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[sunnie-angel]

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Part 13: The Coworker

part 12 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a strange holding pattern develops where nothing really happens and all you can do is bury yourself in work while jason keeps hiding things from you

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: more of a set up chapter before the next big plotty thing happens. umm don't throw tomatoes at me?

Jason Todd is lying to you. Or at the very least he’s keeping things – important things – from you. Knowing that, being unable to close your eyes and turn the other way anymore, it fractures you a little more in ways you had thought you were long past. Still, stupidly, you love him. You keep waiting for the day when it gets easier to breath and your stomach stops swooping anytime Jason Todd is in sight. Hope rises and falls. His kindness mixed with cruelty burns but you can’t stop drinking it down as though you’ve been days in the desert.

In some ways, not being around Jason and the friends you share is easier, not having to wonder with every stilted interaction what there is left to hold you together. Much easier then, to bury yourself in work, in school. Lose yourself to distractions until the fear and paranoia dogging your every step fade into the background with the hum of routine and the mindless chattering of people who don’t know you well enough to hurt you with their well meaning questions.

It feels silly to plan for your future when it might very well come to an end in an alley, but the thought of a next month, a next year, a next moment keeps you clinging to sanity like a life preserver. So you put your head down and work, fingers crossed that all your effort will pay off with the summer research position currently being dangled over the heads of all the English department interns. A stepping stone, maybe, to being able to work your way through grad school that certainly no one else but you and your student loan from Gotham Trust will be paying for. For 15 hours a week you can tune out the present, get lost in the daydreams and the work of building that future which rests just hazily out of your reach, beyond the taint of murderers creeping in the dark and a love that seeps like poison.

Something close to regret always passes over you when the work day ends and Jason stands at the door waiting for you. Maybe even something ugly, a twisted up anger, jagged and sharp, that buries itself under your breastbone. Your life is held together with duct tape and sticky glue, balanced precariously on one wobbly leg, but no matter what happens to you, Jason will be fine as always. In a few months he’ll have his degree and a family that apparently doesn’t hate him as much as he’s implied and he’ll go swanning back off to wherever the fuck he mysteriously appeared from. After graduation, who’s to say that you’ll stay friends at all? That he won’t move on with his life and maybe, occasionally, he’ll think fondly of the girl he was friends with for less than a year while he’s off saving the world, saving the Alley, from yet another idiot villain. The future is yours, shining and pristine, but yours alone. A shining knife that’s lodged itself in your chest and twists in anticipation of the moment when he’ll let you go.

You don’t let any of those thoughts show on your face though. Don’t want to ruin any of the dwindling moments you have left and so you bury it down inside, pack the soil down on top hard and cross your fingers that it won’t grow any poisonous fruit.

The first time you stay late, you’re apologetic when you ask Jason to come back in a few hours but there’s none of the usual claustrophobic sensation. Jaimie had asked for help and you had volunteered to give it to her, any excuse not to go home and sit in your tiny apartment and flinch at the wind outside. It’s the first time you stay late but not the last.

Really you had never intended to be so distant from the other research interns but when all the seniors are competing really for the same opportunity, one that would make or break your future plans, it’s not hard to see everyone else as competition. People to be polite and helpful to, but not people to get close to in the eventuality that they break your heart by getting the position or you break theirs. But in searching for more and more reasons to stay distracted, to prolong the moment just before you see Jason again, before you fall into his arms again begging for scraps, it’s hard not to get to know them better.

There’s sweet Jaimie with her bottle thick glasses who only started this semester, Amira with her nearly magical knowledge of the library’s cataloguing systems, and Louisa whose German accent only comes through when she gets annoyed. Stoic Miguel that never really says much but doesn’t have to in order to get his point across and Ian whose charm has even crabby Dr. Duvall smiling broadly. They’re friends, all of them, or at least on friendly terms. It’s hard not to thaw towards them when suddenly you’re making a point to spend so much time with them.

Probably, you should be on your guard. Probably, you should listen to the paranoia whispering at the back of your mind about strangers and hidden motives. But with all the lights turned on in the tucked away office for interns, the space heater warming the old bricks and mild laughter and offers of help freely given, it feels safe in a way. That this space makes them safe even if you couldn’t name their birthdays at gunpoint (you really hope you’ll never have to do that). Here you can leave all of your messy emotions at the door, all the bagging and sleepless nights forgotten in the face of people that don’t know you.

Three weeks and never once does Jason complain about the hours stretching later and later. He never mentions how your feet seem to trudge slower and slower to him where he waits at the door. How the lightness seems to leave you as you hit the cold night air. Three weeks until his patience hits its limit.

“Seems like you’ve been working more than last semester,” he drops leadingly into conversation one morning as he rolls out of the side of your bed he’s claimed for himself.

“Seems like it,” you reply as you struggle to get your bra hooked on right. He comes up behind and does the clasp for you, hovers like he wants something more he’s not sure he’ll be allowed in the bright light of day.

“I just worry about you, yeah? Don’t want you to work yourself sick with— with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Well don’t,” you tell him, harsh words that drip with your frustration as you dig through your drawers for a sweater. Dannika and Lina have already been on your case about all your overtime hours, not to mention Rei’s quiet concern. “Don’t worry about this, okay” You say more gently, turning back to him as you tug the sweater over your head. “Work’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with—” you gesture expansively “—all of this.” Quickly you register the way his eyes go blank and shuttered. “With the fear, I mean. No time for serial killers when I’m trying to collate lists of possible sources for Dr. Higuchi’s next book.” He nods, and then doesn’t bring it up again. 

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s only you, Amira, and Miguel working. The office is quiet without Jaimie’s constant questions and Ian’s little asides but its a cosy kind of quiet. Slowly the quality of the light changes as the sun creeps below the skyline and eventually you have to admit that there’s nothing more to keep you there for the day. You pack up simultaneously, Amira bumping your elbow with her overstuffed satchel as she swings it onto her shoulder.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t ding you too hard did I?” She apologizes. It was a pretty solid hit, the several hardcovers in her bag as good as bricks but she didn’t mean anything by it and so you don’t take it personally.

“No harm done,” you let her know, shouldering your own bag as you do.

“Any plans for tonight?” Amira asks.

“Just tackling some readings for class, nothing interesting,” you reply with the conspiratorial tiredness that all students have by this time of the year.

“Hmmm okay, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday? Why?” You ask, a tightness to your spine. She’s never asked, none of them have ever asked before. There’s been the usual how was your weekends and have a good nights but never anything this direct.

“Well most of us sneak into the grad student bar on Thursday for their trivia night and you need five people for a team only Louisa’s got that paper due Friday and probably won’t come. So, if you’re free, would you want to join us?”

“I— uhm I’d have to check?” You tell her, suddenly panicked because this wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. Yes, you’d been getting on with your coworkers better but you hadn’t thought that you’d been getting on well enough to be invited to their plans outside of work. And yes, technically a Thursday should be fine, should be safe, no one’s gone missing on a Thursday. But to meet? Outside of the office, outside of the place you’d neatly marked as ‘safe’ with people that you barely know? “When does it— when does it usually end?” You ask instead. “Just with everything going on I usually have a friend—” the word catches in your throat “—walk me home at night.”

“Hmmm like eleven or so?” She cocks her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t even think of that. It’s so scary and I don’t even look like a potential victim.” Amira smiles at you pityingly and you can already feel the sympathy curdling in your stomach. “You know what, why don’t you bring them along? The teams only have to be a minimum of five but they can go all the way up to ten.”

“I’ll see if he’s free but I’ll let you know?” It’s pathetic at how easily just the thought of Jason’s presence makes you breath easier, feel more up to accepting what’s probably a genuine invitation. Amira happily gives you a number to contact and you part ways. Jason’s waiting, like always but it takes you a while to figure out exactly how to phrase your request to take up his time with something so trivial.

“I got invited out by my coworkers today,” you tell him, staring out the bus window as you speak. He’s folded himself into the aisle seat beside you, something you’d snorted about earlier and muttered about a clown car until he’d scowled from swallowing his laughter.

“Do I know any of them?” He asks, grumbling as he tries to find a position kinder to his knees.

“Maybe I introduced you to Jaimie?” You rack your brains thinking back. “Anyway, the point is they invited me to trivia night with them and when I was worried about making you wait for so long to walk me home they invited you too,” you say in a rush.

“When?” He cranes his neck to check the next stop as he asks.

“Thursday, ends around 11.”

He sighs through his nose. “If it was any other day I’d say no problem, yeah? But I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, a thing,” he evades.  The two of you get off at the stop, the bus kicking up dirty slush in its wake.

“You should go, have a good time,” Jason tells you in front of your building. “I’ll make sure to be there at 11 and I’ll still make sure you get home. But you should have some fun, yeah?”

He’s hiding something again, isn’t he?

It’s silly to be so distracted by a maybe but you can’t stop thinking about it. You miss a very obvious trick question on the publication of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, though Ian smiles very kindly when he changes the original date you had written to the date the book was first published under the author’s real name. Even without doing anything at all Jason still manages to knock you off balance. You don’t regret it, coming out with your coworkers, even if the bar starts to get more rowdy as the night goes on. That sense of safety, of oh these people won’t hurt me, isn’t restricted just to the office it would seem. Miguel still doesn’t speak very much but he smiles more and Jaimie is strikingly confident when she isn’t wrestling with spreadsheets. It’s almost, almost enough to distract you from thoughts of Jason by the time the evening is wrapping up.

You’re laughing freely at a sly joke from Amira you wish Dannika was there to hear too when you finally spot him. He’s leaning against the wall outside the building, phone still cupped to his ear when you run up to him, the snow muffling the sound of your foot steps. Even in the low lighting of the bar’s neon sign he still looks beautiful and you’re loath to disturb the moment. He’s just ending the call as you get closer, fat snowflakes catching in your hair.

“...yeah, yeah love you too Barbie.”

Oh.

a/n: on the other line, barbara's threatening to castrate jason for making dick sad

[chrollogy]

SILKEN WEB

— chrollo lucilfer x f!reader x hisoka morow

syn: Hisoka’s ‘generosity’ allows Chrollo to fuck you in front of him after he’s seen the way the latter has looked at you. Though, the redhead cannot help but join in on the fun despite being the cuck—he has his ways, he always does.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, porn without plot, cuckolding, voyeurism, threesome, creampie unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f & m), anal (f), masturbation (m), edging, overstimulation, hisoka uses bungee gum, chrollo might be pining over reader, not beta read.

word count: 2.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. the fruit of my late night thoughts nod nod. as per poll results, here’s hisoka as the cuck :3

Fantasizing—a children’s pastime, a mere way to escape from one’s gruelling reality but Chrollo Lucilfer would be lying to himself if he deemed he wasn’t immune to it. Oh, he certainly wasn’t without a doubt; the root of all his wildest dreams, and twisted carnal desires was none other than the woman beneath him, all in her serene nakedness—you.

So breathtakingly exquisite—the epitome of beauty. From the lust-clouded gaze that complimented the colour of your eyes all the way to the dulcet tone of your breaths, this was sinful heaven for Chrollo. Sinful not because of the sharp pleasure kissing down his spine but simply because you weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours. Not lovers, not friends, mere acquaintances, and your heart was reserved for none other than a member of the Troupe he led.

But that never stopped Chrollo from fantasizing about you, about this. Ever the observant fighter, it didn’t take long for Hisoka to catch the former’s lingering stares on you—albeit, as blank as a sheet of paper—whenever he paraded you around. One of the biggest telling signs was that Chrollo had never uttered a word regarding your presence whenever you sat there during their meetings despite the other members’ dismay.

Of course, once something piqued Hisoka’s curiosity, he wouldn’t let go until a solid answer was handed to him on a silver platter. It was a short exchange between the two males, a few sharp retorts from Hisoka’s end but nonetheless, it led to this lewd scene. Per the magician’s words, he gave Chrollo permission to do whatever he pleased to you—to fuck, to make love, to get lost in eye-rolling pleasure within your very walls but only if he got to watch everything unfold.

From the intimate act of undressing, and peeling of clothes all the way to a passionate climax that was sure to vex his very bones, Hisoka was to watch it all.

Faint squeaks of the bed frame paired with yours, and Chrollo’s heated gasps filled every corner of the room; his thrusts were deep, and rapid, body intimately flushed against your own which absolutely left no room for coherent words to come out—with the way his cockhead repeatedly prodded your sweet spot, strings of broken whimpers, and low moans were the best you could muster.

Sex wasn’t something you were foreign with but the ungodly rhythm of Chrollo’s hips was enough to make you feel like a virgin again begging for more, more, more, nothing but pleasure engrained inside your mind, clawing, and running after that blissful sensation.

Chrollo was different from Hisoka, he handled you with the utmost gentleness but that didn’t take away the fact that he pounded you oh-so-passionately into the ivory mattress beneath. On the other hand, Hisoka was rough, and animalistic—purely driven by his wild carnal desires. 

