft, gummy spot inside of you that made your toes curl blissfully. “rafe..” you grabbed his wrist in a poor attempt to remove his hand but he just went faster, his thumb now rubbing your clit with the added strokes of his digits. suckling on your flesh, rafe didn’t pull away until you sobbed into his chest. “i’m— oh!” topper watched intently as you lost yourself in rafe’s lap, your legs trembling on either sides of his thighs as he sucked bruises into your skin. your thighs shut around his hand as you tears welled up in your eyes at the white hot pleasure coursing through your system.

you writhed in his strong hold until he brought you down from your high, your body still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. wiping away at the stray tears that rolled down your cheeks, rafe finally removed his hand from under your dress, bringing his soaked fingers to your lips so you could lick them clean. topper and kelce sat there in shock, both of them hard in their khaki’s. you didn’t care that a whole party was taking place in the same room, you had already tuned everything out a long time ago. you blinked, your vision hazy as you looked around.

if someone saw what just went down, they didn’t point it out, the party carrying on as if nothing happened. topper watched as rafe whispered something in your ear, in which you nodded frantically as a reply. without a word, rafe helped you up as he adjusted your dress before resting a hand in the small of your back. “we’re gonna head out,” rafe winked, “i got a proper ‘thank you’ waiting for me when we get home..” you giggled, waving rafe’s friends goodbye as if they didn’t just watch you cum around your boyfriend’s fingers. kelce and topper waited for you two to disappear in the crowd before sharing a look.

“i need his game card.”