#barking growling snapping biting

[tricountyanimal]

Understanding the Causes of Aggression in Dogs

Aggression in dogs is a common concern for pet owners and can range from mild to severe. Understanding the causes behind the aggressive behavior in dogs is crucial for managing and preventing incidents. At Tri-County Animal Hospital, we are committed to helping you understand and address your dog's aggression to ensure a safe and happy environment for everyone.

Aggression in Dogs

Aggression in dogs can manifest in various behaviors such as barking, growling, snapping, and biting, which can pose a threat to other dogs, humans, or animals. By recognizing and understanding these different types of aggression, you can better identify the root cause and find effective solutions.

Common Signs of Aggressive Behavior

Growling or snarling

Baring teeth

Lunging or charging

Biting

Causes of Aggression in Dogs

Aggression in dogs can stem from various factors, including genetics, environment, and health issues.

Genetic Factors

Some breeds are predisposed to aggression due to their genetic makeup. For instance, breeds like the Rottweiler and German Shepherd are often seen as more protective and potentially aggressive due to their history and genetics.

Environmental Influences

A dog’s environment plays a significant role in shaping its behavior. Poor socialization, lack of training, and negative experiences can contribute to aggressive behavior.

Medical Conditions

Health issues such as pain, neurological disorders, and hormonal imbalances can lead to aggression. It's important to rule out medical causes before addressing behavioral issues.

Genetic Factors Influencing Aggression

Breed Predispositions

Certain breeds have been bred for specific traits, such as guarding or herding, which can influence their tendency toward aggression. Understanding your dog's breed can provide insights into their behavior.

Hereditary Traits

Aggressive behavior can also be inherited from parents. If a dog’s lineage includes aggressive individuals, it may have a higher risk of displaying similar behaviors.

Environmental Influences on Canine Aggression

Early Socialization

Dogs that are not properly socialized during their formative weeks (3-14 weeks of age) may develop fear and aggression towards unfamiliar people and animals.

Training Methods

Positive reinforcement methods are more effective and humane than punitive training methods, which can increase fear and aggression in dogs.

Living Conditions

A dog’s living environment significantly impacts its behavior. Overcrowded or stressful living conditions can contribute to aggressive behavior.

Medical Conditions and Aggression

Pain-Related Aggression

Dogs in pain may become aggressive if touched or approached. Conditions such as arthritis, dental issues, or injuries can cause pain-related aggression.

Neurological Issues

Neurological disorders, such as brain tumors or epilepsy, can affect a dog’s behavior and lead to aggression.

Hormonal Imbalances

Hormonal imbalances, particularly related to thyroid function, can cause mood changes and aggression in dogs.

Recognizing Aggressive Behavior in Dogs

Body Language Cues

Understanding your dog’s body language can help you recognize early signs of aggression. Look for signs such as stiff posture, raised hackles, and intense staring.

Vocalizations

Growling, barking, and whining can indicate discomfort or aggression. Pay attention to the context and your dog’s overall body language.

Behavioral Changes

Sudden changes in behavior, such as increased reactivity or withdrawal, can be signs of underlying aggression or anxiety.

Preventing Aggression in Dogs

Early Socialization and Training

Exposing your dog to various people, animals, and environments from a young age can help prevent fear and aggression.

Consistent Routines

Maintaining a consistent daily routine can provide stability and reduce anxiety in dogs.

Positive Reinforcement Techniques

Reward-based training methods encourage desirable behavior and strengthen the bond between you and your dog.

Managing Aggressive Dogs

Behavioral Modification Strategies

Behavioral modification involves changing your dog’s emotional response to triggers through desensitization and counter-conditioning.

Safe Handling Practices

Use safe handling practices to avoid provoking aggression and ensure the safety of all involved.

Working with a Professional Trainer

A professional trainer can provide guidance and support in managing and reducing aggressive behavior in your dog.

When to Seek Professional Help

Signs that Professional Intervention is Needed

If your dog’s aggression is severe or escalating, it’s crucial to seek professional help. Indicators include unprovoked attacks, aggression towards family members, or inability to manage the behavior.

How Tri-County Animal Hospital Can Assist

At Tri-County Animal Hospital, we offer comprehensive evaluations and treatment plans tailored to your dog’s specific needs. Our team of experts is here to support you and your pet through every step of the process.

Conclusion

Understanding the causes of aggression in dogs is crucial for managing and preventing this challenging behavior. By recognizing the signs and seeking appropriate help, you can create a safe and supportive environment for your pet. At Tri-County Animal Hospital, we are dedicated to helping you and your dog live harmoniously through comprehensive care and expert advice.

[b1t3m3b1t3m3b1tem3]

oughhh i want a pup mask but based off a hunting dog and it needs to come with a bunny boy to chase down and ravage puhleaseeeee.

[succubusvalentine]

King Simon Riley sharing his Queen with his Knight. CW : threesome, cunnilingus, cum, PiV, biting.

Simon was no fool. He could recognise the gaze of desire in your eyes, you were his wife. Of course he could tell.

Recently, he'd noticed your eyes lingering on not only him when you come to watch his training sessions. But also his guard, Johnny. Your gaze full of hunger, thighs clenching together under your gown.

And Johnny had been staring at you, too. Especially when you would curtsey in front of him, his eyes immediately going to the bust of your gown. His mouth practically salivating.

And when you sometimes got snippy with Johnny for being in the wrong area of the palace? Simon would see Johnny nod, then rush off to a nearby bathroom or closet.

See, Simon wasn't angry at his wife and knight craving to get their hands over one another. He'd felt both you and Johnny quiver underneath him. Though, he hadn't fucked Johnny since his early twenties. But he has no doubts Johnny was still as insatiable as he was back then.

And Simon sometimes got busy, too busy to fuck you the way he knew you craved. He'd only have five or ten minutes to fuck you, when you both knew you needed far longer to be fully satisfied.

Simon told Johnny to stay after a meeting to discuss battle tactics, and had your lady-in-waiting tell you to join them.

Then, Simon confronted you two on your obvious desire for one another, both of you obviously denied it as he expected. Frantically attempting to prove your innocence. Though Simon saw right through it.

Simon silenced you by lifting you up onto the long table, making you gasp as he shoved your gown up, both men realising you were going without panties.

"Simon likes having easy access" You admit sheepishly, Simon smiling wolfishly at you. Pulling your thighs apart, then turning to Johnny, who couldn't take his eyes off your cunt. Simon snapping his fingers at him, grabbing his attention.

"Go on" Simon tells Johnny, "Get on your knees and eat her pussy"

The two of you looked horrified, Johnny opening his mouth hesitantly before Simon grabs the back of his neck and forces him on his knees in front of you, the sound of his leg plates hitting the stone floor echoing in the room.

"Mate...Yer serious?" Johnny asked, eyes flickering between your glistening heat and Simons dark eyes. While it seemed Johnny was being a good friend by making sure Simon was okay with this, he was really just waiting for permission. Because the moment Simon gives a nod, Johnny shoved his face between your legs. Groaning at the scent and taste of you, his hips bucking up against nothing as you grab his hair and pull.

Simon could see the guilt and shame intertwining with the pleasure his Knight was giving you. He knew that would prohibit you from coming, which he wouldn't allow.

Simon stepped closer to the table, leaning in and biting down gently on your collarbone. "'S alrigh' love, want to watch you get fucked by my Knight" Simon whispered against the hollow of your throat, sucking the skin there for a moment. And you nod breathlessly at his words.

Simon smirked and bit you one more time before turning to Johnny and barking orders at him. The knight hurriedly getting up from his knees and unclasping some of his armour, his cock leaking pre cum, your mouth salivating at the sight. But before either you or Johnny could do anything, Simon grasped Johnnys cock and nudged the tip between your swollen folds. Making you whine and buck your hips.

You grabbed Johnnys shoulder tightly as Simon let him thrust into you. He wasn't as thick as Simon, but by the Gods, he was long.

Simon asked you a silent question, if you were ready for Johnny to fuck you, if you were adjusted to his size. And once you nod, Simon looked at Johnny.

"Fuck your Queen the way she deserves. Prove your worth, Knight" Simon growled, his tone when using Johnnys title mocking. Yet you swore you saw Johnnys pupils dilate.

Johnny grabbed your left leg and pushed it up against your chest, his hips immediately setting an unforgiving pace. Which had you moaning loudly, echoing within the room.

"O-Oh fuck- oh by the Gods!" you cry out, Johnny panting like a dog above you.

"Yer so fucking tight Bonnie" Johnny groaned, his hand moving between you to rub at your clit, Making you arch against him.

"Feel good, Birdie?" Simon asked, and you nod dumbly, your chin being roughly grabbed. "Words" your husband growled.

"It's good, it's so so good, Si. Fuck I'm close! Gonna come!" you gasp, thighs tensing and trembling.

"Never heard a pretty Royal like yerself speak so dirty, lass" Johnny grinned, angling his hips until you nearly screamed under him. Your release flooding you, head tilting back as your gummy walls clench down on Johnnys cock so tightly he can barely move. But it was enough, Johnny getting close, Simon could tell.

Simon grabbed Johnny by his grown out mohawk, "Don't you dare come in her, I don't need an illegitimate heir because of you" he threatened. You wanted to protest, to tell your husband to be kinder to his Knight, but from the look on Johnnys face and the small whine he let out, you realise he enjoyed when Simon was mean. An unsurprising revelation, to say the least.

You huff and whimper at the sudden emptiness when Johnny pulled out, but your eyes don't leave his cock as he tugged it furiously, your stomach soon being covered in milky ropes.

Simon chuckled and carefully shoved Johnny to the side, fishing out his own cock despite your tired glazed over eyes and trembling legs, smirking down at you when he grabs your hips and manhandled you to his liking.

"Come on now, love. Let's show Johnny how a King fucks his wife"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[mooningningg]

notes, this was a cute requst ty anon!

★ Roommate!Sukuna sees you in a bikini for the first time.

There’s sand in your sandals, sunscreen in your eyes, and Sukuna complaining already.

“Who the fuck likes the beach?” he grumbles, kicking at the sand like it personally offended him. “It’s hot. It’s loud. It smells like fish."

You roll your eyes and spread your towel. “You sound like a 75-year-old man.”

He glares at you over his sunglasses. “You sound like a sunburn waiting to happen.”

You ignore him, dropping your cover-up and adjusting the bikini straps.

Sukuna freezes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

He did not sign up for this.

You bend over to fix your bag — and he catches a flash of your ass. Bikini bottoms. Tiny. Pink. His soul briefly ascends.

He immediately looks away like you pulled a gun on him.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he barks, voice cracking slightly.

You blink. “A bathing suit?”

“That’s not a bathing suit. That’s floss.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being—” he cuts off, eyes darting back and instantly looking away again. “You’re the one out here butt naked, acting like this is your OnlyFans launch party.”

You squint. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” he hisses, adjusting his position on the towel like he’s uncomfortable. Which he is. In multiple ways.

You sigh and sit beside him, smearing sunscreen on your arms.

He watches you from the corner of his eye — mouth dry, sunglasses hiding how they’re nearly glued to your collarbone.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You nudge him with a grin. “Wanna do my back?”

“I’d rather get hit by a boat.”

You pout. “C’mon. I’ll get sunburned.”

He takes the bottle with a grunt, muttering the whole time. “Stupid beach. Stupid bikini. Dumbass roommate with her dumb shiny skin and her hot little waist—fuckin’ hell.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

His fingers graze your back and he has to swallow the groan threatening his throat. You're warm. You're soft. You smell like coconut.