Chrollo’s sweat-lined forehead rested against yours, face mere centimetres from your own as your breaths intertwined in a vulgar dance. The hearts of his palms captured your trembling hands in a firm hold, pinning them on either side of your head, and used as leverage to drive his cock deeper into your sopping cunt—as deep as his desires went for you.

He closed his eyes at the feel of your walls clenching around him, jaw tightening as electric pleasure shot up his spine, “F-fuck . .” God, you felt divine, Chrollo truly wanted to keep you to himself. He could treat you so much better than Hisoka—have you reach new heights of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.

Alas, that was out of the picture, Chrollo would have to settle for the mere intimacy of fucking you beneath these ivory covers, the same ones you, and Hisoka retire under after a long, tiring day. The duvet draped loosely across Chrollo’s back, mirroring a broken angel’s wings, and with the eager thrusts of his hips, it slowly slipped downwards. It was hot, and stuffy beneath the weight of the blanket but he’d do anything to keep the lewd intimacy from a pair of prying eyes.

That’s right, Hisoka sat on a chair not too far off the foot of the bed, an unamused expression plastered on his face but the growing tent between his spreaded legs hinted far from unamused.

Sure, the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls had his cock hardening but Hisoka was deprived. He clicked his tongue, the sharp sound was enough to reel Chrollo out of his pleasured state followed by a stutter in his thrusts. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Chrollo but I said to give me a show, didn’t I?” What was Hisoka supposed to do with your bodies tucked beneath the covers? 

His view was nothing but the top half of Chrollo’s naked back, and the covers moving along with the latter’s thrusts, other than that, it left everything to Hisoka’s imagination. Of course, he wasn’t going to let it be, not after he generously let Chrollo fuck you like this.

With a swift flick of his index finger, the rubbery bright pink aura extended from the tip of his digit all the way to the ivory covers atop Chrollo’s naked back, attaching itself onto the fabric. A smirk crept its way up to Hisoka’s face as he pulled the covers down, exposing the way your naked bodies intimately tangled with one another.

A rather surprised gasp left your lips as the cool air hugged your fervent body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Naturally, this had also caught Chrollo off guard but didn’t let on, instead, the raven haired male responded by drilling his hips at a much faster pace, pulling a string of broken moans from your throat which only fuelled the excitement embedded in Hisoka’s chest.

Light amber eyes fixated where you and Chrollo met, Hisoka intently watched as the former’s cock disappeared, and reappeared between your coated slit—not to mention the light sheen of your essence around Chrollo’s cock, causing it to glimmer beneath the afternoon rays that seeped through the windows. Now, this was what Hisoka wanted to see—you, and Chrollo all in your filthy glory.

The feeling of blood rapidly rushing down to his cock, and the familiar tingle between his legs made Hisoka’s citrine gaze roll back, not to mention the growing delight on his face—it was anything but an innocent look. Lewd, wet sounds that were once muffled beneath the ivory duvet now reached Hisoka’s ears like an unholy melody; the constant skin slapping, the mixture of high, and low moans—the impurity of it all, your lover revelled in it.

Sounds of the redhead’s shameless pornographic moans intertwined with your own, and Chrollo’s as he teased himself through the fabric of his pants. Excitement shocked every part of his body like electricity, rendering him sensitive to anything, and everything—it was the same sensation as the extreme bloodlust he felt whenever he thirsted for battle.

Chrollo quietly clicked his tongue, not bothering to glance back at Hisoka in annoyance. He needed to focus on you. And he did. Without compromising the pace of his hips, Chrollo hooked his fingers beneath the back of your right knee, and deftly slung your whole leg atop his shoulder. The deeper angle of his cock had your back arching, your hands scrambled for his taut biceps to claw, and dig into as he pushed you further, and further into the borders of insanity.

“C-Chrollo! Fuck—right there! Just like that—haah!”

He let out a low groan as your nails marked him up, leaving streaks of bright red on his skin. By the looks of it, he wasn’t going to last much longer with the way your cunt gripped him like a vice. Nonetheless, Chrollo’s pace didn’t let up despite the resistance of your walls, albeit, it had his legs quivering, and breath hitching—god, Hisoka was so fucking lucky to have this, to have you.

Chrollo closed his eyes, and parted his lips to make way for soft pants, he focused his entire body in chasing yours, and his pleasure, basking in the ultimate bliss his body was currently experiencing.

Yes. Yes. Ye—

“She likes—haah! She likes taking it from behind—ngh!” The raven haired male shot his eyes open at the sound of Hisoka’s wanton voice, the concentration he once held faltering just a bit from the sudden noise.

Despite Chrollo’s better judgement, he hauled you into the position like a mere ragdoll, deftly handling your limp body with equal amounts of roughness, and gentleness. Though, your arms violently shook, and gave out as soon as Chrollo re-entered your cunt. With your torso flush against the ivory sheets, your lower half remained in position—easier for him to drive his cock deeper; you swore you could feel him in your throat.

The redhead let out a low chuckle, eager hands messily pulling his pants down to free his hard cock; Hisoka sighed at the lack of restraint, and threw his head back, exposing the length of his neck. 

With the new position, Chrollo returned to the pace he had set earlier, heavy balls slapping against your clit from each hard thrust. Skin against skin burned like a searing blaze but god did it feel amazing, not to mention how it stimulated your sensitive bud in all the right ways.

Chrollo curled over himself to place wet open-mouthed kisses down the length of your spine, moaning low saccharine praises in between. He pushed, and pushed into your sopping cunt until the coil deep in your stomach violently snapped. With a loud moan of his name muffled against the damp sheets, your back arched as you came around Chrollo—muscles taut, and knuckles a shade of ivory while pleasure gnawed at your skin.

Hisoka unabashedly fisted at his cock, one hand focused on pleasuring himself while the other sunk into the plush of the armchair. He matched the pace of his hand to Chrollo’s hips, imagining that it was your cunt instead of his palm, albeit, your velvety walls absolutely compared to nothing. Oh well, he’ll get a taste of you one way or another.

It didn’t take long for Chrollo to follow suit, driving his hips a couple more times before completely pulling out, and blowing his entire load on your bare back. He let out a shameless moan of your name—the loudest one he’s let out. Thick, milky ribbons of Chrollo’s cum unceremoniously painted your skin white, and all he could do was stare at it in a haze while his chest heaved up, and down.

On the other hand, Hisoka gave himself a few more rough pumps before squeezing the base of his leaking cock, lustily letting out a hiss as the pleasure he’d worked so hard for slowly dissipated. He cursed in between rough pants—the hunger for a sweet release just grew tenfold after depriving himself of an orgasm.

Hisoka had something better in mind than cumming on his hand.

“I guess it’s my turn.” Strong, muscular legs slightly quivered with every step taken towards the bed, cock standing proudly against his abdomen. Chrollo only narrowed his eyes at Hisoka, clearly displeased by his sudden initiative.

The former returned a smile, “Oh, don’t get greedy now, Chrollo. I’ll give you two choices—” He held out two long digits. “Either you sit, and watch or join in on the fun.”

Never in a million years would Chrollo even think to engage in a threesome with you, and Hisoka. He didn’t know what bothered him more, the fact that you were the latter’s lover or the fact that he was on the same bed as Hisoka. Nonetheless, here he was balls deep inside your ass, completely unhindered by inhibitions. Hisoka cursed at the feel of your wet cunt, biting his lips at the lewd sound it made as your hot cum coated his cock.

The redhead laid flat on his back, cunt wrapped around him while you straddled his lap which left Chrollo to take care of your backside. Your body remained slumped against Hisoka’s—limp, and quivering as if one wrong move would have you exploding to bits. Could you really blame yourself? Both men stretched you out like it was their sole purpose, it did nothing but put your body under immense pleasure.

You were sandwiched between Hisoka, and Chrollo as though mimicking a mere fly caught in a spider’s silken web, unable to escape. And that usually meant one thing: to wait for one’s impending doom before the ruthless arachnid strikes.

An experimental thrust of their hips had you wailing in pleasure. Having not given enough time to come down from your high, you were still too sensitive—any form of sexual stimulation immediately had your body uncontrollably shaking, and hot tears lining your eyes. Hisoka cupped your jaw with both hands, lifting your face in front of his own before closing the distance; heated, and rough just how he liked it; the redhead didn’t hesitate shoving his tongue past your lips, intimately exploring the inside of your mouth with the wet muscle.

If anything, the messy kiss was enough to distract you from the sudden rough pistoning of their hips—Hisoka gleefully swallowed your wanton moans, and relished at the burning sensation of your nails scratching down his bare chest. The bed creaked under the weight of their merciless thrusts with the headboard atop Hisoka’s head repeatedly banging the wall behind it; these sounds mixed with the lewd melody the three of you produced filled all four corners of the room.

It was funny, anyone would think that a Hisoka, and Chrollo tandem would be a match made in hell; highly volatile once paired together which would result in utter chaos but this—the two moved in perfect unison as though they shared one mind, one ideal. Even only if it was for this moment that they saw one another eye to eye, a wordless union to bring you to another orgasm.

A thin, translucent string of saliva connected your lips to Hisoka’s as he pulled away for a breather, hot breaths mingling with one another as you panted in eachother's face. A sense of pride bloomed across his crimson-marked chest as he watched your lust-filled eyes roll to the back of your head—Hisoka always had a thing for your expressions during sex, it served as fuel to keep going, to keep fucking you.

You looked beautiful bouncing on their cocks, head falling forward while taking their entire length like a champ; the only thing you could really do was grip onto Hisoka’s shoulders, and moan for your dear life. Chrollo couldn’t help but fixate on the way your ass jolted with every thrust, even just the sight of his cock disappearing, and reappearing between the globes of your ass had his head spinning.

It didn’t take long for you to reach yet another orgasm, and this time, it was more intense than the previous one; hot tears ran down your damp cheeks as your body convulsed from pleasure, a drawn out moan of their names combined scratched at your throat. As though he was punched in the gut, Chrollo curled over himself as you clenched around his cock, and attached his lips on your right shoulder, biting down hard at the bare skin.

Hisoka muttered sweet nothings while stroking your hair, amusement filling his tone; you laid there drowning in pleasure while both men remained chasing their own bliss, hips stuttering. It was filthy, and soaking wet where Chrollo, and Hisoka entered you, arousal mixed with your cum messily dripping down the latter’s balls, and onto the sheets beneath.

Chrollo’s digits dug into your skin, he sheathed his cock all the way inside your ass before emptying all his cum inside; he rode out his orgasm by grinding his hips, earning a dainty gasp of his name. Chrollo violently shuddered before releasing your skin from his teeth, he lapped, and kissed at the marks, helping ease the painful sensation he left.

This left Hisoka to firmly plant his feet on the mattress, and thrust upwards which sent your body bouncing once more; short gasps turned into full blown wanton moans as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your sweet spot, bringing your body into overstimulation. Hisoka groaned loudly as the familiar feeling at the pit of his stomach returned, you could tell he was close from the way his fingers gripped your waist with such desperation.

Strings of colourful curses left your lover’s throat as he came inside you, ribbons of his thick essence filling your walls all the way to the brim ‘til it leaked out, and dripped down his balls.

Heavy pants filled the room, the smell of sinful sex hung heavy in the air. The three of you remained still for a moment to catch your breaths but the short time also allowed your minds to clear of lust, and for the whole situation to actually settle in—of what the three of you just did.

Though, it was safe to say that Chrollo wasn’t going to let you escape from his hold any time soon—as though he had you entangled in bands of swathing silk—especially after finally getting a taste of you.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[grimmweepers]

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: OCT 17TH

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zhongli x fem!reader | 𝐜𝐰: established relationship but reader finds out his true identity! morax!form, draconic!form mention, human!reader, sex with a god, hair pulling, creampie, nipple play, rough sex, reader wears a nightgown, he calls you 'small in his hands', reader is implied to serve rex lapis, maybe ooc, 2.8k wc 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This was completely different from the first time you shared beds with him.

Back then, Zhongli had been soft and gentle, undressing you with such tender care until nothing remained but bare skin and bones. You remembered his warm amber eyes, his featherlight touches, and how he gave so much of himself to you that it left you dizzy and breathless. 

But this was something else entirely. 

It wasn’t that long ago when, to you, he was just a consultant at the Funeral Parlour—a Liyue nobleman who was well-versed in Teyvat’s history. He had been courting you since the last Lantern Rite (perhaps longer if you had paid attention) and you were more than content with the consultant, admiring him just as he was.

Then, after retiring his gnosis—and you still struggled to fully grasp what that meant—he finally confessed.

Overnight, he went from a funeral consultant to Rex Lapis and no matter how many times he explained that he was technically no longer an Archon, it didn’t change the fact that he was still an immortal who had witnessed Liyue from infancy.

And you slept with him!

The memory sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of realising how the Lord of Rock had practically begged for you to get on top that night. That same feeling returned now as you prepared to sleep with him again. 

You basically asked for it, though. 

When he revealed his identity to you, you had some questions. The first was if he had a real form, to which he replied: I have many.

Then the second question—or rather, request—was to see one of these forms. He was happy to oblige, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… forward.

I’m not being forward, he defended himself, My skin is part of my form. It just so happens that I have to adjust my attire for you to see it properly. 

But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Zhongli—” His name now felt strange on your lips as you stared, spellbound by his new appearance. You were so captivated that anything could have rolled off your tongue and you wouldn’t have noticed… or cared.

He truly embodied every depiction of Rex Lapis you’ve ever seen.

“Is something the matter?” He asked as if his arms weren’t adorned in glowing geo patterns, as if his physique wasn’t carefully carved by millennia as a leader. He stood over you while you sat on the edge of your bed and you gulped at the vitality in his features. 

He looked larger—more youthful, even.

“What do I—” You hesitated, wondering if your question was foolish. “What do I call you?” 

He cupped your jaw the way he always did, though now with bare hands darkened by power that you could barely comprehend. “You can choose whichever name you like,” he replied. “It doesn’t change who I am to you.” 

Your mouth went dry. It was frightening how much more irresistible he seemed like this.

“Morax,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

His brows lifted slightly, but he stayed silent.

“Morax,” you repeated, louder this time. You knew calling him ‘Rex Lapis’ would have been more respectful, more appropriate, but after seeing him in this divine form, with barely a towel wrapped around his waist, you knew that respect had already been thrown out the window. You would ask to be forgiven but what difference would it make if the god you pleaded to stood right before you in compromised garment?

“Interesting choice,” he chuckled as he pressed his thumb to your lips, “Now, lie still and let me enjoy what belongs to me.”

Those words sank in like branding on your skin—what belongs to me.

He was slow with you at first, hovering over you as you lay back. The silk of your nightgown clung to every curve of your body which left little to the imagination and Zhongli was so engrossed with his view, that the lust in his eyes made something inside you stir. You had to look away, your arms instinctively moving to shield your flushed expression.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you found yourself at the mercy of a man so many prayed to.

Gently, he pulled your arm away, “Why do you turn from me, my love?” He tilted his head, studying you like prey, but the tenderness in his voice reminded you that the ghost of your sweet Zhongli was still there, lingering beneath this form. 

“Are you regretting your curiosity?”

“I guess… seeing you this way makes me a little… shy,” you said, though you didn’t believe your own answer.

Before you could say more, his mouth was on yours, fierce and reassuring. It took the air right out of your lungs. You barely had time to recover before he started trailing softer kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. 

“Shy?” he repeated against your skin, “After all we’ve done, you’re still shy?” He slid his hand up your sides, tangling his fingers between the fine silk. “You may be skilled at keeping secrets but not from me. Tell me the truth, my sweet.” 

You opened your mouth to respond but you couldn’t stop your back from arching at his touch, which was very much an invitation for him to tear off the delicate fabric from your body. When he did, it left your chest exposed to his hungry gaze, earning him a small gasp and a deep ache pooling between your legs. 

“You’re so small in my hands,” he mused, fingers tightening around your throat for a brief moment. "And yet… you offer yourself so willingly."

You had offered yourself to a god.

You had offered yourself to a god.

“Do you understand what you’re doing?”

A shudder tore through you as he took both breasts into his hands and sunk his teeth between them, leaving you little marks made from canines you had never seen before. When you suddenly felt his hard bulge pressing against your core, you realised the towel around his waist had already been discarded. How could you even respond to him?

“This excites you, doesn’t it?” He murmured into the crook of your neck, grinding against you. He didn’t give you a chance to speak when he pried your legs open with one knee. “Have I ever told you how intoxicating you smell when you’re like this?” 

Harder than before, he bit into your neck and you found your fingers tugging on his hair.

“You can… smell me—?”

“I can sense you,” he corrected, “And I know exactly what you want from me." You could certainly tell he was pleased with himself yet instead of pushing you away, it only drew you in further.

With a single motion, you hooked your finger around the pin holding his ponytail in place, and pulled—freeing his hair so it cascaded down over his toned muscles.

He looked perfect. Divine. It was your way of confirming what he already knew—that you wanted this, wanted him.

Zhongli’s eyes glowed in the dim light and there was no mistaking the godly aura of Morax residing in him. The air seemed heavier under the weight of his presence. You were suffocating.

A deep growl elicited from his chest as he pushed the tip of his cock against your underwear, teasing your entrance. You whimpered at the way he bullied you, desperately pulling him in for another feverish kiss to satisfy at least one need.

This one was hungrier, messier. His groan vibrated through your mouth as his carbon-black hand slid back to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. 

Each twist and flick of his tongue felt like a silent demand: Give in. Yield.

In this state, a picture cleared. Zhongli's hands were everywhere—tangled in your hair, between the valley of your breasts, dipping into the areas you ached the most. This side of him was primal, gluttonous, and possessive. Every touch felt forbidden—blasphemous, even. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say you weren’t enjoying every sinful second of it.

Finally, Zhongli parted from the kiss, his breath heavy as his eyes stayed locked with yours. For once, he allowed himself to make you completely at his will. 

The head of his cock pressed harder against your entrance, the flimsy barrier of your silk underwear doing little to dull the intensity of his lust. He was desperate to feel the warmth inside you. You were already soaked, and he knew it—he could feel it, smell it, and it drove him wild.

“My dear,” he said, sound impatient now, “you know I admire you, right?”

“I do,” you replied too quickly.

“Good. Because I don’t want you to be mistaken.”

“What do you mea—”

Before you could finish, he pulled your underwear to the side and let his cock glide against your folds. Your hips moved with him, coating his shaft with your wetness, and that was enough for him to forget about taking it slow. Groaning, he shoved his blunt tip inside you and it left your thighs trembling. Your body felt like it was on fire, jerking back as his length stretched you out, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly, “Oh my—” you gasped.

Had it been that long since you last did this, or was this form accompanied by godly… benefits?

With his head thrown back in sheer pleasure, he let out a throaty grunt, almost salivating at the way your walls pulsed around him—like your body had been made just for him. Somehow, sex felt even better in this form and it had him feral enough to hold the sides of your hips, fingers digging into your flesh to anchor himself between your legs. “That’s it,” he growled, “Take every inch.” 

He started thrusting—hard—the sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the walls. Your breasts bounced in rhythm, and he was so entranced by the sight he could cum on the spot. Every second, he was ripping moan after moan out of you as he fucked you into the mattress. 

“Morax,” you called out, your voice shaking while he pumped in and out of you relentlessly, “So… good. I want more…” You ran your hands across his chest, feeling the quickening of his breath. His face shifted into a predatory look and you realised that he was losing himself as much as you.

“Then come here,” he groaned through gritted teeth, spoken exactly like someone who had never been defiled.

He didn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he flipped you to your stomach, left your ass in the air and your legs hanging off the bed—your toes barely even touching the floor.

You braced yourself for his unyielding pace, but he surprised you with a tender kiss on your shoulder, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

The unexpected affection made your heart swell so you wiggled against his crotch, inviting him for more. He chuckled, almost pityingly, knowing full well what he was about to do next.

You couldn’t even catch your breath before he pushed back inside you, hissing as he indulged in your warmth. You swore you were well-behaved but somehow this felt like a punishment. He, who was so deceptively gentle a moment ago, found your hair and tugged it into his fist, drawing a sharp yelp from your lips.

Once he started moving at the same unforgivable pace, each thrust forced his name out of your mouth. “M-Morax— Mor–ax,” you were barely coherent and it riled him up the more you said it. It surely wasn’t the first time hearing someone call him that but in this context, he wasn’t going to make it his last—especially if it was you.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice resonant, like the rumbling of the earth itself. 

“Y-Yes…”

Although, you weren’t sure what you expected when you asked to see his form but you knew what you were receiving now was the primal strength of something foreign to you.

His heavy cock stretched you so deliciously, filling you so completely that every nerve in your body screamed with pleasure. You clawed at the sheets as you creamed rings around his base and the wooden bedframe groaned with each erratic thrust.

His movements were undeniably getting sloppier and his breaths came in short, guttural huffs. “Feel- how- deep I am inside- you?” he rasped, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. “You’re taking it so well.” You couldn’t see it but you heard a grin dancing behind his voice as he pushed deeper.

Your feet were lifting off the ground with each thrust, leaving your ass stinging from the relentless pounding. When you felt his free hand snake around to cup your breast, fingers squeezing your sensitive nipple, you practically melted. “Thank you… Ple—,” you whined, the only words you could really manage.

But that was enough for him.

Zhongli’s grip on your hair tightened as he pulled, forcing your head back while his other hand dug into the soft flesh of your breast. The pain mixed with pleasure sent your vision into a blur of white. It shouldn’t feel this good but you could feel your orgasm coming despite being nothing but a ragdoll in his powerful hands. 

His body trembled as he chased his release, each thrust growing more urgent as he drove into your G-spot. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through your body until finally, your climax hit like a tidal wave. Letting go of your hair, you collapsed against the mattress. It was too much so it left you biting into the sheets, a cry ripping from your throat as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock with each spasm. “I-I’m—ahhh—cumming!”

“Just like that,” he groaned while your body tightened, savouring the way your body responded to every thrust. He was unable to think about anything else aside from the feeling of your muscle clenching and pulsating, “So tight—keep going. You’re perfect like this.”

With one final snap of his hips, you felt him pulse between your walls, his balls tightening as he emptied deep inside you. Thick ropes of hot milky cum filled you, his cock twitching as he buried himself to the hilt. Your name rolled off his lips in a low, drawn-out grunt that was raw and animalistic, a sound that made you delirious enough to go another round just to hear it again. 

Even after he finished, he stayed pressed against you, fucking his cum back into you with lazy, satisfied strokes, filling you over and over until there was nothing left to give. 

“I’m… full,” you whispered shakily, still feeling every inch of him inside you.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Yes and no. If getting tossed around meant you were fine, then sure.

"I'm okay," you breathed.

"Good girl."

When he finally pulled out, you went completely limp, rolling onto your back while a thin layer of sweat left your skin glowing.

You could feel Zhongli doing the same, his body mirroring yours as you both lay there, chests heaving, struggling to catch your breaths. After a moment, you turned to face him, both of you blinking at each other under the light.

“This… wasn’t what I meant when I said show me one of your forms,” you managed to say. 

“Are you complaining?” 

You let out a soft sigh as you stared up at the ceiling. Even after all this, he hadn’t lost his sarcastic sense of humor. “No,” you admitted, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks. “It’s just that… well, I think I might’ve enjoyed you—the real you—a little more than I expected. A little more than what’s appropriate, perhaps.”

You couldn’t help but dance around the memory of all the offerings you’d given Rex Lapis throughout your life. Was this his gift in return?

“Oh? Pray tell, what is it that you enjoyed so much?”

You hesitated but the way he looked at you made it impossible not to answer. 

 “I liked… the way you moved…" you felt slightly embarrassed to continue but he nodded for you to go on, "You were rougher on me, but it made me want more…”

While you spoke, you noticed subtle changes in him. His pupils began narrowing into thin slits, and his golden irises seemed to glow with an ethereal light. The sharpness of his fangs became more pronounced, peeking between his lips. His fingers, which had been tracing circles on your arm, now felt a little sharper, almost claw-like.

“And… your strength,” you gulped as you watched his transformation. “It was… overwhelming. I couldn’t resist it but I didn't want to. I felt safe.”

A low, rumbling growl emanated from his chest, his hand sliding possessively to your waist. It made your stomach flip.

“If that’s the case,” his voice was deeper now, almost a purr as his newly revealed tail coiled around your thigh. He leaned closer, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. 

“Why are you trembling?”