This is fine. This is normal.

He finishes in record time and throws the bottle like it insulted his family. Then lays back and covers his face with his towel like he’s being punished by God.

You giggle. “You’re acting so strange.”

He mutters something like, “I’m gonna fucking drown myself.”

You stretch beside him, and he peeks over the towel — only to see you adjusting your top again. Your chest. Bouncing.

He jerks his head back with a thud on the sand. “FUCK.”

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

You reach into the cooler and hand him a popsicle. “Here. Chill out.”

He glares at you.

Then at the popsicle.

Then back at your lips.

He takes it and bites it like it owes him money.

“You’re not even fun,” you say. “I brought you out here to relax.”

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he growls. “This is torture.”

You raise a brow. “So go home.”

He scoffs. “And leave you here? Half-naked? In public? Where other people can see you?”

“…Is that a problem?”

He looks you dead in the eye. “Yes. It’s a fuckin’ problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I—because it—fuck off.”

You blink, confused. “Are you blushing?”

He points the popsicle at you accusingly. “Don’t flatter yourself, porn star.”

“You’ve been acting so weird since I took off my cover-up.”

“Yeah, because you came out here dressed like a Sports Illustrated midlife crisis!”

You burst out laughing, which only makes him scowl harder. His sunglasses are fogged up. He’s fidgeting. His ears are red.

“You’re such a loser,” you grin.

He snarls, “Say that again and I’ll drown you.”

“Aw, are you flustered?”

“I'm annoyed,” he snaps, but his voice breaks on the end and he knows he's losing.

You lean back, smug. “You like me in this bikini, huh?”

Sukuna doesn't respond.

He just bites his popsicle again with unnecessary violence, eyes glued to the ocean, and mutters:

“…I'm gonna build a sandcastle and bury myself in it.”

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

[grenadehearts]

katsuki with a mean girlfriend.. smut

katsuki swears the universe gave him the meanest, brattiest damn girl alive.

always angry. always quick to bite back. always faster than him with a sharper insult that even he wouldn’t dare cross.

you’re rough around the edges, sharp-tongued and demanding — barking orders at him like he’s some underling. do this, fix that, not like that, idiot. and if it’s not perfect, you're pouting, arms crossed, throwing the dirtiest, most lethal glares at him that leave him seeing red — not with anger, but with something worse.

because fuck, he's so pussywhipped he can't even think straight when you get like that. that scowl, the cruel curl of your lips when you talk down to him... it’s a migraine and a goddamn turn-on all rolled into one.

but this — this right here —

when he’s got you spread out bare for him, your thick thighs trembling under the squeeze of his palm, ankles hiked up to your ears, caged in a brutal mating press —

this is when katsuki wins.

when your sopping cunt clutches at him, sweet and wet and so needy, when all that sharpness bleeds out of you and leaves something soft, pliant, and his.

the change is fucking addictive.

that bratty mouth, the one that usually cuts him down in two seconds flat, now only spills high, broken whimpers, breathless gasps, words slurring together into sweet, incoherent babbling.

“ngh, k-katsuki—! f-fuck—!”

voice wrecked, desperate, so pretty when you try to snap at him and only end up whining.

“yeah? thought you had somethin’ to say, princess,” he growls, slamming his hips forward, skin smacking against skin, forcing another pathetic little moan out of you.

your fingernails dig into his shoulders, your glare watery and useless now, any fight you thought you had long pounded out of you.

he knows he's in charge.

knows your voice holds no bark, no bite, nothing but soft broken pleas when he's fucking you this deep into the mattress.

the only time you're really his — the only time you’re sweet —

and katsuki plans to drag it out for as long as he fucking can.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @van9lla @dienamiight @sk1ppy-art @ni-aaaaaaa @kelisewrites @chosostonguepiercing @izzymff @swuzzin @aryuunachigiri @badslittlemuffin @yuhkai @candiiee @ugh-ellie69 @khloefrlsss @camydoesstuff @11thlife02 @alixezae @diamondocean001 @izycarrot7 @vivitg @cupkiki @wonubby @1explosionextinguisher @lotusstarr @tatumsscream96

[akechigoroactual]

grrrrr growling like a dog. grrrrrrr snarling. i need something to bite into. and by smth i mean luffy content

[velvetsserenity]

Still Got a Mouth On You?

Dom!Sevika x Brat!Reader

word count: 3.2k

content warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, strap-on penetration, bondage (belt restraints), impact play (spanking), dominant Sevika, bratty/defiant reader, hair pulling, choking (light), degrading language, power play, emotional tension, post-argument dynamic, reader enjoying rough treatment

You hadn’t even finished your sentence before she shoved you back against the wall.

The brick was cold through your shirt, and Sevika’s forearm pressed across your chest, not choking, not holding you down. Just there, like a warning. Her body heat rolled off her in waves. She smelled like smoke and metal and sweat. That same smell that always came after a fight, one she half-won, half-lost, and couldn’t let go of yet.

Your lip curled.

“Did I hit a nerve?”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched, her eyes burning holes through you.

“You’re such a sore fucking loser,” you went on, breath catching. “Gonna pin me to the wall ‘cause you can’t win an argument?”

Her hand slid up. Not slow. Not gentle. Her fingers closed around your jaw, thumb pressed rough against your cheek as she tilted your head back to look at her.

“Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” she muttered. “All mouth, no sense.”

You smirked. “And yet here you are, still listening to me talk.”

Her grip tightened. Just enough to make your pulse jump.

“You’re gonna make me do something about it, aren’t you?”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

That did it.

She shoved your shoulder hard, spinning you off the wall and into the couch. You landed half-sitting, legs still spread from the stumble, and Sevika was already on you, straddling your chest with practiced weight, fists braced on either side of your shoulders.

She looked down at you, panting from the fight, still dressed in her gear, heavy pants, tight vest, belt just starting to loosen under her hand.

“You love pissing me off,” she growled.

You grinned up at her, hands on her thighs. “Only when it gets me underneath you.”

She barked a laugh, short, humorless and reached down to undo her belt. Her pants dropped just low enough to bare her cunt, soaked and flushed and swollen.

“You’re fucking lucky I’m wet enough to want this,” she snapped.

“I make you that way,” you said, dragging your nails up her thigh. “Don’t pretend I don’t.”

Sevika grabbed your hair in one hand and your jaw in the other, tilting your head back and grinding her cunt against your mouth with zero hesitation. She pulled your face into her, slick and hot and already dripping and you moaned like you were starving.

You let your tongue drag slow, savoring the taste of her, lips parting wide as you licked up through her folds. She rocked forward, pressure heavy and immediate. No teasing. No waiting. Just raw need.

“Keep your fucking mouth open,” she growled. “You want to talk? Talk with your tongue.”

Your moan vibrated against her. You flattened your tongue and pressed it hard against her clit, curling your arms around her thighs to hold her in place, dragging your nails into her skin.

Sevika gasped—then growled.

Her hand gripped your hair tighter, pulling you against her like she needed you there, like she didn’t know how to come down without this, without the burn, the bite, the fight. Her hips rocked with short, filthy grinds, riding your mouth with no patience left in her.

“Fucking perfect,” she muttered. “That’s what you’re good for. All that noise, and this is the only time you’re useful.”

You smiled against her, mouth soaked, tongue flicking faster now. She tasted like sweat and adrenaline, like rage and need blurred into one. You moaned again and dragged her down harder against your face.

She twitched, hips jolting and cursed loud.

“Shit—fuck—don’t stop. You’re gonna make me—”

Her legs were shaking. She was panting hard now, sweat dripping from her temple as she looked down at you, your mouth red and slick, your eyes locked to hers, like you were daring her to come undone.

And she did.

Hard.

With a snarl torn straight from her throat, she came grinding down on your face, thighs clenching around your head, cunt pulsing wet and hot against your tongue. She held you there, gasping, twitching, trying to breathe through it, one hand still fisted in your hair.

You stayed put. Licking her through it. Drawing every last wave out of her, even as she hissed and twitched and pushed weakly at your forehead.

When she finally leaned back, catching her breath, you pulled away slow. Your lips were shiny, your chin wet, and your expression smug as hell.

“Still mad at me?”

Sevika looked down at you, hair a mess, chest still heaving, and then smirked.

“Not yet done with you.”

She reached for her belt again.

“You gonna collapse, or keep pretending I’m the one that’s weak?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

She climbed off your chest, boots heavy on the floor, and bent to snatch up her belt from where it had fallen. Her breath was still ragged, chest rising under her half-unzipped vest, cunt glistening between her thighs. But her eyes, fuck, they were sharp now. Focused.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” she muttered, walking back over.

You stretched your arms over your head, mocking like you were about to lounge. “Only when you make me.”

Sevika dropped to one knee beside you and grabbed your wrist so fast you didn’t have time to fight it.

She twisted your arm behind your back, firm and rough, and in seconds, her belt was wrapping around your forearmsleather tight, buckle biting against your skin.

You gasped, head snapping back to glare at her.

“The fuck—”

“I said shut up,” she growled. “You want to run that mouth, you do it with something in you.”

She finished cinching the belt and shoved you forward over the couch arm. Your face hit the cushion, cheek dragging across the fabric, your arms now pinned behind you. Exposed. Trapped. Thighs parted wide.

And she was already picking up the strap thick, dark, strapped tight between her hips in one sharp movement. The tension in the room cracked like static.

You tried to arch your back, challenge her again, but Sevika stepped in behind you and slapped your ass hard.

“Stay the fuck down.”

You laughed through a groan. “Make me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Her hand gripped your hip. The other yanked your head back by your hair, just enough to hiss, “You better moan my name when I’m inside you, or I swear to God—”

Then she shoved in.

No warning. No slow build

Just the strap pushing deep into your already soaked cunt filling you fast and harsh, making your legs shake. You choked on a gasp, head rolling back, arms useless behind you as your body clenched around the stretch.

“God fuck—”

“That shut you up?” she panted, fucking into you hard enough to rock your body forward.

You moaned loud, still defiant.

“Keep—trying—”

Sevika slammed back in, faster now, hips crashing into you with a bruising rhythm. Your hands jerked uselessly in the belt binding you, face buried in the couch, breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“You love this,” she spat. “Tied up, full of cock, moaning like a bitch in heat.”

You moaned louder. Cunt clenching around the strap, slick soaking down your thighs, eyes rolling back.

“Say it,” she growled.

You bit your lip, then hissed, “Fuck you.”

She reached under you, grabbed a fistful of your hair again, and yanked your head up as she kept pounding into you.

“You already are.”

The belt bit into your wrists as you bucked against her, spine arching from the force of each thrust. She was fucking you deep, rough, the tip of the strap hitting just right every time. Her palm landed flat against your ass, the sting spreading over your skin in waves.

“I should leave you like this,” she muttered. “Bent over, dripping, begging. But you don’t beg, do you?”

You turned your head, breath catching.

“Make me.”

Sevika groaned low, filthy, wrecked and shoved the strap deep, holding it there, grinding her hips into your ass, pressing her body into yours so you felt how far gone she was.

“I’ll make you scream first.”

Her fingers found your clit—slick, swollen, aching. She rubbed rough circles, no rhythm, just friction, just need. Your thighs shook, moans breaking loose, body twisting under her grip as the pressure built and built and..

“Sev—fuck—fuck I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” she growled. “Come on. Come all over my cock, brat.”

You shattered.

Coming with a strangled cry, legs giving out, cunt pulsing tight around the strap as her fingers kept working you through it, too much, too hard, perfect.

Sevika didn’t stop until you collapsed into the cushions, panting, spent, wrists still bound, face a mess of tears and slick and drool.

She leaned over you, lips brushing your ear.

“Still got something to say?”

You groaned, breath hitching.

“…Yeah. You hit harder when you’re losing.”

Another slap to your ass

Another round already loading.

plagiarism not authorized

[brights-place]

[KPDH] ━━━ ．°˖✧ Ｍｙｓｔｅｒｙ ˚₊ ⊹ x Reader

Contains: Slightly Suggestive, Cursing, Collar, Barking, Teasing, making out, Baby just calling shit out

A/N: I WAS LISTENING TO SIR MIX ALOT OKAY! LISTEN AND I HAD A WHOLE IDEA NGL I FEEL LIKE I COULD MAKE A FULL FIC FOR THIS? but also I feel like I could make angst guys BRO I HAVE A DEVIOUS ANGST PLAN also I really hope people won't just start writing Mystery like he's just a guy who barks and all that because after this and one more writing about mystery I have an angsty idea that I'mma write whehehe!

Summary: BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT, He’s barking at fans in meet and greets if they pass a boundary like they owe him rent. He’s quiet and mysterious on stage like always and somehow Mystery Saja is your boyfriend. Sure, he barely talks, sneaks around slyly like a cat, and barks like a dog with an attitude problem… but he’s yours. Off-stage, he's all sneaky footsteps, silver hair in his eyes, and low growls when you're not paying him enough attention. So, obviously, you bought him a collar with a bell because if he’s gonna act like a dog, he might as well look the part. But here’s the thing there’s something weirdly real behind those sharp teeth and silent being keeping to himself. Something darker...Something… hidden and now that you’ve tugged the leash, you’re not sure who’s really in control. So go on. Bark like you want it

Ｍｙｓｔｅｒｙ was, well… true to his stage name. A mystery.

He didn’t talk unless he really had to, kept to himself, and always moved like he was running on empty. Quiet, reserved, and perpetually slouched after long idol schedules. It was clear the spotlight wasn’t his natural habitat. Not like Jinu, who somehow thrived in the chaos of fan service and flashing cameras even if it was all an act.

Mystery wasn’t one for acts. Not unless growling at a fan during a fan signing counted.

You watched the clip from the safety of your phone screen, eyebrows raised as he practically barked like fully barked at a fan who’d leaned just a little too close, fingers outstretched like she tried to invade hsi personal space. The way he snapped, lips curling, sharp eyes glinting beneath his silver fringe… it was less “idol charm” and more “try that again and I bite.” and god help you, it was kind of hot to see him act like that. You couldn't help but pause and side eye something in your bag you bought for your friends pet dog as a gift yet you couldn't help but snicker at an idea popping up in your head.

You were curled up in one of the hidden lounges far from the chaos of the Saja boys and their over-scheduled madness, Mystery slumped beside you on the couch.

His head dipped lazily toward your shoulder. Hair damp from a recent shower, his silver strands tickled your neck. His body was heavy tired but not enough to stop him from nuzzling into your side like a sleep-deprived stray.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to but you? Oh, you had plans for your boyfriend with a mischievous grin, you reached into your bag and pulled out a collar a sleek black collar with a delicate silver bell that jingled softly between your fingers.

You dangled it just out of his reach, eyes glittering “Mystery,” you cooed slyly his head jerked up. Slowly. Narrow-eyed. Like a cat catching movement out of the corner of its eye. His gaze flicked from the collar to your face, then back again, as if trying to figure out if you were serious or just dangerously bold.

He didn’t speak blinking and inching forward you wiggled the collar a little higher. “C’mon. You bark at fans like they owe you rent. You gonna let me tease you and get away with it?” Mystery tilted his head slightly more tense, almost curious. Almost but you weren’t fooled.

His lips parted just enough to let out the smallest, softest sound from deep in his throat. Not a word, Not quite a bark. Not quite a growl. Something in between. “Mm-mm.” You shook your head. “Not good enough.” and that’s when he lurched forward.

You squeaked as he suddenly lunged forward, not aggressively, but fast enough that your back hit the cushions behind you. He climbed into your space, straddling your hips, the weight of his body pressing you down. Silver hair fell like curtains around your faces, hiding you both from the world. His hands braced on either side of your head, and his lips were just inches from yours.

“You’re so tired,” you teased breathlessly, still clutching the collar. “Didn’t you just say you needed rest?” He didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in, mouth grazing the curve of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw like a lazy nuzzle.

You giggled with a smile on your face as the bell jingled again, trapped between your fingers “Don’t think I won’t put this on you.” you said in-between small snorts and mystery he froze for a moment… then moved even closer. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice raspy and low spoke for the first time that night.

“Then do it.”

You blinked mouth agape as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His fringe framed his face, making his expression unreadable except for the slight, smug curve of his mouth.

“Put it on,” he whispered. “If you’re brave enough.” Your heart slammed. The collar in your hand felt a little less like a joke and a lot more like a dare now. You swallowed slowly as you felt it how he was so quiet, calculating, and worst of all waiting.

Somewhere deep down, you remembered that Mystery wasn’t just your mysterious, slouchy boyfriend. He was a demon. A being with teeth and claws and something else hiding just behind that unreadable gaze. Still… you weren’t scared.

You slipped the collar around his neck and clicked it shut the bell jingled as you stared up at him as he didn't move. You leaned forward, lips brushing his as your finger tugged onto the collar.

“Good boy.”

And that was the moment he grabbed your hips kissing you deeply messy, tired, intense. A little desperate. A little smug. Like someone who’d been holding back just enough to let you think you had control, only to steal it all back with a single kiss.

The bell jingled again as your fingers curled into Mystery’s shoulders. You kissed him back, slow and soft, eyes fluttered shut completely unaware of the way that tiny bell kept chiming with every movement. Lost in the moment, you didn’t even register the cool brush of something leathery sliding around your neck. You felt it kind of but waved it off as nothing, too busy melting into him.

A smile tugged at your lips mid-kiss, only for it to drop the second you heard the unmistakable click of the apartment door unlocking.

“We’re back!” Jinu’s voice rang out, loud like always Your eyes flew open. Panic shot down your spine. You turned toward the door just as Mystery leaned in again, deepening the kiss very much not helping. His lips moved with slow, deliberate dominance, smug in every motion as you frantically tried to push him off.

“Mystery-!” you hissed into the kiss, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he smirked against your mouth, like this was all just another casual Tuesday, before finally pulling away smooth and unbothered, standing tall like he hadn’t just tried to make out with you in full view of the incoming chaos.

Your face burned. You side-eyed him, flustered, breath caught in your throat only to realize something was off. The collar... It was gone. You blinked. Tilted your head slightly, trying to find it only to freeze when the soft chime of a bell echoed again but not from him.

From you

You froze as your hand slowly reached up and felt the firm press of leather and cold metal against your neck. The bell jingled again as your fingers touched it.

You could feel the heat rush up your neck as you sat there, stunned, just in time for Baby to plop down beside you on the couch. He blinked lazily at the collar, lips curled around a lollipop, then reached out and flicked the bell with one finger as it chimed. His expression unreadable, but his eyes sparkling with silent laughter.

Mystery? He didn’t even look your way. Just stared forward like he’d ascended to a higher plane of peace. Baby smirked wider, unbothered, pulling away just as Romance, Abby, and Jinu entered the room in a cluster of conversation and snacks.

Romance caught sight of you first. Stifled a laugh behind his hand. Abby’s eyes widened. And Jinu? He blinked. Paused. "A collar with a bell?" he repeated, eyebrow arching, gaze sliding toward Mystery. Mystery shrugged casual, chill, innocent. The picture of saying “Who, me?” even though he didn't even need to say anything.

You dropped your face into your hands, groaning in pure shame. “Oh my god,” you mumbled. Baby popped his lollipop from his mouth just long enough to say, “Didn’t know we were into pet play now.”

You considered evaporating on the spot

۶ৎ ⌗ 𝐊-𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐧��𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝

[heavenlybodies333]

Fixation -A.H

Aaron Hotchner x coworker!reader

The unsub sat shackled at the table, hunched but humming—this low, breathy sound that made your skin crawl as soon as the heavy door shut behind you. You moved just slightly behind Hotch, and his presence blocked the man’s view of you for a moment.

But the second you stepped to Hotch’s right and sat down, the unsub locked in. Like he’d been waiting for you. Your breath hitched—barely—but it was enough. He noticed.

“Agent,” he greeted, smiling at you, not Hotch. “You’re prettier in person.” Hotch’s eyes cut to you immediately, picking up on the freeze in your posture. He turned back to the man, jaw flexing. “You already know that comment’s not going to help you.”

The unsub didn’t blink. Just stared at you. Your badge. Your neckline. Your hands. “Do you wear that lipstick for the job, or for me?” he asked, smile widening.

Hotch didn’t wait—his fingers snapped toward the one-way mirror. “Tighten the restraints. Now.”

Two guards came in instantly. One placed a firm hand on the unsub’s shoulder, forcing him down as the other jerked the cuffs tighter around his wrists, metal biting into skin. He flinched but didn’t yell. Didn’t even wince. His eyes were still on you, hungry, assessing.

You inhaled, then exhaled carefully. He wanted a reaction. You didn’t give him one. Until you had to lean forward and push the file across the table.

That’s when he moved. Just a shift. Just a lean. But it was deliberate—his face closer to yours than you liked, enough that your own twisted in disgust before you could stop it.

“Stop,” Hotch said, his voice dark, deadly. His tone was enough to freeze the unsub in place. Still, the bastard smiled. “You’re not gonna let her talk for herself, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch reached forward and took the file you’d opened, flipping it toward the unsub himself. His broad shoulders shifted, moving slightly in front of you again.

“She doesn’t need to,” Hotch said. “I already know what you are.”

“She’s better than the others,” he purrs. “You see it too. That’s why you walked in front of her. Like a shield. That’s sweet, Agent Hotchner. She deserves someone strong.”

You barely resist the urge to snap back. But Hotch’s hand reaches out—under the table—and briefly brushes your knee. A silent signal: Don’t react. Let me handle it.

“Why would I look at those,” he rasped, his voice low and oily, “when I’ve got her to look at instead?”

You froze. Hotch’s fingers twitched near his pen. His tone stayed flat. “That’s not how this works.”

“I already know all about her,” the unsub continued, still smiling. “She runs at five-thirty in the morning. Orders that lavender tea at the café across from the field office. Drives a black bmw. License plate ends in... seven-two-nine. Right?”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t answer. You didn’t move.

Hotch stood abruptly. “You’re done.”

“No,” the unsub said, eyes still locked on you, smile growing. “I’m just getting started.”

Hotch was already at the door, signaling for the guard again. You stood slower, trying not to let the nausea show.

“You’ll speak to me,” Hotch said, voice a dark, contained growl. “Not her.”

“She’s the one I’ve been thinking about.”

“She’s not the one you're confessing to.”

“She’s the reason I started.” The unsub grinned, wild and victorious. “And she’ll be the reason I finish.”

You stood so fast your chair scraped backward, screeching against the floor.

Hotch turned to you instantly. “Agent,” he said quietly—his voice gentle now, only for you. “Step out.”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, jaw clenched.

His eyes searched yours for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded once.

The unsub chuckled. “Cute. Like a guard dog. I bet you like it when he barks for you.”

Hotch moved before you could blink. He was on the table, both hands planted, leaning in so close his voice was practically in the unsub’s ear.