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

dividers: @/astrumaur

[sleepynoons]

megumi x afab!f!reader (characters aged up), nsfw, 18+, not beta read

cw: unprotected sex, marathon sex, angry sex, slight degradation, senpai kink, slight subspace + dubcon, asphyxiation/choking just to be safe

notes: lmk if i missed any tags. anyway, had a megumi thought, and i had to write it out. reader is a little bimbo-coded, but really, i simply believe she's just too focused on fighting to notice her panties are showing and tights just feel too restrictive at times yk. anyway, this was truly just me writing with my clit, so don't take megumi's characterization too seriously.

megumi can’t believe the sight in front of him.

he’s imagined this hundreds – no, thousands – actually, millions – of times in his head, and even then, now that it’s finally happening, you’re more pliant and submissive and quiet than he had expected.

usually, you’re so energetic. always giggling at your phone or bantering with other sorcerers or humming under your breath, you’re so expressive, and you make sure your presence is known, intentionally or not.

and you’re especially relentless with him. since way back in high school, whenever he was in your view, you would race after him and give him the tightest hugs that would have him gasping for air. you would knock on his door in the middle of the night, just to drop off some extra snacks you bought at the convenience store. now, you blow up his phones with ridiculous memes and nonsensical drunk text messages, and he’s often supervising you after exhausting missions to make sure you don’t fall asleep in the bathtub.

but those aren’t his biggest concerns with your behavior. really, it’s that, for someone so strong and with such relentless stamina, you’re so… clumsy.

sometimes, you swing your sword so hard that you lose your own balance. he finds new bruises and cuts blooming across your knees and arms all the time. your butter fingers never cease to drop your water bottle, often spilling it on your white uniform and forcing him to give you his jacket so you can cover yourself up. there’s also the countless times where you’ve forgotten to wear tights underneath your skirt, inevitably flashing yourself… and the fact that he’s seen you only in a bath towel way too many times than he should, especially for someone who’s not dating you…

don’t you understand the uncomfortable position you’re putting him in?

well, tonight was his last straw. in the late afternoon, the two of you finally returned from a week-long mission. the mission was based in okinawa, so he was forced to share a hotel room with you (he’s still cursing the higher-ups for being so stingy). at least there were separate beds, but for all six nights, he had to restrain himself from brushing his fingers against your sleeping face. and as soon as the two of you got back, you invited him over to your place so the two of you could drink together in celebration of wrapping up.

no drinks have been touched. in fact, you didn’t even get the opportunity to enter your kitchen.

as soon as the two of you took off your shoes, he grabbed you by the shoulders to hold you still before dropping down to his knees in front of you.

“kick me if you don’t want this,” he said, looking straight at you.

you only gasped in delight before nodding enthusiastically.

since then, the two of you have been going at it for hours now.

at first, you reacted like he thought you would. loud, sultry moans, dramatic expressions, flailing arms and legs. but now that it’s been – three? four? – rounds, he’s shocked to see you acting quite the opposite.

with his forearms propped to each side of your head, he thrusts into you slowly. it’s hard for him to move when your legs are wrapped around his waist, forcing him close to you, but the slight friction that he can manage has you uttering soft sighs. you’re staring wide-eyed at him with a small, drowsy smile. your hands are holding onto the front of his t-shirt, and you seem to be drinking in the sight of his own flushed face and his abs peeking through.

“senpai, where’d all that energy go?” he asked.

you shake your head, before rubbing your cheek against his hand. you look so content, having his cock inside you, your lips kissed swollen, your tights utterly destroyed.

and at the thought, megumi’s angry again.

he sits up on his knees and adjusts your legs so that he’s holding them up in front of him. now that he’s not restricted, he’s slamming himself into you, hard, fast, without hesitation. you squeak, hands flying to dig your nails into your bedsheet.

he snarls, “at least wear a pair of shorts when you’re sleeping in the same room with someone else.”

you shake your head again and whine. “it’s not comfortable!”

he pulls completely out, before sheathing himself fully again. you finally let out a louder groan.

“i don’t fucking care if it’s uncomfortable - don’t do that shit around me.”

he knows he’s losing you a little, so he doesn’t even wait for a response. he’s broiling with frustration and annoyance, and nothing can stop him.

megumi rants. “i know you don’t even see me as an option, so you think you can do whatever you want around me. but think about my feelings, too. please. have you ever thought about how i’d react, seeing you prance around in nothing but your panties and a thin t-shirt? or your short skirt and sheer tights? would you still dress like that if you were on a mission with any other guy?”

he’s fucking you so hard now, hugging your legs to his chest and using all of his force when he rams his hips into your ass. you’ve fallen silent, again, but not because you want to. your tongue’s lolling out, eyes unfocused, fists unclenching – you’re experiencing the best orgasm of your life.

megumi doesn’t like that. he needs you to listen to what he’s saying. he needs you to understand that, regardless of whether or not you reciprocate his love, he’s teaching you an invaluable lesson, one that you should never forget.

so he turns you over, shoves his dick back into you, and locks an arm under your neck to hold you up.

he growls into your ear, “are you listening to me?”

you’re whimpering and sniffling and gasping, all while holding onto his arms for dear life.

“senpai,” he calls again, sternly, tightening his arms around you a little.

you’re really not able to think, but the tone of his voice forces you to look at him. megumi’s never looked so serious, so furious before, and you feel yourself gush at the observation.

“senpai, you can’t be tightening up like that,” he grits, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “i’m not your boyfriend, so you can’t keep holding onto my dick like this.”

you whine. you wriggle your hips, trying to take him in even deeper even though it’s not possible.

“what, senpai?”

delirious, you mumble, “wanna be your girlfriend. want you to be my boyfriend.”

all that anger – gone. just like that.

megumi knows he ought to be stricter with you, truly discipline you now that he knows you want him like he wants you, but maybe, just maybe, he’s also a little clumsy when it comes to you.

even though he should still be upset, he can’t be bothered to because you’re so sweet, so kind, so accepting. he’s been giving it to you all night, dishing out small punishments and overstimulating you relentlessly, yet you’ve been just taking it all willingly.

yes, he should be more guarded, consider the possibility that you’re just saying those words in the moment or some other rational thought, but he’s clumsy when it comes to you.

clearly, megumi’s losing it.

he flips you over again, grabs you by the face, and smooshes your lips together. teeth scraping, tongues sliding, the kiss is so messy and filthy, and you’re screaming into it when he slides his cock back into you at the same time. you’re going limp – from the intensity of the kiss or the lack of air, it doesn’t matter –, and megumi’s barely pushing through.

he doesn’t stop – doesn’t allow himself to – because he’s trying to give you the best loving of your life. 

“you’re always driving me insane,” he groans.

you clench so tightly at those words, heart overflowing with joy and pleasure, and megumi has no choice but to let go. he’s filling you up again, but this time, he’s giving all that’s left of him – his cum, love, sanity – to you.

[pparadiselost]

appetite.

von lycaon x fem reader von lycaon is thoroughly dedicated when it comes to serving his lady. warning(s): nsfw, edging, squirting, slightly possessive von lycaon minors do not interact.

“my lady…,” a deep voice rumbles from between your legs, and a strong force pushes on each of your thighs to keep them from snapping shut, “you’ll make my job very difficult if you don’t cooperate with me.”

if you had even half of your mind still with you, you might have done something about everything happening to you. but there’s only so much of your sanity you can cling to, especially when there’s a handsome wolf on his knees in front of you. his tongue laps greedily at your exposed cunt, the rough texture making your legs tremble uncontrollably as he spreads his love all across your drooling slit and up to your throbbing clit. 

“‘m sorry-!” you choke out, your blown out mind scrambling to form some kind of half-baked apology. “it’s too good- so intense…”

you can see him barely bite back a well-deserved smile of satisfaction at your breathless praise, and his eyebrow quirks slightly. he hums, not bothering to give you a proper response, before his paws are clutching at the meat of your thighs again. you barely stuff down a deep breath through your mouth before he’s making out with your pussy again. your fingers curl helplessly around the table’s edge that von lycaon has you perched on, wrapped completely around his finger as he eats you out like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

you might as well be. he might be well-trained and a gentleman, but he’s still a wolf with an appetite for pretty things like you. and you look like you're having the time of your life too—your eyes are glossy with hazy pleasure, and your body’s already threatening to fall apart at the seams. it’s a job well done for von lycaon, and he likes it. he likes knowing how easily he’s getting you to crumble under his touch and just from his tongue too.

he breathes deeply against your cunt, and a moan gurgles from the back of your throat as he circles your hole. the tip of his tongue presses into you, breaking past the tight ring of muscle. your juices spread against the inside of his mouth, filling his senses with nothing but you. had he been any sloppier of a man, just your scent might have been enough to overwhelm him, but the need to pleasure you and do his duty as he should takes priority in his mind.

he thrusts his tongue slowly into you, making sure to drag the rough texture of the broad of it against your fluttering walls. you throw your head back as your walls clamp down on him, your insides twitching against the intrusion. heat shoots through you like a bullet, and it gnaws on every part of you from inside out. von lycaon has your body playing in the palm of his hand like a puppet, and you’re left at his mercy as he keeps you spread out for his perusal.

he swirls his tongue inside of you, pumping the muscle in and out, expertly imitating the motions of penetrative sex. he’s already reaching so deep inside of you, completely dominating your inner walls. it feels so good, and it’s so hot; your mind feels so hazy and cloudy as you try to make heads or tails of all the sensations flooding through you. hot flashes press against your stomach, your climax threatening to mount every part of you. 

“von lycaon!” you mewl out, toes curling as he repeatedly fucks his tongue into you. the wet sounds of him going down on you reverberate against your ears, and your gut coils in on itself. “ohhhhhhh fuck- fuck, you’re so deep inside me… fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum…!”

you shudder when he yanks his tongue out of you in one fell swoop, only to swirl it around your clit provocatively. despite how gentle and sympathetic he is in his mannerisms, the way he touches you is almost like he’s trying to tease you, like he finds some kind of twisted satisfaction in seeing the way you respond to him. he’s awfully perceptive, and his eyes narrow slightly as he looks up at you.

“such profanities…,” he breathes. your breathing stalls when his tongue laps at his lips. strands of your arousal coat his snout, and you can see his throat visibly bob as he swallows your wetness down. he hums again, the sound akin to that of a happy purr. “and in your sweet voice too. you’ll break my heart, my lady.”

his voice is hushed, deep, and it makes your stomach lurch with need. “‘m sorry- please, i can’t think… felt so good inside me, your tongue felt good inside me.”

“ah?” he nears you again. “would you mind indulging me for a second then? which do you prefer? when i do this-?”

-he leans close to your pussy, and you moan out his name as his tongue delves inside of you again. his tongue swirls around your insides, and he toys with your arousal. you’re practically leaking on his tongue, struggling against his tight grip on your thighs as you desperately buck your hips into his mouth. he’s stretching you out on his tongue again, fucking deep into you and leaving you breathless and crying out. 

just when you’re starting to get used to having him buried inside of you again, he pulls away from you with an affectionately wolf-like smile on his handsome face. “-or when i do this?”

you blink up numbly at him before he latches onto your clit. you grit your teeth together, clenching your jaw as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your swollen nub. he keeps attacking your clit without a moment for you to regain your stream of consciousness, plunging you relentlessly into another cycle of heat and electricity clawing at your skin. your senses are working overtime to keep up with the way he stimulates your clit. his sharp teeth ghosts over your engorged bud, only to soothe it over with a sticky kiss and pressing it fully against the broad of his tongue.

there’s a second pulse building dangerously inside of your gut, the tightness welling up and feeling as if it’s going to suffocate you from the inside out. you’re really not going to last too long with him teasing you like this, alternating his technique as if he isn’t doing this just to watch you fall apart on his long tongue. he’s so attentive, so keen and sharp-witted, and everything he does is to ensure nothing but the utmost pleasure to you.

“i-i don’t know-,” you slur out, your brain hazing over. he hums against your cunt, alternating quickly between showering your clit with attention versus stretching you out on his tongue. it’s too much to keep up with, feeling him attacking your g-spot inside of you to torturing your sensitive bud, and you’re shaking under his touch. “von lycaon, i can’t take it- can’t take much more, it’s too much!”

“my, such an impatient lady… is it so wrong of me to want to take my time with you?” he swallows down more of your slick, sighing blissfully as if he can’t get enough of your taste. he really can’t, not when he’s enjoying the sight in front of him this much. a pristinely pretty girl, reduced to a thoughtless trembling mess, all because he decided to have a taste? all of this was more of a reward to the wolf than it was duty, but your pleasure always came before everything else.

“you’re edging me-,” you gasp out as if he’s hurting you. “you’re going to edge me.”

“and you’re going to take it for me. won’t you be good for me?” he’s messing with the pulsing inside of your stomach. every time your walls twitched just too much or your voice got too panicked, he’d slow his pace down, and you’d be left to helplessly bury your fingers into his fur and try to grind down more of your glistening cunt against his mouth. it’s unfair that he can do this to you without batting an eye, but you can’t do anything other than to cry out. 

your begging is such a delightfully melodic sound to the starved wolf, but it falls on deaf ears. he’s intent on making you feel good, but you’re going to have to abide by his rhythm.

“oh fuck- wanna cum- please- don’t tease me like this…!” you’re crying and squirming, and the whole thing just feels so good. you’re melting away like nothing under his touches, and your whole body’s being consumed and eaten from the inside out by the stiflingly hot pleasure. he expertly swirls his tongue against you the way you like it best only to pull away when you need it most, and the satisfied glimmer in his narrowed eyes tells you everything you need to know without a single word from him.