“Say one more word about her,” Hotch growled, “and I will make sure your sentence includes solitary until you rot.”

Hotch’s hands were still flat on the table, his broad shoulders locked in tension. He didn’t move until he was sure the man’s mouth would stay shut.

“Guard. Get him out,” Hotch snapped, low and lethal.

The unsub laughed as the door slammed open behind you again. “You’ll think about me, sweetheart,” he called as they dragged him backward, wrists still bleeding from the restraints. “When you’re alone. When he’s not around to protect you.”

“Let’s go,” Hotch muttered under his breath to you, not even glancing back at the unsub again. His hand grazed your lower back as you turned—protective, firm, grounding.

You walked out together in silence, the door slamming shut behind you, drowning out the last of the unsub’s twisted chuckles.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice lower now, quiet. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just... hate how he looked at me. Like he knew me.”

Hotch nodded slowly. “He’s been watching. We found photos in his storage unit. Some were taken last week.”

Your stomach dropped. “Of me?”

Hotch hesitated. “Of your apartment. Your car. A few of you in your running gear.”

You swallowed hard.“I had no idea—”

“That’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly. “He’s good at hiding. That ends now. I should’ve gone in alone.”

You turned toward him, surprised. “Why?”

His jaw tightened again. That same damn muscle. “Because I saw the look in his eyes when you walked in,” he said, stepping closer, voice low. “And I knew exactly what he was thinking.”

Your heartbeat stuttered. He paused, then stepped just a little closer.

“You shouldn’t go home alone tonight.”

That surprised you. “I wasn’t planning to.”

His brows lifted just a fraction. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to let you.” That made your heart skip. Not because of what he said—but how he said it.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you murmured.

He paused, then offered, “You could stay at mine.”

You looked up. His expression didn’t change. He wasn’t playing. Wasn’t flirting. It wasn’t about that. It was about keeping you safe.

“…Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. That’s probably best.”

His shoulders eased slightly.

And it wasn’t long before you found yourself standing in the hallway just outside his bedroom door, suddenly uncertain.

Hotch stepped behind you again. Close. Just like in the interrogation room.

“I’ll take the couch,” he said, already reading your hesitation.

“No,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to.”

He paused. “I want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you whispered, looking back at him. “With you.”

“I’ll get you a shirt,” he murmured.

A moment later he returned and handed you a long, soft cotton t-shirt—gray, plain, worn thin at the collar.

You took it with a grateful smile and went into the bathroom.

When you came out, you were swimming in the shirt. It hit halfway down your thighs. Your legs were bare. You had never felt so exposed in something so modest.

Hotch was already lying down, propped on one elbow, the comforter pulled up around his waist. He wore a black t-shirt and soft plaid pajama pants. You had never, in your life, seen him so…human.

You climbed in slowly, tentatively. His side of the bed was warm. Yours felt cold.

It was awkward. Weirdly awkward.

And that’s when it hit you. A sudden, absurd giggle bubbled up in your throat.

Hotch turned toward you, brow furrowed. “What?”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Nothing. It’s just—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Seeing you like this—in actual pajamas—? It’s adorable. I’m sorry, I can’t unsee it.”

He stared for a beat, expression unreadable. You swallowed hard, worried you might’ve crossed a line.

But then—then—he smiled. That small, rare curve of his lips that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“Oh?” he murmured, turning fully toward you. “You think I’m cute?”

“Don’t twist my words,” you warned, still smiling. “You’re intimidating as hell at work.”

“But not now?”

You looked at him—really looked—and swallowed hard. “No. Now you’re…”

Your voice faltered.

Hotch’s hand lifted slowly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Safe,” you whispered. “You feel safe.”

His fingers didn’t move from your face. “I want you to feel safe,” he said softly. “Always.”

You exhaled shakily. “Even now?”

“Especially now.”

He curled it around your waist and slowly, slowly pulled you into him.

His body was so warm—heat radiating off him like a furnace—and you exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His chest was solid, his hold careful. Too careful. Like he didn’t trust himself.

You nestled into him, your nose at his shoulder, cheek resting against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You smiled against him.

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“I’m not,” he said immediately.

“You are, Hotch,” you laughed. “Your arm feels like it’s trying to protect the nuclear codes.”

His chest rumbled faintly in amusement. “I’m trying to be respectful.”

You smiled wider. “You’re letting me cuddle you. That’s pretty respectful.”

He didn’t argue that.

You tilted your head up slightly, looking toward the sharp line of his jaw in the dark.

“I’m not gonna combust if you relax.”

He didn’t say anything, but the arm around your waist loosened just a little. He exhaled—and the tension in his chest eased. Just enough to make you feel it. You took your chance.

You reached up slowly and ran your fingers through his hair.

At first, he flinched—just a twitch, barely noticeable. But then he stilled, letting you continue.

Your hand moved lower, smoothing down over his chest, then his shoulder, until it found one of his hands resting on his stomach.

His huge hand.

You picked it up gently, letting his fingers relax in your grip.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low.

You cradled his palm and gently cracked one of his knuckles.

He winced. “That hurts.”

You looked up, mock-pouting. “You’re supposed to say thank you.”

He chuckled. “For joint pain?”

“For your nerves. You’re all… balled up like a stress knot.” You moved to his other hand, gently stretching each finger. “And this one? This one’s the button-pushing hand. I bet it’s tired from dealing with assholes all day.”

He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

You tilted your head and reached up to brush your fingers through his hair—soft, thicker than it looked at work, with the faintest wave. He looked down at you, stilling completely under your touch.

“You’re really bad at relaxing,” you whispered.

“And you’re really good at tempting me,” he said softly.

You leaned in again, closer this time, your legs brushing. His arm came around you slowly, tentatively, drawing you toward his chest until your head rested just below his collarbone.

You exhaled shakily. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and quiet. “Just… not used to this.”

You tilted your head to look at him. His expression was unreadable in the low light, but his jaw was tight.

“Your hands,” you said quietly, lifting one of them between your palms. “They're so big.”

His brows lifted slightly. “That a problem?”

“No,” you said, voice dipping. “It’s hot.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his thumb rubbed lightly across your side. You turned his palm over and started gently cracking his knuckles again. One by one. Each pop was soft, and you smiled as you moved to the next.

But when you got to his index finger and pressed just enough—

“Mm—hey,” he winced, pulling his hand back slightly. “That actually hurts.”

You blinked. “Seriously? You wrestle unsubs to the ground, but you can’t handle me cracking your knuckles?”

“I don’t wrestle people who sneak up and break my fingers.”

You laughed again, more relaxed now, and leaned in close enough that your nose brushed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you said with a smirk. “You’re so delicate, Hotch.”

He turned to look at you, and this time, he was smiling. Really smiling. Barely-there dimple, soft eyes, warmth radiating from him.

“You think I’m delicate?”

“I think you’re secretly a marshmallow,” you whispered, inching even closer. “All this serious FBI Alpha Male stuff is just an act.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, gaze dark and quiet and far too intense for the softness of the moment.

You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of how close you were. Of his hand on your waist. Of the warmth between you. Of the ridiculous oversize shirt that was definitely not a barrier. Not now.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked, voice so low it made your skin prickle.

You tilted your chin up slightly, your lips dangerously close to the line of his jaw. “Maybe.” Your hands in his hair, soft and uncertain, pulling him in closer. Your lips brushed again, then again—until it turned into something real. Something deep and needy and so full of everything you hadn’t said.

Hotch shifted, rolling you gently onto your back, his body hovering over yours, held up on one arm.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your cheek.

“I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, gaze dark and quiet and far too intense for the softness of the moment.

Your heart stuttered. Your legs shifted, thighs tightening as you accidentally ground your hips slightly against his under the covers.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening.

You surged up into him, kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slid a thigh between yours. His weight was comforting, grounding—and yet, your whole body felt like it was floating.

He pulled back slightly, lips brushing yours. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I won’t,” you whispered. “Not with you.”

Hotch’s mouth found your neck—slow and reverent, dragging warmth down your throat as he settled between your legs. His hands roamed cautiously under the hem of your borrowed shirt, palms warm and rough on your bare skin.

You moaned softly as his thigh slid between yours, pressing.

“You have no idea what it did to me,” he whispered into your skin, “hearing him talk about you like that.”

“I hated it,” you breathed. “I wanted to claw his face off.”

Hotch laughed. “That’s my girl.”

The words hit you straight in the core—made you shiver.

His hands moved beneath the shirt he’d given you, sliding along your bare thighs, up to your hips. When he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath, his breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “You’re not wearing—?”

You flushed. “Didn’t feel like it.”

In one fluid motion, he sat up, his arms wrapping around you, mouth claiming yours again—hotter, hungrier now. You let him take the lead, let him slide your shirt up over your head and toss it somewhere off the bed. The way he looked at you then—like reverence, like worship—made heat pool between your legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasped, fingertips ghosting down your spine. “So fucking beautiful.”

You gasped when he leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue flicking over it before he sucked—slow, teasing, patient. One hand moved between your legs, fingers brushing you just enough to feel the slickness there.

He tugged his waistband down just enough to free himself, and you gasped at the sight of him—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You reached down and gripped him, guiding his head to your entrance. The first brush made both of you groan.

The second his tip slid through your slick. “Fuck, sweetheart—look at you.” Hands tightening around your hips.

You lowered yourself slowly, inch by inch, your thighs trembling at the stretch.

“That’s it,” Hotch growled. “Take your time. I’ve got you.”

Once he was fully inside, you sat still for a second, breathing shallowly.

He brushed your cheek again. “Look at me.”

You did—and that’s when it changed. Because there wasn’t just lust in his eyes. There was something far deeper. Something that told you this wasn’t just sex for him.

You whimpered and leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and the shift in angle made stars flash behind your eyes. He pushed up into you now, shallow, controlled thrusts that made your clit drag just right with every motion.

Your thighs trembled as you moved, your breaths turning into gasps. He sat up slightly, arms wrapping around your back, and you clung to him as you moved together.

“I’ve never…” you breathed against his neck. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone.”

He stilled inside you, holding you tight. “That’s because they didn’t deserve you.”

You clutched at his shirt. “But you do?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and reverent.

“I’m going to earn you,” he said. “Every day.”

Your heart cracked open. You kissed him with everything you had, hips rolling down onto him again, chasing that high, and he let you ride it out, guiding you with soft praise and firm hands and that warmth—God, that unshakable, grounding warmth.

And when you came, it was with his arms wrapped tight around you, his voice in your ear, whispering that you were safe.

That you were his.

a/n: raw.

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[tender-rosiey]

sake and sass — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: was imagining drunk sukuna so now he is here and we have made him drink enough for three elephants so yes he is drunk drunk and you kinda take advantage of that to boss him around cuz why not

sukuna rarely drinks. not because he dislikes it, but because it takes an absurd amount of alcohol to even faze him. tonight, though? tonight, he’s hit that threshold.

the room reeks of sake, and sukuna’s massive frame is sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled tyrant—robe disheveled, crimson eyes slightly hazy.

the usually indomitable king of curses looks dangerously close to tipping over.

“you’re drunk,” you state bluntly, arms crossed as you observe the man you call your husband.

he scoffs, waving a sake bottle with an air of arrogance that doesn’t quite land. “nonsense. I don’t get drunk.”

“you don’t?” you reply, deadpan. “so why are you swaying like a tree in a storm?”

he sits up straighter—or tries to, at least.

one of his four hands gestures vaguely in your direction, the movement wobbly but pointed. “watch your tongue, woman. you’ve grown far too bold for your own good.”

you sigh, stepping closer despite his poorly disguised glare. “sukuna, you’re making a fool of yourself. just lie down before you hurt yourself.”

“hurt myself?”

he lets out a bark of laughter, though it’s slurred at the edges. “the great sukuna doesn’t—” he pauses, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “wait, did you just call me a fool?”

“I did,” you reply matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle in his hand. “and you’re proving me right by the second.”

he jerks the bottle away, a scowl pulling at his lips. “touch it, and I’ll crush your fingers.”

“like you could even aim right now,” you retort, snatching the bottle before he can react.

his eyes narrow dangerously, but instead of retaliating, he slumps back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“and you’re impossible,” you counter, setting the bottle far out of his reach.

his gaze follows you as you move, sharp despite the alcohol dulling his senses.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he growls. “always strutting around. that smug little grin of yours—I’d rip it off if it didn’t…” he trails off.

“if it didn’t what?” you prompt, leaning closer with an amused grin.

his brows knit together, and he glares at you like it’s your fault the words are spilling out.

“none of your damn business,” he snaps, voice low and heated. “always grinning, always back-talking. you’re insufferable. insolent. infuriating.”

“and yet here you are, married to me,” you quip, unable to resist teasing him.

“because no one else could survive you,” he bites back.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. “is that your way of saying you like me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of pink which you honestly can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or just the alcohol.

you laugh softly, crouching beside him with a damp cloth. “you’re a real romantic, sukuna.”

“shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t pull away when you press the cloth to his face, wiping away the traces of spilled sake.

you’re careful not to press too hard as you wipe his face, trying to clean up the mess he’s made of himself without provoking his drunken temper.

but it seems sukuna has no plans of cooperating tonight.

as soon as you pull the cloth away, one of his hands shoots out to grab your wrist. his crimson eyes, though hazy, are filled with devilishness.

“enough with the fussing,” he growls, tugging you closer. “you’ve done your part. now, take that robe off.”

you blink at him, utterly unimpressed. “oh, absolutely not.”

“you dare to deny me?” he snaps, his voice dipping into something far too commanding for a man who can barely sit upright.

“I dare,” you reply, pulling your wrist free. “now sit still, or I’ll tie you down.”

he glares at you, two of his hands fumbling to tug at the collar of your robe. “you wretched, stubborn woman,” he snarls, his movements clumsy.

“always thinking you’re above the rest—thinking you can deny me. I could level cities, but you think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think; I know,” you reply flatly, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab at your robe. “now, go to bed.”

“bed?” he scoffs, attempting to rise to his full height, only to stumble back onto the cushions.

“I don’t need a bed. I need my wife, right here, shutting that sharp little mouth for once.”

“you need water and sleep,” you deadpan, retrieving a fresh cup of water from the tray nearby. you thrust it into his hand, ignoring the glare he shoots your way. “drink.”

he sniffs the cup like a suspicious child, frowning. “this isn’t sake.”

“brilliant observation,” you reply dryly. “drink it anyway.”

his crimson gaze narrows on you, clearly debating whether defiance is worth the effort.

with a low growl, he downs the water in one gulp before tossing the cup aside dramatically. “there. satisfied?” he mutters.

“not even remotely,” you reply, grabbing his arm and pulling. “up. you’re going to bed.”

to your surprise, he lets you tug him halfway to his feet before deciding he’s had enough of listening.

one of his lower arms snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath is warm against your neck, and his grin is downright wicked.

“you’re always like this,” he mutters, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “impossible. insolent. arrogant. bossing everyone around.”

“someone has to, considering how you’re acting right now,” you reply, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“and smug,” he growls, his voice dipping into something darker.

“always grinning at me like you’ve bested me somehow. do you think you’re clever, woman? that you’re better than me?”

“right now? yes,” you reply, yanking the hem of his robe to cover more of his chest.

he catches your wrist again, his grip firm but not painful.

“you’re not better than me,” he hisses, though his voice is softer now, almost petulant. “you’re just...impossible. and clever. and—damn it—too damned beautiful for your own good.”

you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by the unexpected admission.

“don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his glare returning in full force. “your face is annoying enough without adding that stupid look to it. it’s maddening.”

“noted,” you say with a small smile, gently prying his hand off your wrist. “now lie down before you embarrass yourself further.”

he doesn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours.

“you’re unbearable,” he declares, voice rising in irritation. “always acting like you’re untouchable. damned arrogance and a damned grin.”

“mmhm,” you reply nonchalantly, guiding him to lie down. “and yet you keep me around.”

“because I have no choice,” he retorts right away, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“you’re mine. mine to deal with. mine to hate. mine to…” he grits his teeth, his gaze averting. “mine to keep, damn it.”

you blink.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he adds quickly, his voice sharper now.

“I’m not saying I enjoy your insufferable company. but I’d rip apart anyone who thought they could take you from me.”

“sweet dreams to you, too,” you reply, tucking the covers around him as he finally starts to drift off.

“insolent woman,” he mutters one last time before his breathing evens out, the alcohol finally pulling him under.

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[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Slasher x Reader

Staring down at the icy water below, you sobbed. How could you have known? How could you have possibly known that your life would unravel in a single, dazzling instant? Life was strange that way, you supposed—one moment, you were laughing with your friends, paddling down the river, and the next, their bodies were staining the current red.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, the stickiness of sweat clinging to your fingers. Carefully, you stepped over a corpse, its glassy, unblinking eyes staring up at nothing. Your stomach twisted, bile clawing up your throat, but you swallowed it down.

The wind howled through the trees, a bitter, keening sound, and crows cawed mournfully from their shadowed nests. A shudder wracked your body, and you swallowed your anxiety with a gulping, desperate whimper.

That man—that awful, blood-slicked masked man—was still out there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

Hours dragged by, and he hadn’t found you.

You were shivering in a tree’s gnarled embrace, the rough bark biting into your arms and legs, when you heard it—the slow, crunching of heavy boots against dead leaves. You froze, breath caught in your chest, fingers digging into the mossy branch beneath you. Your heart hammered, each beat a desperate, panicked drum. Maybe he wouldn’t look up. Maybe he’d think you’d run further. Maybe—

A creak. The tree shuddered. You bit your tongue, stifling a gasp, but your terror gave you away. The masked man’s head tilted up, the crude, dirt-streaked mask covering his face. His clothes hung in filthy tatters, stained dark with mud and crimson blood.

You didn’t even have time to scream. A massive, calloused hand shot up, fingers closing around your ankle like a steel trap. With one brutal yank, you were wrenched from your perch, the world spinning in a blur of twisting branches and sky. You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Pain blossomed in your side, but before you could even curl in on yourself, that iron grip seized your arm.

He dragged you, half-limp and stumbling, through the forest. The world around you blurred—tangled underbrush, clawing vines, the endless, shadowed trees whispering in the wind. You tried to fight, digging your heels into the dirt, clawing at his hand, but it was like trying to pull against a mountain.

The cabin appeared out of the mist, an ancient, sagging thing with rotting timbers and a door that hung crooked on its hinges. The windows were black, smeared with filth. Your heart sank.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, the darkness pressing close. The man shoved you forward, and you stumbled, hitting the warped, splintered floor. Rusted chains hung from the wall, and without a word, he looped one around your ankle, snapping the iron cuff shut with a brutal finality.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the wall, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He loomed over you, his breath a slow, rasping growl behind the mask. For a moment, he just stared—those wild, animal eyes boring into you. Then, without a sound, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

The hours stretched into a sick eternity. The darkness seemed to pulse, shadows crawling at the edges of the room. Panic gnawed at you, your fingers scrabbling at the iron cuff, but it was hopeless. The metal was old, but solid.

Then, the door groaned open. The masked man entered, a dripping, bloodied slab of raw meat in his grasp. He approached, crouching in front of you. Slowly, he held it out—pushing it toward your face.

Your stomach twisted with a sick, frantic revulsion. The smell was sharp, metallic.

“I-I can’t…” Your voice was a broken whisper, shaking so violently it was barely audible. “Please. I… I can’t eat raw food.”

His head tilted, the mask’s rough edges catching the dim light. He didn’t speak, just stared at you for a long, unbearable moment. Then, slowly, he stood. The raw meat dropped from his hand, smacking wetly against the floor. He turned and stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Silence. Time crawled by, thick and choking. Then, the door opened again. The man entered, now carrying something that was charred black, still sizzling. He crouched before you, holding it out again. The meat was overcooked—burned in places, tough-looking. But it was no longer raw.

He waited, head cocked, those wild eyes watching you with a strange, expectant intensity.

Your shaking hand reached out, and you tore a piece off. It was like chewing ash, but you forced it down, wincing at every bite. His gaze never left you. He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His unblinking eyes bore into you, tracking every slow, hesitant bite you took. The charred meat was bitter, crumbling between your teeth, each swallow scraping down your dry throat. But you ate. You forced yourself to, your gaze never daring to rise fully to his.

And he never looked away.

When you finally finished, your stomach twisted, but you fought against the urge to throw up. He leaned closer, and for one dizzying moment, you thought he might reach out and touch you. But he didn’t. He only stared. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stood and walked out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Darkness swallowed the room. Silence wrapped around you. You tried to fight the exhaustion gnawing at your bones, fear pricking at every nerve. But eventually, sleep dragged you under, your body crumpling against the cold, splintered wall.

You dreamed of blood.

Red, staining the water—your friends’ laughter twisting into screams. Their bodies drifting beneath the surface, limbs tangled like twisted reeds, faces pale and empty. The man’s hulking shadow loomed behind them, the crude, grinning mask dripping dark, sticky trails. He moved through the river like a monster, slow and unstoppable. And then he saw you. He lunged—

You woke with a choking gasp, the dream’s claws still raking at your chest. Panic crushed you, your breathing coming in frantic, ragged bursts. Your vision swam, the darkness of the cabin feeling thick, pressing close—

A weight settled on your forehead. A massive, calloused hand, rough and filthy, pressed against your skin.

You froze, your breath caught, your heart a pounding thunder. The masked man was crouched in front of you, his dark eyes fixed on your face. His hand was hot against your sweat-slicked brow, the pressure firm but not painful. He leaned closer, head tilting slightly, as if studying you.

Your breath trembled, but your body was locked in place, paralyzed by fear. He didn’t speak—he never spoke—but something in his gaze seemed to shift.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he pulled his hand back. He stood, the old wood creaking beneath his weight, and walked away. The door groaned as it opened, then thudded shut again, leaving you shivering, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin. You stayed awake after that, too shaken to sleep again. The darkness felt alive, pressing against you from every corner of the decaying cabin. Your breaths were shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your ears. You rubbed at your forehead, trying to scrub away the sensation of his touch.

Hours must have passed. Time twisted strangely in the darkness. Your throat was dry, your muscles stiff and aching. Hunger gnawed at you, but the thought of that charred meat turned your stomach.

The door creaked open again.

Your body tensed instinctively, your hands gripping the cold chain around your ankle. The masked man stepped in, his hulking frame filling the doorway, blotting out the thin slivers of pale light behind him. His mask seemed even dirtier now, streaked with dried mud, one edge cracked, exposing a bit of dark, matted hair. His wild eyes found you immediately.

He carried something in his filthy hands—an old, metal cup, its edges dented and rusted. Water sloshed inside, some of it spilling to the rotting floor as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of you again, and without a word, thrust the cup forward.

You stared at it, then at him. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, your tongue sticking to the roof. But you hesitated. Was it clean? Did it matter?