“tell me then,” he whispers after what feels like an eternity of being edged and brought to the brink, over and over again only to be met with crushing disappointment. your womb pulses almost painfully inside of you with how much your climax has been built up to be denied, empty and tight and so sensitive to even the smallest of touches from the wolf. he kisses your clit chastely, the touch sticky and so pure despite the absolutely obscenity before him. “who was it that took care of you tonight? who was it that held you so dearly and worshiped you? who was it that made you feel so good that you let go of all of your pride as a dear patron of victoria housekeeping?”

it’s shallow, he knows that, but the possessive part inside of him that loves seeing you reduced to this sniffling mess of skin and bones, captive to everything he has to give you, revels in your fall. your voice is so weak and hoarse, yet the desperation that drips from him only makes him want to push you until you break.

but no, von lycaon is a gentleman with a purpose. he’s kind, only if it means you’ll come crawling right back to him. maybe it’s like a master plan, but he likes to think of it as a form of love.

you blink through the tears clumping up at your waterline, hot and threatening to fall onto your unmarred face. you don’t need to be told twice: the firm edge to the wolf’s voice is enough to cling to. “it’s you- it’s always you! please, von lycaon, i can’t take this anymore…! let me cum, let me cum, please! you’re the only one that makes me feel good- you’re all i need-”

your senseless, sex-drunk babbling has his heart feeling warm. he likes it when you tug impatiently at the fur on his head, the gray hairs like in between against your knuckles. he thinks there isn’t a more perfect lady for him to serve, and he’s sure to come running at a moment’s notice if you need someone to quell your loneliness again. he’s a devoted servant, a compassionate gentleman, and an unforgiving lover.

“good, good,” he purrs, and you shudder when his tongue laps at your drenched and abused hole. “i had faith that you would remember, but i want to make sure you would never forget. after all, i am your dedicated personal attendant, aren’t i? i want nothing but the best for my lady, and that means being the one at your side closer than anyone else. surely you understand?”

“yes- yes, of course- all yours, von lycaon!” you nod feverishly. heat blooms in your core like a repeated strain, and you groan. he’s at it again, rubbing circles into your clit with his deft fingers and fucking you out on his tongue. your insides keep rubbing up against him, clamping down on the wet muscle as if they’re starved of any and all stimulation, dragging your poor battered body back to the precipice like you’re addicted fiend you can’t seem to get enough.  

it doesn’t take much for you to fall apart. you’re already so sensitive, wound up and ready for him like a pretty doll hidden inside of a music box, the perfect vision of ecstasy for von lycaon’s hungry eyes. you cum all over his mouth with a strangled cry, and his big fingers keep pressing and circling your clit. you’re not just cumming for him: you can feel something warm and wet gush from between your thighs, but all you can register is just how good it feels for the heat and the tightness in your stomach to finally, finally release.

you can’t fully form any coherent words, only broken sobs and cries. pleasure consumes you wholly, enveloping you like a starved monster. you’re only vaguely aware that you squirted all over his face because something feels different. your body feels lighter, happier, like there’s cotton stuffed in your ears and something akin to an otherworldly bliss makes your limbs feel like they’ve turned into dust. you’re melting away as von lycaon drinks up the sight of your fucked out face, obscured with mind-blowing pleasure all because of something he did. 

your thighs are drenched, and so is the lower half of his face. he eats up your juices like he had been without question this entire time, but knowing that he made you feel so good that you ended up squirting makes you taste different in his mouth. there’s a sticky sweetness that clings to the inside of his mouth, and while he might have had his fill for now, the wolf knows that he’s going to be craving that taste again very soon. your legs shake uncontrollably around his head, and you’re practically collapsed against the table. you look almost happy with your eyes glossed over and sweat beading like pearls on your forehead. 

it’s a job well done for him. he takes just a breath’s amount of time to admire his handiwork, just how easily he can make your body succumb to him with some practice and patience. it’s good knowledge, knowledge that he’s bound to keep tucked away somewhere deep inside of his heart.

but his task is far from over. he’s going to clean you up and wish you a good night before disappearing, the line between love and duty a thin but far one. if it’s any consolation to him though, he knows that you’ll call victoria housekeeping within a few weeks again, with that pitifully lonely tinge to your voice as you politely request him to come keep you company for a little while. and each time, he’s going to show up at your door with a disarmingly saccharine smile. it’s a song and dance that has no end, but if this is the best way for him to get closer to his beloved lady, then von lycaon can learn to enjoy it as much as you do.

you’re always the first to give in, and with time, the wolf is sure that’ll remain true in the long run.

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to these vetted gofundmes to help families!

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ WILDEST FANTASIES ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. you are irresistible and a source of temptation, especially in his imagination.

CHARACTERS. oikawa tooru, hanamaki takahiro, matsukawa issei, iwaizumi hajime

CONTENT. f!reader. canon-compliant, post-timeskip (2021). smut. 1.8k wc. rewrite of wildest fantasies at my old nsfw blue lock group blog @/bllk-after-dark, moved to haikyuu for an age-appropriate cast. reader is in a relationship with all except makki. seijoh 4 imagine how they would fuck reader. other warnings vary for each section and will be listed there instead because uh, it’s a lot.

VERA. sorry, the power of horny took over. i never read the manga, so i went with the seijoh 4 as the scenarios suit them the most. i struggled with makki and mattsun, so they may seem ooc. i guess I'm celebrating kinktober with this fic lol.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. OIKAWA TOORU

breeding kink, creampie, edging, fingering, jealousy (toward a teammate and kageyama), marking

mine is written on your skin with invisible ink. oikawa fumes at a player from his team talking to you, seemingly enjoying his company when he sees you laughing. he doesn’t experience rage often, but it can get worse when the infamous “king of the court” from the opponent team strikes up a conversation with you.

“what’s with the silent treatment, tooru?” the drive to the hotel is tense, and he treats you like a ghost. he also feels similar, for different reasons. when the two of you arrive at your room, he pins you down on the door with arms above your head and cunt on his knee. lust clouds his eyes as his tongue battles against yours and teeth nips at your throat, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake. 

“craving attention from him, out of all people when i’m here? i’m hurt.” you gasp at the friction of his knee on your cunt. his fingers slip inside, pumping them agonizingly slow as punishment. “think he can fuck you like this? hah, want everyone and that brat to know you’re mine.”

to prolong this type of behavior, you decide to instill delicious images in his head. “oh, how are you gonna show me off then? you’ve already done the hickeys. but what about a ring on my finger? or your cum out of me? or perhaps, a baby in me?”

oikawa pulls his fingers out when you’re nearing an orgasm. the impulse to buy a ring with his salary and propose you live, fuck you in the locker rooms to mark you with his cum, and knock you up so that guy can mind his damn business. he spends the entire night ramming his cock in you to make sure it takes.

“there you are! i had to ask one of your teammates where you were, but he’s so nice that i lost track.” oikawa is back at the court, dazed from his daydreaming. you didn’t notice him blanking out as you’re busy geeking out about his plays. “watching a match live was so exciting! i finally got to see your sets up close. one of the guys from the other team was your underclassman, right? i think he’s good too!”

he shuts you up with a kiss, and the audience reacts in a domino effect. the cameras pan to the two of you; his fans freak out that he is actually taken, and his teammates — as well as him — are in pure disbelief. you wonder why he did that. he looks proud of himself so you say nothing. “there. now the whole world knows.”

𝄞༉‧₊˚. HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO

begging, mutual masturbation, nipple play, phone sex, thoughts of oral sex (f!receiving), toxic relationships (with reader’s ex)

relief washes over him hearing that you broke up with ex over the phone. hanamaki never liked them to begin with, nor does he understand what you see in them. being the good friend he is, he remains civil, painfully. though it’s not as painful as suppressing his sinful thoughts about you squirming under touch, however.

“hey, makki. can you do me a favor?” he loves your voice. you saying his name is his greatest weakness. though it’ll be better to have you moan it in his ears when he rails you into a begging mess. now he feels guilty for harboring these feelings as he promised to only play as the ‘good friend’. but promises break eventually. “can you make me forget about them?”

the lines of friendship blur into indescribable tension. you express your frustration over lack of spice in your sex life, rambling about how badly you want to be fucked on someone’s mouth. the cries of your breasts and clit aching to be touched makes his cock to strain in his pants. sex isn’t a topic you confide in with your friends, but it does not matter now. you called him to forget after all.

“to tell you the truth, you’re driving me crazy,” he sighs with his head on the board while he pumps his length. labored breaths and whimpers are heard on your end. “what if i tell you i’m jerking off to you now, wishing i was inside that pretty pussy of yours? and what about you, wishing my mouth is there too and on your pretty tits to claim what has been mine in the first place?”

“i’m yours, always yours!” your whines turn into squeals, which has him cum on his hand. his body slumps over the edge of his bed, catching his breath alongside you. if you’re here, he would leave more proof that you are forever his with your ex nonexistent in your world. yet it’s all white noise. the entire time he has been spacing out, so you were waiting for an eternity for him to say something.

“hello? earth to makki?” hanamaki realizes the dried stickiness on his hand from his cum. he has been mindlessly jacking off to your voice. “i asked if you could do me a favor but i’d rather stop by your place to cool off. is it okay if i come over?”

“yeah. see you.” you thank him before hanging up. hanamaki tosses his phone away, contemplating what he has done. never, ever will he do this again and vows to not speak on it. all he can do is to maintain his role to comfort you through your breakup. he will do whatever it takes to prove he is indeed the better choice. there will be the day where you’re his for the taking.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. MATSUKAWA ISSEI

body worship, lap dance, lingerie, riding, sex toys (vibrator), strip tease, voyeurism

speechless is his reaction to you clad in lace lingerie. matsukawa develops a strong urge to impale you on his cock that is strained in his pants, just like how his arms are at the sides of his seat. for now he can only ogle at your body, a temptation for him to give into his desires, along with your alluring expressions.

the lingerie surprise tips him over the edge. he follows your fingers trail from your breasts to your clit, agonized by the drag of one of them along the lips back and forth. he grips his seat so hard he could feel the bones of his hands break. oh how he wants you so badly, but being the menace you are, you insist to stay patient until the end of your performance.

“not yet. keep your eyes on me.” you lift his chain to face you, with your mouth ghosting over his. how can he also enjoy the sight when you are torturing him with the sway of your hips, the flex of your thighs, and the bra straps hanging off your shoulders? and when you grind on his bulge with a vibrator in you which is your source of pleasure instead?

he finds himself matching your rhythm with an arm around your waist and the other cradling your head, kissing you as if his life depends on it. as clothes fly left and right, he yanks out your vibrator coated with your slick and finally plunges you onto him, having you seated for his show. how the tables have turned. now you’re the one being tortured, pounded with quick upward thrusts from him.

“now for the grand finale.” despite your protests to slow down, he wants to relish your body which is contorting in pleasure through the mirrors. a multitude of thrusts later, he reaches his climax and feels you clench, making sure you didn’t miss a single drop. it’s a shame that time goes by fast, because he sure wants to see your body arch for him over and over again.

“you know, it’s rude to stare without saying anything.” loud noises flood his ears. matsukawa is at the mall with you to help you buy new clothes to spice up your wardrobe. though when you mean by ‘spice up’, he does not expect to see you in lace lingerie at the fitting rooms. “so, uh… what do you think?”

matsukawa thinks that you may have a hidden agenda to seduce him, or just trying out the lingerie for fun. he marvels at how it suits your body, making you nervous. an idea pops into his head and whispers into the shell of your ear. “hm, not sure. why don’t you buy and put it on tonight for me so i can see it better?”

𝄞༉‧₊˚. IWAIZUMI HAJIME

aftercare, consent, insecurities, loss of virginity, missionary, petnames (baby), praise

sorry is your automatic reply when iwaizumi hints at wanting sex. you’re a virgin, so thoughts of being unable to satisfy someone experienced are rooted into your head. on the contrary, it’s a massive turn on. since it is your first time, he wants to make it extra special. he’s more excited than he should be so he tries to tone it down to not scare you.

you stare at him like a lost puppy as your partner reaches for your face. he smirks at how entranced you are when his fingers glide to your chin and then over your lips. he kisses you hard that you’re out of breath and pushes you to the bed. you begin to breathe normally again as he takes off his shirt, making his heart flutter, knowing that his body is for your eyes only.

“you can keep going,” you tell him when he checks up on you. with the slight encouragement of his hand drawing circles on your skin, you take off your shirt as well so he can explore more of your body. the two of you eventually strip yourselves bare while devouring each other with tongue and spit.

“squeeze if you want to stop.” your hand is intertwined with his, getting ready to signal for the sake of your safety. he penetrates you slowly, cock buried to the hilt inside, blabbering about how you’re taking him so well and swearing he’ll cum sooner than expected. the pitch of your moans is rising higher and higher. you hate how your sounds it seems by crashing your lips on his, but it tells him that he has done his job right.