His head tilted slightly. When you didn’t take it, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. He guided your hand to the cup. You flinched but didn’t fight. Slowly, you raised it to your lips, tipping it cautiously.

The water was stale and metallic, but you drank it greedily, too desperate to care. Some of it dribbled down your chin.

When the cup was empty, he didn’t pull away immediately. His hand still gripped your wrist, a faint, pulsing pressure against your racing pulse. Then, his thumb brushed against your skin.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

He released you, rising in a slow, heavy motion. The cup clattered to the floor, rolling a little before settling. Without a word, he turned and walked out, the door groaning and slamming shut behind him.

Your heart thundered in the silence. You stared at the rusted cup, your wrist still tingling where he’d touched you.

Was he trying to take care of you? Or was this something else—something darker, something worse? Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You were his prisoner. His toy. His… his what?

You couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t live in this darkness, in his strange, silent shadow. Your eyes fell to the chain at your ankle, thick and rusted but solid. Your fingers probed the iron cuff—cold, heavy. No matter how you twisted, it wouldn’t slide off.

But there had to be a way. Some weakness. Some escape. Even if you had to…

The door crashed open.

You flinched, a startled gasp escaping you. The man stormed in, faster than before, and your heart lurched. His breathing was louder, harsher, almost a growl beneath the mask. His shoulders heaved, and something dark and wet dripped from his hands—water? Blood? You couldn’t tell in the murky light.

He moved directly to you, and before you could even think to shrink away, his massive hand closed around your jaw. The pressure was firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to lock you in place. His eyes blazed down at you, and his head tilted, that animal curiosity returning.

You whimpered, a tiny, broken sound muffled by his grip.

Then, slowly, his other hand rose, his thick, filthy fingers brushing against your cheek. A dark smear trailed across your skin. His thumb pressed gently, almost as though he were wiping something away. It was water. His hands were dripping with water. But the water on his hands was murky, tainted with dark streaks of grime. His attempt to clean you only smeared the filth across your cheek, leaving a sticky, mud-streaked cheeks. Panic clawed at you, your skin crawling beneath his touch, but your body remained rigid, locked in place by his iron grip on your jaw.

You tried to turn away, but his fingers tightened slightly, forcing your gaze back to him. His eyes searched your face, the erratic flicker within them giving no hint of reason, no trace of humanity. His breathing grew slower, his chest rising and falling like the tide.

“P-Please,” you whispered, barely daring to speak. “Please, let me go.”

His thumb brushed over your lips, smearing another streak of muck across them. He seemed almost… fascinated, watching the way your skin yielded beneath his touch, the tremble of your mouth against his rough, filthy thumb.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears burning behind your lids.

“Please…”

For one dreadful, endless moment, you were sure he wouldn’t stop—sure that he would press harder, force you to endure the filthy, clumsy attempt at… what? Comfort? Control? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know.

But then, abruptly, he pulled away. His hand fell to his side, leaving your skin streaked with dirt and cold with lingering dampness. He stood there for a moment, staring down at you. Staring.

Masterlist

[ashnnix]

"This horny Incubus won't leave me alone"

Incubus Gojo x Sub Male reader.

Warnings: Bottom reader, amab, dubcon, overstimulation, reader is a streamer, Gojo is also like a sub. Based on manga named 'Game Shitai Dake na no ni Incubus ni Suwaremakuru'!

You finally hit "End Stream" and slump back in your chair like a ragdoll. Chat had been dead tonight, your kill/death ratio was trash, and you accidentally moaned over a jump scare again. Peak embarrassment.

With a groan, you rub your face and mutter, “Kill me now.”

But of course, death is too kind and not nearly as annoying as him.

Just as you start reaching for the last cold sip of your energy drink, you feel it. A slow, warm pressure against your lap like fingers, or maybe something worse, something playful and so ero.

You sigh, not even flinching this time. “Gojo.”

A low chuckle curls around your ear, smug and too pleased with himself. “Aw, you always ruin the surprise, streamer-kun. I was trying to be subtle this time.”

“You literally touched my dick.”

“I said subtle, not invisible,” he hums, his voice a purr. A moment later, you feel his weight settle on the armrest, his face way too close, silver hair brushing your cheek. “You know the rules. You stream, I visit. It's a whole... energy exchange thing. You’re glowing with that sweet loser energy I need to survive.”

You shoot him a tired glare. “You’re such a freak.”

Gojo grins, fangs peeking out just a little. “And yet, you keep letting me feed.”

You don't answer. Mostly because you don't have one. He always shows up after your streams like clockwork, in heat and lewd touches and sinful smiles. He says he feeds on your life force, but you’re not stupid. That’s not all he’s after.

Hes after your tight asshole, not just your cum.

"You were cute tonight," he whispers, tapping his finger against your chin. "Especially when you screamed like a little bitch during that horror game. I felt that jolt of panic straight through the ether– “

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m an incubus, babe. It’s in the job description.” He shifts in your lap, way too casual for someone basically straddling you. “You know you could make this easier by just letting go. Give me a little more cum.”

Your breath hitches as his hand trails down your chest, slow and lazy. You curse yourself for reacting.

“See? You like when I tease you,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Just say the word, and I’ll make this whole ‘streamer burnout’ thing go away. Nice and easy.”

You look away, biting your cheek. He always does this. Always pushes until you're at the edge.

“…I hate you,” you mumble.

Gojo grins, fangs glinting as he leans closer, lips brushing your ear.

“No you don’t.”

And damn it, maybe you don’t.

You’re not sure when exactly it went from “mildly annoying post-stream visit” to “I’m going to lose my mind if he keeps touching me like that,” but Gojo has a talent for crossing lines with zero shame.

"god, you're such a brat," you snap, grabbing his wrist after he let his hand wander a little too far over your thigh.

He just grins, head tilting, white hair falling over his forehead like he styled it on purpose even though you know he didn’t. “Mmm… getting angry now, are we?” he hums, tone syrupy and smug. “So hot when you act tough. Wanna growl at me next?”

You don’t even think you just grab the front of his leather straps, shove him back, and push him toward your bed like you’ve completely lost the plot.

“Shut up you fucking gonner” you bark, pissed, flustered, way too turned on. Why wouldn't you a sexy big chested man on your bed legs open wide ready to be fucked.

Gojo stumbles back with a laugh and lands flat on your bed, legs open, hands propped behind his head like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. And judging by the way he bites his lip hard enough that his fang catches it just a little he has.

“Oh?” he says, voice low, that smile spreading slow and deliberate. “So this is how you wanna play it?”

You glare, chest rising and falling too fast, hands clenched at your sides. You’re not even sure what just happened. You’re mad. You’re humiliated. You’re–

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath, almost like it’s to himself. “Pissed off, flustered, desperate… You’re gonna last maybe three rounds before you start begging.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“What?”

“You don’t get it yet, do you?” he interrupts, sitting up a little, licking his bottom lip slowly. “The more riled up you get, the better you taste. Emotion, energy, frustration…” He reaches forward, fingers ghosting over your waistband. “You think I came here just to tease? Nah, baby I came to drain everything out of you. Might as well have fun doing it.”

And even though your pride’s screaming, your body betrays you– shivering at the sound of his voice, the heat of his touch, the glint in his incubus eyes that tells you you’re not sleeping tonight.

Not unless it’s with him. And probably not even then.

You might’ve started this pissed off, but now?

You're just screwed. In every possible way.

Gojo's incubus tail flicked, and as usual, he slid down your waistband. Your cock stood hard in front of him.

Gojo smirked, eyes filled with lust and longing. ‘Shit, I missed him so much.’

You flinched when you felt his tongue graze over your tip.

Drooling, Gojo kept his tongue out as he slurred through his grin, “You worked so hard, darling.”

He kissed your tip with a wink. “I'll make sure to satisfy you♡.”

Of course, you were turned on but you hadn’t even taken a bath yet. You raised a hand to stop him. “Hey, can you wait for like a couple minute?”

Gojo stroked your head, making you shiver. “Ah! Hmp–” You quickly muffled the sound with your hand.

Gojo smirked, continuing his slow pace, eyes locked onto your cockhead. “If I wait that long, I might wither and die.”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep steady under his warm touches.

Gojo’s fingers played skillfully along your shaft, as usual. “And like always, I’ll only take one load.”

You glared down at him. “You’re the one who’s never satisfied with just one.”

Gojo licked the base of your cock, his sticky drool trailing along your skin. You winced in pleasure. “Guh!–”

Your reaction made his dick twitch. “Huh? I meant it for real this time,” he muttered.

Gojo opened his mouth wide, tongue out like a porn star. “But don’t worry, I’ll make you feel better.”

His mouth swallowed you whole.

Your hips instinctively pushed forward as pleasure surged through your entire length. “Ah! Mhm! Gojo–hmm~” you gasped, feeling his warm mouth wrap around you. His teeth grazed slightly, but it didn’t hurt.

Gojo’s face flushed red as he took you in, the only thought in his mind 'I'll make him cum so hard he can’t say no to my dick.’

He bobbed his head, your cock hitting the back of his throat. His eyes rolled back. ‘Ooh~ he tastes so good!’

You muffled your whines as heat spread through your body. “Ugh–hng!”

You felt yourself getting closer who could blame you? A professional dick-sucker was draining your soul. “I’m cumming!”

Gojo pressed his face against your pubes just as your release hit–warm, sticky, and slightly salty–as it spilled down his throat, filling him with renewed energy.

“Ahhh…” You thrust your hips a couple of times, feeling Gojo savor your taste.

Gojo felt his black leather panties tighten, his fat dick growing harder and harder.

He pulled off with a wet pop, drool still connecting his lips to your tip.

You watched as he opened his mouth, just like the yaoi scenes you’d read his tongue proudly holding your load.

Gojo touched the cum with a heated breath, his body overheating with the desperate need to be inside you. “Your cum’s thick as always, so gross.”

You shivered at the sight, but blinked in confusion at his words. “So is that a good thing or not?”

Gojo looked up at you. “Yes and no.”

You sighed only for him to suddenly pull you onto the bed. You grunted as your body hit the mattress, opening your mouth to complain but the words died when you saw him.

His eyes were blown wide, pupils shaped like hearts. His body was sweaty, mouth dripping with saliva and your cum. He was panting heavily, and best of all…

His thick, fat cock loomed over your face casting shadows, leaking pre like it was already lubed up.

Gojo raised your legs, his hand twitching with excitement. “Make me feel good now.”

With one sharp thrust, his hips pushed forward, burying all of his cock inside you. He whined, his tail flicking wildly behind him. “Ohh, Y/N! So tight, so good! Ngh!”

Your eyes rolled back, your back arching from the overwhelming pleasure.

An incubus cock could turn anyone dumb from just the pre alone hitting the victims sweet spot.

“Ugh–ngh! Go-Gojo! Gi-give me a warning next ha… time!” you slurred, mouth already drooling.

But Gojo wasn’t listening because he was just as dumb with lust. “Ah~♡ My darling’s tight loser hole... I missed this,” he rambled, his hips already moving at a fast pace.

Fwap fwap

“Shi– too fast, G-Gojo! Nghhh~ haa! Huagh!!!” you cried, your hands gripping the sheets tightly, head tilting back as his dick pounded your prostate over and over.

Gojo felt his cock twitch at your reaction. He moaned like a slut, just as loud. “Oh! Ah! Ahn! Y-Y/N! You're so tight–so fucking tight!”

You felt your body shudder, your vision starting to blur. “FUCK! A-Ahm–I'm gonna cum!!”