“shit, baby. you’re absolutely perfect for me. how is this possible— agh,” iwaizumi hisses as he spills inside you. you’re now exhausted, sensitive from the caresses on your curves and kisses on your hands. this is what he would like to happen, however the next time he blinks, you’re lying beside him fully clothed.

“haji? you’re not saying anything.” you avert your gaze from his. you’re ashamed of literally pushing him away, believing that he’ll take offense judging from his silence. “i didn’t mean to do that. it happened so fast that i freaked out. can we start over and… start a little bit slower?”

“sure. let’s take things a little bit slower.” iwaizumi kisses your forehead to reassure you that you haven’t done anything wrong. somehow you’ve become bold, initiating the kiss and sneaking your hands under his shirt unconsciously. you retract from the sudden move, but he gestures to you to keep going. he’s so weak for you; he’ll do anything to make you happy.

[revasserium]

teach me, teach me

suo hayato; 2,587 words; nsfw, senpai-kink, college!suo, aged up characters, fem! reader, senpai/kouhai dynamic, piv sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mentions of birth control, simp!suo, internal cumshot, allusions to suo w/ a praise!kink, no "y/n", lapslock

summary: in which ur only a few months older than suo but he won’t stop calling you “senpai”

a/n: u cannot convince me that suo wouldn't lose his mind if u called him a "good boy".

“bet i could teach you a thing or two about girls.”

famous last words — so you think, later, pinned beneath suo, breathless, your fingers curling into your own palms, back arching as he slowly works two fingers in and out of you, his grin loping to one side.

“senpai… does that feel good? you have to tell me — teach me what feels good for you, hm?”

a broken whine works its way out the back of your throat as light fizzles at the edges of your vision. vaguely, you can feel your own hips kicking up as he twists his fingers, thumb circling your clit. if you were any more coherent, you might’ve wondered where he picked this up — the thought of suo casually watching porn for nothing more than pure academic interest doesn’t entirely escape the wild machinations of your mind.

“t-there —! ngh… please —”

“ah… right there? is that it, senpai?” there’s a bright, unassuming smile on his face, but you catch the dark glint that flashes behind his damnably long lashes. there’s a quickness to his breath that wasn’t there five minutes ago and god — has it only been five minutes?

“fuck — yes —” you keen, head tossing back into the pillows, the coil in your belly twisting fit to burst. your toes curl, your breath hitches, champagne sparklers flash behind your eyes.

and then —

“mm… senpai… you’re so wet…”

you peer up at him through damp lashes, your body still fizzling with the almost of your now rapidly fading orgasm.

“h-hayato —”

“hm? what is it? have i been doing something wrong?” his voice is level, innocent, even. you bite down on your bottom lip and swallow back the whine threatening to spill from your mouth.

“no, you’re —” your breath hitches as you feel him trail sticky fingers along the insides of your thighs before grinning and pillowing his cheek on your bent knee.

“i’m…?”

“y-you’re doing —” you swallow, watching as he slowly lowers himself down till he’s resting between your legs; you shiver at the heat of his breath on your pulsing clit, “good —”

“yeah? but… good isn’t good enough for me, senpai…” you catch a glimpse of the devious glint in his eyes a second before he dips down and licks a long strip along your cunt; you clench around nothing and moan.

it had started three weeks ago, when suo had overhead kotoha talking about your birthday. and maybe it was the fact that he’d never paused to think about it too hard, but he’d always just assumed that you were his age.

“— want for your birthday this year? it’s soon, right?”

“yeah — but i don’t wanna do anything big this year…” you’d pushed your half-finished omurice around your plate as suo, sitting three seats down from you, pauses and looks up.

“hmmm but it’s not every day that a girl turns 21! i heard in america — it’s a huge deal!”

suo had blinked, cocking his head, his mind spinning into overdrive as he does the math. outside, a light dusting of snow had fallen over the entire city, and beside him, sakura was complaining about getting stuck with “snow patrol”.

even as college students, the work of boufuurin never really ends.

when you get up to leave, suo smiles, “let us know if you need any help with your birthday!”

you turn, frowning slightly, “uhm — sure! i don’t know if i’ll need much help but…”

suo had felt something in his chest kick at the color rising in your cheeks; he’d wondered how pretty you might look blushing properly.

“well, it’s only natural for us kouhai to want to help out, right senpai?”

and he’d gotten his wish — your cheeks flaring the most gorgeous shade of pink as you bite down on your bottom lip. the thing in his chest thuds again, more insistently this time, and he tries not to pay too much attention to another kind of pressure, building just behind his navel as he smiles and watches you leave with hooded eyes.

now, with his mouth latched to your sopping cunt, suo can’t help but groan at the way your thighs quiver on either side of his face. he reaches up to lace his fingers between yours, soothing a thumb over your knuckles in what would be an innocent gesture, before he pulls your hand towards his hair.

“you don’t have to be so gentle with me, senpai — i can take it.”

he grins, licking his lips clean of your sticky juices, feeling a familiar tension coil inside his own belly as he watches you squirm, panting, your skirt hiked up, your panties still hanging around your one ankle, the creamy expanse of your thighs now dotted with tiny blossoming bruises, the evidence of his hungry mouth and diligent fingers.

“hayato…” you say his name like a prayer, and a part of him wonders if he’ll ever be the same after this. or, if it keeps on going like this, if you keep on staring up at him with those dark, watery eyes of yours, calling his name like it’s the only name you might ever want to say again — if you might just ruin him for every other girl out there.

“hm? what is it, senpai?” he tries, fruitlessly, to maintain his calm, to keep his composure. though he knows he’s fighting a losing war; he nearly breaks as he shifts and feels his straining cock skim along your leg.

you lick your lips, and just like that, he knows you have him; your hand hasn’t left his hair, but when you trail it down to cup his cheek, suo feels his mind going blissfully blank.

“ngh — stop teasing —” your voice is broken, in a way that has suo questioning his own sanity.

he lets out a shaky breath, “teasing? i’m just trying to treat you well, senpai —”

“i — i want you.”

“me? i’m right here…” he bends down over you, but he doesn’t expect you to arch up into him, to pull him down for a kiss that can only be called bruising, for your legs to wrap around his waist and pull him down hard enough for his clothed cock to rut against your slick pussy in a way that has him reeling.

“f-fuck —” he lets the word slip just as you reach down far enough to push at his belt.

“i w-want you — here —” you make your intentions plenty clear as you dig a finger passed the waistline of his loose-fitting pants.

suo pauses, his chest heaving, his single eye wide a bit unfocused. he licks his lips and swallows hard.

“are you — do you have something for —” he gestures vaguely towards where the two of you are so damnably close to being connected and you have the gall to sigh and roll your eyes.

“hayato,” you say, your voice firmer and steadier than he’d heard all afternoon, “there’s a thing called birth control.”

suo blinks, and then, he breaks into a soft fit of laughter, “ah… of course. should’ve known senpai would be so well prepared.”

“mm — actually, it’s a free service. the university covers it for anyone who wants to —”

suo groans as he dips down to bury his face in your neck, skimming his teeth along your collarbones.

“senpai… now who’s the one teasing?”

you let out a breathy laugh, “d-didn’t know you’d be so turned on b-by student health services —”

suo takes a deep breath, reveling in the milky smell of your skin, “no… i just love it when you try to stall.”

“s-stall?”

“mhm,” he pulls back, his smile at once devilish and indulgent.

“’m not stalling…”

“sure you are — you were so close —” he lets his voice sink into a deeper, smokier tone, his intonation caressing a lewder implication, so much so that you feel your pussy clench again, a flood of warmth slicking along your folds, “to telling me where exactly you wanted me.”

he ruts down against you and both of you groan out at the friction.

“w-why ask a q-question… you already know the a-answer to?” you say, arching up against him, fingers now threading through his hair, tugging on it just hard enough to make him hiss.

“because senpai — i wanna hear you say it.”

he trails his lips along your neck, sucking a dark, angry hickey into the junction of your shoulder even as you whine.

“fuck — hayato — want you inside me —”

“mm… that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he pulls back just far enough to mouth at your lips, groaning as he feels your hands fumbling at his belt; he reaches down to help you, shucking his pants and boxers in one and kicking them off his legs a second before your palm meets his throbbing cock.

“mphf — f*-fuck* —” he swears again as you shimmy yourself down, stroking his cock till its head is pushing at your entrance, “s-senpai —”

“hm?”

you run your thumb along his slit and he jerks forward, making a sound just between a groan and a whimper.

“a-ah…” he drops his head into your shoulder, if only to look down at where your hand is still wrapped around him, your thighs spread so tantalizingly wide, your body resting on the tangle of his sheets in this tiny college dorm.

“ha-hayato…” your free hand curls into his hair, pulling him down till his nose grazes yours; there’s a moment’s pause as you look up into his singular eye and he looks down into yours. like this, he can count each and every one of your individual eyelashes.

“are you gonna fuck me or not?” you ask, your voice nothing more than a puff of breath along his lips.

suo hisses, his vision flickering as his mind goes white with heat. he leans down to capture your lips with his, his hand coming up to curl around your wrists as he fucks down into you, groaning as he feels your cunt stretching out around him inch by inch by inch.

“s-senpai… so tight — “

“m-mngh — h-hayato —!”

he loses himself in the feeling of you, in your tightness, in the way he can feel you fluttering around him even as you scrabble at his back with loose, desperate fingers.

he groans, pulling back slightly just to fuck himself back into your heat. and like this, he can see the threads of your mind slowly coming undone until you’re keening, thrashing beneath him, begging and so, so close to incoherence.

“ha - hah — hayato — m-more — your cock —”

“s-senpai — you gotta tell me — what — you — want — remember?” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts, reaching down to hoist your legs over his shoulders, pressing you in half as he fucks down into you.

the schlick of his cock ramming into you, the wet slap of skin on skin, the high-pitched squeak you make every time he feels his cock bottoming out inside you, nudging against the one particular spot that has you jerking away from him —

“w-want you t-to cum —” you’re a babbling mess beneath him now, your eyes squeezing shut, your body soft and pliant as he manipulates you into a better position.

“a-ah — senpai — you’re not b-being fair —” suo pants, digging his fingers into your thighs as he folds you nearly in half, your knees almost kissing your shoulders as you keen, eyes rolling back into your head at the slight shift in angle as he continues to pound into you.

the walls of the tiny dorm room reverberate with the sound of your desperate cries, and suo spares a moment to wonder if he might get reported for this.

“wanna — wanna feel you c-cum —” your voice lilts up as he lets out another wanton groan, leaning down to mouth at your exposed tits, bouncing with the force of his thrusts. he grunts as he tugs your shirts open wider, popping off one of your buttons in the process.

“senpai — senpai — t-tell me — am — do i feel good?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate, but he hears the imploring edge to his voice as you keen, nodding fervently, tugging at his hair, your expression fucked out, your eyes so dazed.

“so g-good — hayato — please, wanna feel you cum — wanna be full —”

and that’s all it takes for the coil in his stomach to twist and burst. he ruts forward, clamping down on his lips as he feel his orgasm ram into him with the force and speed of a runaway train. a second later, he feels you clench down around him, your walls fluttering as you hit your own climax, and vaguely, he finds himself thankful that at least he’d made you cum too.

he fights not to collapse on top of you, rolling to one side, his arm looping around your waist to pull you into him.

he takes a deep breath, and then another, trying to gather himself. you roll onto him, squeaking as you feel his softening cock threaten to slip out of you, but a second later, you’re perched over his hips, your thighs straddling his sides.

“mm… still not satisfied, senpai?” he asks, a bit breathless, his chest heaving, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he stares lovingly up at the shape of you, your hands steadying yourself on his shoulders.

“i am…” you say, grinning lazily down at him as you slowly lay down, pressing your cheek to his chest, “just… like the feeling of you inside me.”

suo bites back a thick moan as he feels his dick kick, even after all that, the way you say those words so casually has him reaching up to tug at your hair.

“you… really weren’t kidding when you said you’d teach me a thing or two, hm?”

you giggle, pillowing your chin on his chest as you stare up at him.

“dunno what you mean.”

he scoffs, brushing a few strands of hair from your forehead, “it’s not nice to tease…”

you lick your lips; suo gasps as he feels you squeeze down around him, his sensitive cock hardening again despite himself.

“like i said,” you trace an idle finger up the length of his neck before pushing yourself back up to swirl your hips around his now rapidly hardening cock, “i don’t know what you mean — i think you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

suo lets a whine snake out from inside his throat, dropping his head back into the sweat-soaked sheets, his palms coming to rest on the round of your hips.

“sen-senpai… go easy on me… please?”

“not a chance,” you say, “now be a good boy and take it.”

suo moans, long and loud and unabashed. your voice rings out in his head like a curse or an incantation and he feels his body go rigid at your words — good boy.

and it’s all he can do to keep from cumming on the spot.

---

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[oceanreveuse]

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲.

◟fem!reader, NOT CANON AU, think of this as like... an evil, meaner version of neuvillette! that means yes, it'll be ooc by canon!neuv standards fyi, massively nsfw, dacryphilia, dragon man w a lot of stamina, two dick neuvi, overstimulation, breeding, neuvillette with forked tongue, penetration, dom!neuvillette, sub!reader, petnames (angel, darling, sweetheart), momentary praise (good girl), very short but it was just a thought - not proofread. ◟anastasia's footnote : this was spawned by a conversation with yukari earlier so this is how i'm spending my halloween evening; yet again, this is not canon!au neuvillette. it's like alternate universe. shadow realm. the evil akasha possessed haitham. that type!!

another long, slow thrust into your tight heat and this man has just about lost it. the two of you had been at this for hours, perhaps for longer than your fragile human body could withstand but he was at the point of caring less. NEUVILLETTE was certain you'd take everything he gave you, pushing you to the limits just for a little more of his seed, just for your womb to be filled to the brim with hot, sticky substance as if it was your lifeline. you had a safe word, you was very good at tapping out too so the dragon was past showing any concern.

you were so good for him, so obedient and willing to take his dick - or dicks, depending on the day. sometimes filling one hole up was simply not enough for him, perhaps his day as the iudex of fontaine had truly pissed him off. white hair drapes over his shoulders, brushing against your bare skin that's sticky and hot to touch, red streaks giving you some semblance of colour in the dim lit room. he had to run out of stamina eventually, right?

"n-neuv," you choke out, wanton moans and the lewd slap of skin drowning out your attempts at coherent sentences, "please!"

the dragon raises a brow, briefly amused at your apparent need to beg him. beg him for what? for relief, for a moment of recovery, for more potent seed, for a change of position? all the options and neuvillette was reeling at the imagery it gave him. a smirk tugs at those pale lips, hovering just above your neck as he inhales your scent so deep, fangs bared at the thought of just biting down on your skin. it's oh so tempting, he digs his fingertips into the plush skin of your hips just to gain some semblance of restraint.

"what is it, angel?" neuvillette chuckles, deep red eyes lifting to admire the glossy affect in your tears - what's this? tears threatening to drip down your cheeks and merge with the drool on your chin and jaw from laying on your back for so long? "enjoying being such a good darling for me that much tonight?"

the whimper you release is drowned out by neuvillette's low growl, the tip of his second cock bumping against your sensitive clit as it slides through your soaked folds with every sharp thrust he delivers, determined to finish you both again - and soon. the tears are on the verge of spilling, a black forked tongue licking at neuvillette's lips like a parched man.

finally, one falls down your cheek, rolling a path along your skin that his eyes narrow in on almost instantly. he knows you're too fucked out to acknowledge it, to even notice anything past his hips drilling into your wet cunt and his heavy balls slapping against your ass. neuvillette leans forward, almost pressing your body in half. he grunts as you squeal, blown out eyes blink blearily up at him with that damn innocent look.

he's so close to blowing another load into you, pumping you full of cum and ensuring you're bred, round and full for the sake of his legacy as the iudex but first... your eyes are squeezed shut, not expecting the rough slither that trails from your jaw up to your cheekbone, licking up a salty tear.

"fuck," he breathes, his nose bumping yours briefly as he swaps sides, his tongue wet as it follows the path of your tears that just keep flowing as a result of overstimulation, "you taste so much better than i thought you would, sweetheart."

there's a wicked grin on his face, his fair skin glinting with sweat in the candlelight. neuvillette's hot breath fans over your face, your little sniffles and whimpers almost matching the rhythm of his cock bullying your sweet hole and neuvillette bares his fangs once more, "i think it's time to reward you one last time for being a good girl, don't you think?"

© oceanreveuse 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not repost, steal, translate, etc. on any social media platform & do not feed to ai.

◟the waves call for : @kokonoiis @tetsuskei @reonaissance @ryuryuryuyurboat

[ the magazine is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

[yogurtkags]

❝ DELICATE ❞ — kageyama tobio

cw: gn!reader, fluff, depictions of eczema/skin issues, insecurity, hurt/comfort, established relationship, extremely self-indulgent | wc: 507

it’s so itchy.

the sensation of your nails dragging against the bumpy and dry flaking skin scratching an itch like no other, the satisfaction of peeling a scab so great until it stings. and bleeds. and then all of a sudden showering hurts—

“i can hear you scratching.” tobio calls out from the kitchen as he walks out with a tall glass of water and a bowl of berries, setting it down on the coffee table and sinking down on the plush couch next to you.

your hand pauses in it's movements for barely a minute before going back to it's bad habit, words dragging out in a whine when you hear him let out a tch in disapproval, "i can't help it."

“i know, but you gotta stop it.” he chides, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together, thumb rubbing soothing circles to distract you and effectively put a stop to your scratching. "picking at it isn't going to make it better."

hands still clasped together, he leans off to the side and blindly pats around the side table, feeling around for the small tube of healing ointment sitting in the black ceramic cat trinket dish (obviously you picked it out, saying it looked just like him).

coming back to you, he wraps his arm around your frame and pulls you closer, squeezing a pea sized amount of ointment on his fingertip and gently spreading it across your broken skin, raw and red from your incessant assault. it’s your fault really for letting it get this bad, but you hiss at the sting anyway, never quite getting used to the burn no matter how many times this has happened.

it’s always been something you struggle with, not just the itch but also accepting the way the patches looked. it’s ugly, and discoloured, the splotches unsightly, and seeing it in the mirror everyday comes with a matching frown. exposing the affected skin doesn’t come easy for you, avoiding it as much as possible and hiding it behind a layer of fabric where you can, but some materials make it itch even more, feeling helpless and insecure as you bare it to the world.

“almost done.” he mumbles, catching you stare off dejectedly from the corner of his eye.

tobio doesn’t need to pay a penny for your thoughts to know you’re feeling down about it again, your silence says a lot. you’ve been together long enough that he can mostly tell what you’re thinking from just your body language and facial expressions, you’ve always been an open book and wore your heart on your sleeve around him after all. he learned to pick up on your cues and subtleties with time, the same way you’ve slowly softened his edges.

a lingering kiss to your temple leads you out of the dense forest of your thoughts like a light in the darkness, his fingers gently holding your chin up to look into his softened, doting eyes.

“i love every part of you.”

and don’t you forget it.

gen taglist. open (send an ask / comment to be added!) @wyrcan networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

notes. the self insert is inserting, i literally had a mini flare up and was scratching at my ezcema while writing this

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[houseofsolisoccasum]

— 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐌.

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[sunnie-angel]

week 4 (oct. 25) | size kink

✮⋆˙ some other love

jason's tried forever and it's never worked out, but the pretty thing that runs one of his community centres is just so earnest in her desire for him that maybe he can have this. (part of the older, jaded jason au)

tags: f!reader, older jason, age gap, size kink, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, kid as a petname, unprotected sex

⊘ this is an 18+ fic. minors do not interact, you will be blocked

The first time Jason Todd takes you home for anything stronger than a nightcap, it catches you off guard. Not that you knew that was what he was asking you up to his loft for. No, you had thought that like every other week before it, you would sit on his sinfully comfortable couch with a glass of whatever he was drinking this time and go over the week’s reports in a tone that would just edge on flirtatious that he would smilingly deflect.

What had really happened was this: halfway through the numbers on how the community centre was doing, Jason had put down his glass, reached over to take your own tumbler from you and set it on the solid wood coffee table. He had helped you to stand, papers sliding off your lap and into a hazardous pile on the floor. Pulled you to him so that all you could do was look up at him, close enough to see the way time was creasing her way across the corners of his eyes and threading across his temples. Jason had cupped your face in one large hand, impossibly soft as he dragged a thumb across your cheek.

“You work so hard for me, don’t you,” he had asked, only it wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Dumb with desire, you had only been able to manage a miniscule nod, fearful that anything else would shatter this moment like glass. Your lips had parted with anticipation as he continued to stare down at you, considering in a way his gaze never had been before. Subconsciously rocking up on your toes, trying to draw yourself as close as he would allow, that had seemed to decide things for him. At 8:37 PM on a Friday evening, Jason Todd kisses you for the first time.

Kissing him is like coming home to a memory you’d long forgotten. It’s almost chaste, sweet in its brevity. He’s gentle, palm softly steering you to a better angle so that he can meet the soft plush of your mouth with his own. Jason’s other hand rests low on the curve of your back, touch burning through the thin polyester of your blouse. Warmth and care emanate through your whole body, honey in your veins. With a sigh he pulls back, rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Only if you want to sweetheart,” he murmurs, like he isn’t offering you what you’ve wanted since the day your mistook him, your sort of boss, for an intruder.

“Please,” you plead and you can’t even articulate what it is that you’re begging for. He must understand because he takes you gently by the hand and leads you to the one room you’ve never been allowed entry to.

His room is inviting, bookshelves covering every available wall and decorated in soft warm tones. The bedside table is messy, but otherwise it’s surprisingly clean and organized. It’s his bed that holds your attention though, so large you could get lost in it. That reminder of what you’re here for, after months of hoping, pools saliva in your mouth and sends weakness to your knees. Turning back to Jason, you realize he’s already far ahead of you, clothes dropping into the hamper.

With unsteady fingers you scrabble for the buttons of your blouse, frustrated by their reluctance to obey. Large hands brush yours out of the way, methodically undoing each button for you in silence. Face to face like this, there is no where to hide from his attention as he undresses you, observes you. It should be ridiculous – him fully naked and you the one still clothed – but it isn’t. Instead you just feel small, doll-like. It’s easier to focus on his hands, track their progress down your front, than it is to meet his gaze. Jason pulls the shirt from your body without brushing even a whisper of skin and every inch of you aches for his touch. He undoes your pants, slides them down for you and your palm burns from where he lets you steady yourself against his shoulder to step out of them.

Standing there in the warm glow of the lamplight in your granny panties and oldest bra, you feel uncomfortably exposed. You are not unaware that you are only the latest in a line of women that have been through this bedroom before and you are possessed by the inane urge to cover yourself. To not give him any reason to compare you and find you lacking in someway. Jason must pick up on your hesitance, presses kisses across your hip bones and tummy to distract you as he pulls your panties down. Kisses his way up your whole body to mouth at your breast through your cotton bra until you are panting and desperate to feel his slick mouth against your skin. He licks into your mouth as the clasps of your bra come undone, falls to the floor somewhere you are to busy to take notice of.

Jason walks you back onto the mattress. Like this, propped up on your elbows with Jason looming over you, you are forcibly reminded of his size, a fact that you thought you had grown used to tuning out. Strong, wide shoulders carry his weight easily and though he’s a little soft around the middle from the creature comforts of life, the strength and muscle of him is still evident. Caged beneath him, soft underbelly exposed, he kisses you and you know that if anyone were to look in on this scene now, the only body they would see is his.

He kisses you and you can feel the hot, heavy weight of him against your hip. Without looking you fumble for him, barely manage to close your fist around the head, fingers stretched wide. He groans into your mouth and you can tell from that one touch alone that he’s bigger than anything you’ve taken inside of you before.

“I don’t– I don’t know if it’ll fit,” you confess, eyes wide. 

“Jus’ need to get you ready first,” he tells you, already sliding a hand between you.

The first of his fingers breaches you and your mouth drops open in a soundless gasp. He’s big, so much bigger than your own fingers. You can feel your walls clinging to each knuckle as he slowly works it in deeper. He crooks it inside of you, goes hunting for the spot that feels like you’ve touched a live wire, then resolutely ignores it.

“It’s easier if you don’t come first, otherwise you’ll be too sensitive,” he apologizes.

Jason finger fucks you methodically, spending as much time massaging your entrance as he does inside of it, getting you used to the sensation of being filled. He watches you, your body, learns to read it’s cues and then plays them expertly. A large, warm hand slides up the side of your ribs to rest just below the swell of your breast until you are keenly aware of neglected they are. Slowly you get accustomed to the feel of him inside you, start to work your hips down to meet his movements.

He smiles down at you, a proud private thing, and asks “Think you can take another?”

You nod and then stiffen, body tight as a bowstring at the feeling of two fingers – only in to the first knuckle – filling you up. It’s a different kind of stretch, just this side of uncomfortable as he works the two of them in deeper. Gets you used to the size of them before slowly scissoring them apart, working you open in your most intimate of spaces. Jason has you gasping around his fingers and still you know that they don’t come close to the size of the cock hanging red between his thighs.

A third finger prods at your hole and you gasp, reach down to grasp Jason’s wrist before he can work it in alongside the others. Fine tremors run up and down your thighs as you stare up at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Jason looks back down at you placidly, content to wait until you’ve worked through your hesitation. Slowly you peel your fingers away from his wrist, certain that if you don’t throw yourself into this now the fear will stop you entirely.