Gojo didn’t hear you–but just as he hit your prostate again, your vision went white.

Feeling you tighten around him, Gojo’s mouth dropped open, watching you cum like a virgin all over again. “Finally! Darling’s cumming! Hehe ahh~”

Gojo was surprised when you suddenly flipped him onto his back. His eyes widened as he watched you strip off your top, his cock still barely inside you. The sight only turned him on more.

You glared down at him, still breathless and flushed. “You haven’t cum yet, and I’m still pent up from the tournament.”

Without warning, you slammed your hips down.

Plop, plop!

This time, it was Gojo’s back that arched. “Ohh! Love your hole! Ngh–love it so much!”

You smirked, but your confidence flickered when you felt his cock reach even deeper. “Ohh! Y-You love it? Ngh–mhm! Love my loser hole?”

Gojo nodded frantically, hands gripping your hips with desperation. “Y-Yeah! Love your hole!”

The way you tightened around his thick length had him leaking pre-cum again and again, his brain short-circuiting with pleasure. “Da-hm… Awm… too–ngh… cu– ngh!” He couldn’t even form a straight sentence anymore.

Plop plop schlorp!

You didn’t understand or didn’t care as you kept slamming your hips down over and over. “Haa–ngh! Cre-creampie this loser’s ass!”

And Gojo did.

He arched his back, the tip of his cock pressing deep, kissing the very end of your hole. “Huaghhh!!” His eyes rolled back, pupils replaced with hearts as he threw his head back.

Your body trembled, your own orgasm crashing into you. “Ooh~ Shoo full! Shoo good!” you slurred, your dick twitching as his thick cum filled you to the brim.

“Haa… haa…”

Both of you took a moment to catch your breath.

‘Shit, he fucked me and I fucked him hard,’ you thought once your mind finally cleared. But Gojo’s hadn’t.

His head was still thrown back, tongue hanging out.

‘So lewd,’ you thought, a devious idea forming in your mind. With shaky legs, you stood up and reached for your pants to grab your phone.

Gojo didn’t even notice you holding it.

He reached down to touch his still-hard cock, wet with cum. He held it up, showing he was still painfully pent up.

“More pleash… fuck me more…” he mumbled, dazed.

You stroked yourself slowly, groaning, and took a photo.

“Looks like I’m not streaming tomorrow,” you muttered under your breath. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

From far away, a certain long black-haired angel watched through his orb, eyes narrowing as he glared down at you.

“So dirty,” he muttered.

--------------------

[arkaiveofurown]

you got drunk and seduced him

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader

You had too much alcohol, so you decided to have a little fun.

Word Count: ~500 - 1,000 words

tag: suggestive

my masterlist here ♡

——

Zoro

The Thousand Sunny rocks gently on calm waters, the afternoon sun baking the deck as you sprawl on a crate near the training area, a jug of cheap booze in hand.

You’ve been tossing back shots for the better part of an hour, watching Zoro slice through the air with his swords, sweat glistening on his scarred torso.

That single-minded focus, the raw power in every swing, the way he grunts with effort—it’s doing things to you, things the alcohol only amplifies.

You’ve always liked pushing his buttons, seeing how far you can take it before that gruff exterior cracks.

And right now, with your head spinning and inhibitions gone, you’re ready to say some downright filthy things to the Swordsman of the Straw Hats.

You stand, wobbling a bit, and stride over just as he sheathes Wado Ichimonji, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“Oi, Zoro,” you call, voice thick with liquor and intent, stopping close enough to smell the salt and steel on him.

He glances over, one eye narrowing, already sensing trouble.

“What?” he grunts, short and sharp, but you just grin, leaning in so your words are for him alone.

“Y’know, I’ve been watchin’ you swing those swords, and I can’t help wonderin’ how good you’d be at handlin’ somethin’ else. Bet you could fuck me so hard I’d forget my own damn name, huh? Slice right through me with that big, hard—”

His face goes from annoyed to stunned in half a second, mouth dropping open before he snaps it shut, a rare flush creeping up his neck.

“The hell’s wrong with you?!” he barks, but there’s a roughness to his tone that wasn’t there before.

You laugh, low and dirty, stepping closer.

“C’mon, tough guy, don’t tell me you ain’t thought about it. Pin me down, cut loose— I’m ready for ya.”

Do you think he’ll bite, or just swing a sword at you to shut you up?

Zoro’s grip tightens on the hilt of Shusui, knuckles whitening, and for a moment, you think he might actually draw it just to scare you off.

But his eye locks on yours, burning with something that ain’t just anger, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and you’re gonna regret it,” he growls, voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine, the heat of his breath close as he glares.

You don’t back down, tilting your chin up defiantly, your smirk daring him.

“Make me, Zoro. I fuckin’ dare ya.”

The air between you crackles, thick with unspoken challenge, and his hand twitches—not toward the sword, but toward you, hovering just an inch from your arm as the Sunny’s deck creaks under the weight of the tension.

——

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under your unsteady feet, the salty tang of the sea mixing with the sharp burn of rum on your tongue.

Lanterns swing overhead, casting golden flickers across the weathered wood as the Whitebeard Pirates roar with laughter, their voices a chaotic melody against the crashing waves.

You’ve had one too many, the warmth of the alcohol buzzing through your veins, making your skin prickle with reckless abandon.

And there he is—Portgas D. Ace, lounging against the railing, shirt half-unbuttoned, his freckled chest glistening with sweat from the humid night air.

That cocky grin of his, the way his dark eyes glint with mischief under the brim of his hat—damn, it’s doing things to you.

Why not play with fire tonight?

You stumble forward, a sly smile curling your lips, your heart thumping like a war drum as you close the distance.

“Hey, Ace,” you purr, voice low and dripping with intent, “you look like you could use some company. Or am I too hot to handle?”

His brow quirks, that grin widening as he straightens, clearly intrigued.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You sway closer, the rum making your movements bold, your hand brushing against his bare arm—skin on skin, electric.

His muscles tense under your touch, and you can’t help but linger, fingers tracing the edge of his tattoo, the black ink stark against his tan.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in so your breath ghosts over his ear, “I’ve always wondered how much heat you can really take. Care to test that with me?”

Ace lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he turns to face you fully, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’,” he drawls, voice rough like gravel, but his hand finds your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

The heat of his palm sears through your thin shirt, and you press yourself against him, chest to chest, daring him to push back.

Your fingers slide up his neck, tangling in the dark waves of his hair as you tug lightly, whispering, “I like danger. Don’t you?”

His eyes darken, a flicker of raw hunger flashing through them, and you know you’ve got him hooked.

But then, in a swift move, he spins you around, pinning you against the railing, the cool wood digging into your back as his body cages yours.

“Keep teasin’ me like that,” he growls, lips hovering just above yours, “and I might just burn this whole ship down.”

Your breath hitches, the tension crackling like wildfire between you, and you can’t resist reaching up to graze your nails down his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart.

What now—do you push him further, or let him take the lead?

——

Law

The Polar Tang’s dimly lit mess hall hums with the quiet clinks of mugs and the low murmur of the Heart Pirates unwinding after a long day.

You���re sprawled at a table, a half-empty bottle of sake in hand, the buzz in your head making the submarine’s steel walls feel less claustrophobic.

Across the room, Trafalgar Law leans against the counter, his sharp eyes scanning a medical text, completely oblivious to the party—or to you.

That stoic, calculating demeanor, the way his long fingers turn a page, even the damn spots on his hat… it’s infuriating how much you want him.

You’ve had enough of his cool detachment tonight.

With a smirk, you slam your bottle down, the noise cutting through the chatter, and decide it’s time to rattle the Surgeon of Death.

You stagger to your feet, the sake sloshing in your system as you saunter over, hips swaying with purpose.

“Captain,” you drawl, voice dripping with mischief, stopping right in front of him.

Law’s gaze lifts, those piercing gray eyes narrowing as he takes in your flushed state.

“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, already turning back to his book.

Oh, hell no. You’re not letting him dismiss you that easily.

With a daring grin, you reach for the hem of your top, peeling it off in one fluid motion, leaving you in just your bra—black lace, clinging to your curves.

The cold air of the sub hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in your core as Law’s eyes snap back to you, widening for a fraction of a second before his jaw tightens.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, voice low, but you catch the faintest flush on his tattooed neck.

Leaning forward, hands braced on the counter beside him, you let him get a good look, your smirk wicked.

“Just givin’ you a reason to pay attention, Doc. Wanna check my vitals now?”

His fingers twitch around the book, and you swear you see a crack in that icy facade—will he snap, or keep playing the untouchable captain?

The room’s gone quiet, or maybe it’s just the blood pounding in your ears as you hold his stare, daring him to react.

Law slams the book shut with a sharp thud, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re starting.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t call for Bepo to drag you off.

Instead, his gaze drops, lingering on the swell of your chest before flicking back to your face, a storm brewing in those eyes.

You tilt your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips, pushing him further.

“Then show me, Law. I’m all yours to dissect.”

His hand shifts, inching toward the hilt of Kikoku propped nearby—not out of threat but pure instinct—and you feel the air thicken, your skin prickling as you wait for his next move…

His long fingers hovering just above the blade’s grip.

——

Sanji

The kitchen of the Thousand Sunny smells of fresh herbs and simmering broth, a late-night sanctuary where Sanji works his magic.

You’ve wandered in after a few too many drinks with the crew, the buzz in your head making you bolder than usual as you lean against the counter, watching him chop vegetables with that effortless precision.

His blond hair falls over one eye, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air, and damn if he doesn’t look good in that apron.

You’ve always known how to push his buttons—he’s a hopeless romantic, after all—and tonight, you’re in the mood to be his muse.

Swinging your legs playfully, you lean forward, letting your voice dip into something sweet and teasing.

“Sanji, darling,” you coo, drawing out the words as you twirl the bottle in your hand, “you always make such a fuss over Nami and Robin, but what about me? Don’t I deserve a little of that special treatment?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide behind that blond fringe, and the cigarette nearly falls from his mouth as he stammers,

“M-my lady, of course, I—anything for you!”

You hop off the counter, closing the distance, and pluck the cigarette from his lips, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke right in his face with a wicked smile.

“Then how ‘bout you serve me somethin’… personal? I’m starvin’ for a taste of you, chef.”

His face turns beet red, hearts practically popping in his eyes, but there’s a nervous swallow as you press closer, your hand brushing his apron.

On the other hand, Sanji’s no fool—he knows when he’s being played with, doesn’t he?

He recovers fast, a suave grin spreading as he sets down his knife, turning to face you fully.

“Ahh, my sweet, you wound me with such temptation! But I am at your service—name your desire, and I’ll whip it up!”

His voice drips with flirtation, but you see the way his hands fidget, the slight tremor in his fingers.

You step even closer, your chest brushing his as you murmur,

“I want the main course, Sanji. Hot, messy, and all mine.”

His breath catches, eyes darting to your lips, and for once, the smooth-talking cook seems at a loss for words.

The pot on the stove bubbles over with a loud hiss, steam rising, mirroring the heat building between you as his hand hovers near your waist, hesitant but oh-so-close to touching.

[mooningningg]

★ Roomate!Sukuna comes home bruised and bleeding.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, a tub of ointment in your lap, cotton pads and medical tape scattered around you like a make-shift ER, while Sukuna slouches in front of you — shirtless, bruised, and bloody. His back leans against your pink headboard, legs stretched across your comforter like he owns the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of does. Half of it, anyway.

“You’re bleeding on my duvet,” you say, voice flat as you wipe the dried blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Get a darker fuckin’ duvet, then,” he snaps, eyes narrowing like it’s your fault he's currently held together by spite and butterfly bandages. “Didn’t tell you to play nurse, did I?”

You ignore him. You always do when he’s like this—wounded, stubborn, too proud to admit he’s hurting. You dab at a split on his brow and he flinches.

“Stay still.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Sadistic little brat.”

“You’re the one who got into a fight in broad daylight,” you mutter, dabbing a little harder than necessary. He growls low in his throat. “Over what, again?”

“Tch.” He looks off to the side, jaw ticking. “Some piece of shit cut in line. At the taco truck.”

You stare at him. “You beat someone up over food?”

“It wasn’t just that,” he snaps, shifting his weight like he’s still running hot. “It was the way he fucking looked at me. Smug. Like he thought he could just walk past me like I’m not there. Like I’m not someone who’ll bash his teeth in for breathin’ wrong.”

You dab at a gash on his cheek. It’s not too deep, but angry and red. He winces but doesn’t move this time.

“You know you didn’t have to escalate it to violence, right?”

He scoffs. “Motherfucker said I ‘look like I bark outside gas stations.’”

You blink. “Do you?”

He glares at you. “Try me.”

You snort. “You’re lucky he didn’t have backup.”

“Hah. Wouldn’t matter. None of those bastards can touch me.” He tilts his chin up with that signature arrogance, a cocky grin tugging at one corner of his bruised lip. “I had that fucker on the pavement in thirty seconds. Didn’t even crack my knuckles.”

“You did crack your ribs though.”

He grunts but doesn’t deny it.

And then, without thinking, your hand brushes across his side—gently, just to feel for swelling—and his whole body goes rigid. His muscles tense beneath your fingertips like he’s trying to pretend it doesn’t affect him. But it does. The pain. The closeness.

He hates being taken care of. Hates it more when it’s you, because you never ask why he’s like this. You just see the wreckage and grab a towel.

He glances down at you. Your brow is furrowed, lips pressed together as you carefully tape the last bit of gauze to his side. So damn close.

He’d take every punch, every hit, every cracked rib in the world if it meant you’d look at him like this again. Eyes soft. Hands gentle. Worry in your voice, even if you call him a dumbass while doing it.

But of course, he has to ruin it.

“This is pathetic,” he mutters. “You playing nurse like you’re my little girlfriend or somethin’. You got a thing for broken men, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your voice is quieter now. “I have a thing for people who don’t bleed on my pink sheets every other week.”

“They’re fuckin’ hideous,” he mumbles.

You smile a little.

He sees it. He hates how much he likes it.

“…Still didn’t ask for this,” he says after a beat, but the bite in his voice has dulled. “You didn’t have to patch me up.”

“I know,” you say, brushing your fingers across his cheek again, softer now. The worst of it’s handled. “You never do.”

And you don’t say what you’re thinking. That it’s because you care. That you’re scared each time he comes home limping. That you’ve memorized where to find antiseptic in the middle of the night just because of him.

He watches you gather the trash and stand up to throw it away. His fingers twitch against his thigh like he wants to reach for you but won’t let himself.

“Hey,” he says just before you leave the room.

You pause at the door, glancing back.

His voice is quiet, low. “Thanks.”

You smile again. “Don’t bleed on my pillow.”

“Yeah, yeah, brat.”

But when the door clicks shut behind you, and he's left alone in your too-pink room with the smell of your lotion on his hands, he exhales through his nose.

He’d do it all again tomorrow if it meant you’d hold him like that again.

[faithsmadhouse]

Hostile Environment||John Walker (U.S. Agent) x fem!Reader

Word count: 939

Summary—you and John hate each other but when one messes up on the mission and gets separated from the rest of the team you distract yourself from the only way you can…by hate fucking.

Content Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, raw unprotected sex, rough handling, wall sex, degradation/praise mix, name-calling, biting, possessiveness, after-mission injuries, light blood, unresolved sexual tension, post-sex denial of feelings.

The reinforced steel door slammed shut behind you, the magnetic lock hissing into place.

“Shit,” you hissed, pressing your back to the cold wall. Your shoulder burned—shrapnel, maybe—but you weren’t bleeding out. Just trapped. With him.

“Well done, sweetheart,” John muttered, pacing the length of the ruined corridor. “Next time, maybe don’t blow the goddamn exit before we’ve both cleared it.”

You scoffed. “Next time, maybe keep your head down instead of playing hero. I was busy not getting shot.”

His eyes cut toward you, jaw clenched. “I am the hero.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “You’re a jackboot with a broken moral compass.”

John stopped in front of you, chest heaving, sweat streaking grime across his face. “You’ve got a real mouth on you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got a real stick up your ass.”

The silence between you snapped tight, strung up on static and heat and bruised adrenaline. You’d been at each other’s throats since the Thunderbolts first formed—barking, biting, circling like dogs with nowhere to run. Now it was just the two of you. Trapped underground. Hours until extraction. Armed to the teeth with tension.

His gaze dipped—just for a second. Over your chest. The torn fabric. The bloodstain. And then back up.

“You’re hurt,” he said roughly.

“No shit, genius.”

“I should look at it.”

“I’d rather bleed out.”

That made him grin—sharp and humorless. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Good. Because you’re a fucking headache.”

He was in front of you before you could blink, grabbing your wrist, pushing you back into the wall not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to say I’m done playing nice. You didn’t flinch. You never flinched.

“You gonna swing at me, soldier boy?” you taunted, lips curling.

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Not unless you want me to.”

That was the last thing either of you said before it happened.

You surged forward. He met you halfway. Teeth, tongue, bruising lips and the taste of blood and dust. Your hands shoved his chestplate off, uncaring where it clattered. His hands ripped your vest open, fingers greedy over skin, tugging until fabric tore.

“God, you’re such a bitch,” he snarled against your mouth, grabbing your ass and hauling you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, nails scraping over the buzzed edge of his hair.

“And you’re a cocky, overcompensating prick,” you gasped, biting his lip so hard he groaned.

He slammed you against the wall. Concrete bit into your back. His fingers were already undoing his belt, fumbling with your pants. Too fast, too frantic to be careful.

“You want this?” he growled.

You grabbed his jaw, forcing his face close. “If you stop now, I’ll kill you.”

That was all he needed.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw spit-slick, pants shoved halfway down, bodies bruised from battle and still aching for more. John thrust into you like he had something to prove, like every grunt and growl and curse was another point scored.

You clawed at his back, dug your heels into his flak jacket, rode the pain like a wave. “Harder, you asshole,” you panted, forehead pressed to his.

He laughed darkly. “Bossy little thing. Bet you get off on barking orders.”

“Bet you cry after sex.”

He fucked you harder.

Your breath hitched as he bottomed out, thick and burning, scraping your walls raw. “Fuck—”

“That’s right,” he hissed. “Take it. Just like that. Loudmouth bitch can’t shut up unless she’s full of cock, huh?”

You moaned, biting down on his shoulder so hard he cursed again. He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. Just gripped your hips tighter and rutted up into you like he hated the way you felt too good.

You met him thrust for thrust, eyes rolling back when his pelvis ground against your clit. “Fucking—God, John—”

His name on your tongue nearly undid him.

“Say it again,” he demanded, hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, just holding. Possessive. Wild.

You hissed through your teeth, hips rolling. “John. Walker. You fuck like you fight—messy.”

That made him growl.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he said, low and filthy. “You’ll feel it for days.”

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to.

You clenched around him, thighs shaking. “Do it,” you whispered. “Fucking do it.”

He kissed you hard when he came—snarling into your mouth, hips twitching, warmth flooding you in thick, pulsing waves.

You followed seconds later, stars bursting behind your eyes, body tensed and boneless all at once. It left you breathless, panting, still clinging to him like you might fall if you let go.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing. Skin slick. Minds racing.

Then—

“Get off,” you mumbled.

He stepped back reluctantly, slipping out of you with a grunt. You winced. Your legs nearly gave out. He caught you before you hit the ground, muttering, “Don’t flatter yourself—I just don’t want to explain your corpse to Ross.”

You shoved his chest. “Still a prick.”

He grinned. “Still wet for me.”

You huffed, turning away, yanking your pants back up. “This meant nothing.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I still can’t stand you.”

But when you turned your back, he looked at you like he already missed the weight of you around him. Like he didn’t hate the way you said his name.

You both ignored it.

[ddejavvu]

so i absolutely love the best friend james potter fic where he warms his hands between the reader’s thighs and the idea of him having really bad circulation just makes sense to me, so can we get a technically kinda part two but instead of between the readers thighs it’s that portion of underboob that just heats up so much for no reason whatsoever? 🙇🙇🙇

Sirius's canine form requires him to get at least twelve hours of outdoor time per week, but during the winter months it becomes a chore delegated to the least lucky of the group: take Padfoot for a walk.

"Please, Jamie?" You'd leveled James with puppy eyes that rivalled Sirius himself, and now two sets of footprints lay in the snow beside pawprints that wind around them in happy trails.

"It's bloody cold out here." James comments, like your own nose isn't burning from the temperature, "Sirius, can't you piss on trees faster?"

Padfoot, who greatly resents the tree-pissing stereotype, takes a snapping lunge at James's ankles that sends him careening into you from your left.

"James!" You shriek as your feet and his knock clumsily together, all four united in trying to stabilize you. His arm wraps around your waist and he finds his footing first, which means that you're supported by his grip as you find your own. You find yourself inches away from his face, his nose stained red akin to his cheeks as you both laugh at how you've ended up pinned to a tree in the forest. Sirius barks at you, sounding suspiciously giddy, and James drags his hands off of your back, trailing them over your stomach as he goes.

"Gonna put a muzzle on you for that one, mutt." James threatens Sirius, who dashes off to find a stick or lick a toad or whatever else his dog brain fancies at the moment. You're left trailing beside James once again, wishing that you had your own stick to drag through the snow.

"You were really warm," James reminisces, his hands surely going numb, "Like- your stomach?"

"It's my boobs," You snicker, "No matter how cold a girl gets, the space beneath her tits will always be warm."

"Really?" James peers curiously at you, "That's cool. It's like a life hack."

"Right. It's-" You stick a hand guilelessly beneath your shirt, nestling it beneath the curve of your bra, "It's not, like, sweaty or anything. Just warm."

"Fascinating." James pushes his glasses up his nose with a single outstretched finger, "Wish I had some of those."

"You can borrow mine," You concede, taking James's hand in your own and sliding it up your stomach until his hand is leeching off of the same warmth you'd felt only seconds prior, "Feel it?"

His jaw drops, one of his unruly curls bouncing stubbornly in front of his face.

"Darling, you weren't kidding! It's like an oven in here." He hums, his other hand greedily reaching for the excess space beneath your chest, "Oh my god, if I had this I'd never stop touching it."

When Padfoot returns it's to James pressing you against another tree, hands pressed firmly to the space beneath your tits. He charges for James determinedly, latching his teeth around the man's elbow and pulling with all of his might to separate his friend from you.

"Pads- ouch! She's- relax, Fido, she's let me. I'm warming my hands, thank you very much."

James manages to pry Padfoot's maw off of him, hissing at the skin surely bruised beneath his thick wool coat.

"It's alright, Sirius." You rub sweetly between the dog's ears, "His hands were cold, that's all. Don't want to bring him back to the castle with less than ten fingers."

Sirius's resulting growl towards James sounds suspiciously like he's going to lose fingers anyways, whether it be from frostbite or a dog's bite.