He rewards you as much as distracts you with a kiss. Long and lingering, it makes everything but the solid weight of him melt away so that you barely feel the third finger as it enters your cunt. Jason mouths down the line of your throat and you arch up into him, desperate for more of him. Everywhere he touches your skin lights up on fire. His mouth closes around the bud of your breast just as he starts to finger fuck you in earnest and you keen. It’s too much, too full, to big but at the same time your carefully neglected clit is throbbing. He starts to tug at the rim of your hole and you don’t know if you want to fuck your hips back down on his hand for more or try and escape the stretch.

Seemingly satisfied with how ready you are, Jason lets your tit fall from his mouth as he withdraws his fingers, leaving you to clench down around the sudden emptiness. Hands under your arms suddenly reposition you on the bed, your limbs arranged to his liking. Jason slides his cock through your folds letting them slick him up for what’s coming next. They makes a lewd wet sound as he parts them, thighs already sticky. You swallow. Hard. He feels impossibly large like this, pressed up against your cunt not even trying to enter you yet, blood hot and firm.

One hand on your hip, Jason slowly guides the head of his cock to your entrance and presses forward. Even with all of the prep, the bulbous head won’t fit and he has to bully your cunt into letting him in. Grunts in your ear with the effort of forcing his cock inside of you. You gasp like you’ve been punched in the gut when the thick head of his cock pops through that first ring of muscle, scrabble and twitch like you’re trying to get away from the all consuming pressure of it. Quicker than you can see, Jason’s got a hand around the base of your throat and he uses that grip to pull you back onto his dick.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he gentles you. “M’gonna go real slow for this part. You just gotta relax f’me.”

You whine and shudder as your body gets used to the intrusion, clutch at the wrist pinning you down by the throat just for something to anchor you. Bit by bit Jason feeds more of his cock into you, taking his time with splitting you in two. Not even half way in and he so big you can barely breathe around the weight of him in your gut. Sparks run up and down your skin and you know now why he wouldn’t let you come before because of this. Only a few inches of dick inside and already you’re shaking apart at the seams, mind hazy with how your body is accommodating the impossible girth of him, rim stretched tight around him. Punched out little moans and whimpers fall from your mouth without thought, too consumed with the way he’s prying you open.

He’s nearly in, just an inch or so to go, when he stops, hits a part of you so sensitive it hurts. Your eyes screw tight from the burn of it and you struggle to remember what air is.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay kid, just breathe,” he tells you, holding himself completely still. His hand leaves the base of his dick to smooth up the side of your thigh, rests as a comforting weight on your hip. Sweat prickles at your scalp and between your shoulder blades. “In and out, just like that.”

You hiccup, squirming under his hold, cunt aching but he leaves you no where to hide.

“Almost there, you’re doin’ so good kid. Jus’ need to remember to breathe a little, that’s all.”

Careful not to move inside of you, he leans down and kisses between your eyes. Drag his nose down the side of your cheek and lets out an exaggerated exhale, gets you to try and mimic it with him. Slowly you convince your breathing to even out, deep inhales and long slow exhales that coax your muscles to loosen up. Your knees loosen their death grip from around Jason’s hips and breath by breath the burning pain of the stretch starts to recede.

“You ready now?” he asks and you nod.

Jason holds your gaze – pins you down with his own more like – as he slowly fucks the rest of him into you. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, that he’ll tear you in two if he gives you any more, his hips meet yours. He’s in, in so deep you swear it’s not your cervix he’s pushing up on but your diaphragm, your lungs, your throat. Tremors run down your legs as you gasp and twitch around the complete invasion of your body. You can already tell from the ache in your hips that you’ll feel this tomorrow but that’s a hazy far off worry.

Jason looks down at the pretty thing in his bed, so young they were probably born the year he should have graduated high school, and marvels at how well she takes him. Shifts the hand at her throat to thumb over the soft line of her jaw in wonder. How sweet she is to give him this gift of her trust. How hard she works to give him this, to open up around him. He leans to kiss her, a reward for doing so well, and swallows her hiccuping gasps at the way it changes the position of him inside her. Her warm wet walls clench down around him and Jason breaths heavily through his nose at the feeling of how tight she is.

God this is probably a mistake. But she’s here now, warm and solid in his bed and Jason can’t pretend to regret it now. Tomorrow maybe, when he has to deal with the fact that technically she’s one of the Hood’s many employees. Has to watch that spark of desire in her burn itself out over the coming weeks now that he’s indulged her. Her attention had been flattering, in an abstractly distant kind of way, but he’ll miss it when its gone. Young things, he thinks wryly, always so impatient for the good part that they never learn how to make the anticipation last. She moans as Jason palms at her belly, presses down like he can feel the burning length of him inside of her. Gets her tighter, tenser around him as slick pours out of her. He kisses her through it, nips at the line of her throat and sucks bruises into her clavicles until her breathing stops coming out so rabbit quick.

“Move,” you beg, voice high and plaintive. You paw clumsily at his back, his hips, desperate to feed the hunger growing in your belly now that you can think past the sheer stretch of him.

“Don’t worry kid, gonna give you everythin’ you need,” Jason says and then he fucking moves.

please just assume that this jason also has no boundaries and knows you're on birth control bc he did a full background check on you the first time you looked up at him with adoring eyes

[chrollogy]

MORE, MORE, MORE

— mammon x f!reader

syn: One orgasm is never enough for Mammon, he’s greedy for it. Well, he’s the Avatar of Greed after all. He lives up to the name, of course, proudly so.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cervix fucking, demon fucking, implied cum eating, pet names (my sweetheart, my treasure, my darling) divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 1.2k

notes: this is a repost from my deactivated acc + now cross-posted on my ao3 !

“Ma—ah fuck. . ! M-Mammon, can’t—ngh!” “Aah shit. . ! Just one more f’me, my sweetheart.” Mammon let out a heated gasp, his rosy lips parted before burying his face in the junction of your neck—soft breaths ghosting over the sensitive skin of your sweaty neck. Your vision was met with his snowy strands that your fingers dug into, occasionally tugging at the roots, and earning groans from Mammon as he ploughs into your cunt.

‘Just one more’ you knew that was nothing but a blatant lie, especially coming from the greediest demon himself—it was never just one more when it came to sex, sometimes Mammon would go to the extent where both of you were as overstimulated as you could get; silent screams as pleasure took over your bodies, the coil deep in your stomach snapping oh so deliciously that it was almost painful, his balls emptying the last bit of load he has after all the rounds.

Your head spun, the corners of your teary vision slowly filled with dark spots that disappeared as quickly as they formed. You’ve already came twice around his cock, and you’ve lost count of how many times Mammon brought you to your orgasm with his tongue and fingers, so your body was already sensitive to any kind of touch.

You could feel your legs trembling as Mammon pushed and pulled his hard cock over and over again, the way your walls clamped around his shaft, allowing you to feel every ridge of it. It was sticky, damp, and stuffy.

The mixture of your’s and his cum dripped out of your sopping cunt and down to the mattress, creating loud, wet noises that bounced around the walls of his room. Mammon’s heavy balls slapped against your sweaty skin, making a sticky mess down where the two of you connected.

His king-sized bed squeaked with each desperate thrust of his hips, the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall as if it was locked in a rhythmic curse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Mammon was sure his brothers could hear the deafening thuds of his headboard but he couldn’t care less. Another strained groaned left his throat as you scratched your nails down his bare muscled back, hands running through an evident bump on it—his wings were starting to come out. His horns were also becoming visible, the ebony spirals emerging from his snowy hair.

Mammon growled as he felt himself shift into his demon form due to the immense pleasure that washed over his whole body. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, causing pleasurable pain to shoot up to your neck as his canines grew in size.

“Aah. . Mammon . . !” “Haah! T-that’s it, my treasure. . Moan for me.”

Mammon lifted his head from your neck, an evident deep crimson blush spread on his cheeks as he met your gaze—his pupils were blown with lust, eyes also teary from the never-ending pleasure. Fuck, you could stare at his eyes all day; the way his blue irises faded into a golden yellow at the bottom, like the ocean meeting the citrine sky as the sun dips below the horizon.

Before you could close your eyes shut from the way Mammon’s blunt tip repeatedly hit your cervix, you noticed a faint flapping sound over the ringing of your ears—something slicing through the damp atmosphere of the room and blowing hot air. It didn’t take you long to notice the full-grown pair of wings on his back, flapping with every eager thrust of his hips—it’s bat-like structure proudly stretching out to reveal it’s entire length.

The white markings across his tanned torso were now evident too, Mammon was in his full demon form. It was always like this with him whenever he reached overstimulation, the immense pleasure his body held was too much that it often resorted to him unintentionally transforming.

His wings moved in synched with his hard thrusts, allowing him to pound harder and reach deeper into you. Mammon threw his head back, a heated gasp leaving his lips as he felt your walls tighten around him. A small, desperate cry of your name hung in the thick air before he buried his face near your ear once again.

Mammon let out shallow pants, incoherent sentences going straight to your left ear; he managed to stutter out a praise, his voice shaky, and breathless from all the fucking he’s doing. The sweet praise went straight to your cunt, and that was all it took for you reach yet another orgasm.

This time, it was significantly more intense than the previous ones mammon had given you. Your whole body trembled as the coil in the pit of your stomach snapped for the nth time that night, face contorting in raw bliss as your lips parted in a silent scream.

Mammon didn’t even have to look at your face to know what you looked like as you came, he’s got in engrained in his mind—the way your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head, swollen lips parted, brows tightly knitted together and tears rolling down your warm cheeks.

The thought of your erotic expression brought mammon to another climax shortly after you. His muscles turned taut, wings stilling in a stretch as he sheathed his cock deep inside you before cumming. He moaned into your sweaty skin, a string of curses leaving his throat as waves of pleasure fully consumed him.

The two of you fell into a unison, filling the room with nothing but lewd sounds as your bodies jolted from the after shocks of a mind blowing orgasm. Mammon held you tight—his bare chest flush against your own—to keep himself grounded from the immense pleasure.

You didn’t know how he was still able to cum inside you with such volume, given how many times he’s orgasmed already—Mammon filled your cunt to the brim, swearing under his breath as a squelching noise came from your cunt, his seed seeping out and dripping down to his balls and the mattress.

He gave a few shallow thrusts to ride out both your orgasms before pulling out, a whine coming from you and Mammon at the loss of contact—he watched as your hole dripped with his and your cum, biting down at his bottom lip.

How filthy.

“I’m far from being done with you. .” Mammon breathlessly laughed as he saw your eyes fluttering shut. You opened your lids to see that he’s made his way down to the apex of your legs, where all the mess was.

“Mhm, I’m going to suck this out of you.”

He gave an experimental lick at your sensitive cunt, causing you to instinctively attempt to close your legs. Mammon held your legs apart and gave you a smirk before diving in—your hands flew to his spiralled horns, gripping them for your dear life as he shoved his tongue inside you.

“Just can’t get enough of you, my darlin’..” Mammon whispered against your skin. “Mhm—aah! Y’so greedy, M-Mammon.” you moaned. He couldn’t help but snicker at your response, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at the choice of your words.

“Now, I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[grimmweepers]

— ☆ contents: sfw, dad!sukuna handling the morning routine with your girls while you're away, fem!reader, vague hair descriptors for your babies (mention of messy hair and braids), maybe a little ooc, 0.8k wc | masterlist

"Please do our hair, Papa!"

And just like that, their adorable cheeks and flashy grins worked their magic, turning the rare morning without you into a delightful little circus.

It was honestly a travesty, a cosmic joke of the highest order that Sukuna—a man of men, built like he was meant to father sons upon sons—had been blessed with two daughters. And not just any daughters but two miniature versions of you.

You used to get so stressed leaving him alone with them but as they grew into their little personalities, you realised it wasn’t the girls you needed to worry about—it was him.

Sukuna stood in front of the mirror, holding a comb in his hand like it was a foreign weapon, and your youngest, who was perched on a stool in front of him, frowned when she saw that after all his awkward attempts, her hair was still a wild mess.

"Mama doesn't do it like this," she said matter-of-factly. All of four years old but already an expert in hair etiquette, apparently.

He sighed, glancing at her in the mirror with a look of defeat. “Well, guess what? Mama’s not here,” he gruffed, although his mouth twitched upward in amusement, "So you’ve gotta deal with me.”

She pouted as she crossed her little arms, scrunching her nose while giving him the tiniest glare. Sukuna chuckled at the sight. She looked just like you.

“But Mama doesn’t hurt me,” accusatory eyes pierced into her father as if the tugs at her scalp were intentional.

He stopped, deadpan, like he was facing the toughest opponent of his life. “You think I’m trying to hurt you on purpose?” He pointed at the comb, “This thing’s got a mind of its own.”

Your eldest daughter, who had been lounging on the futon and flipping through a picture book, piped up with a smirk, “Mama says you need to be gentle, Papa.”

“Gentle?” he muttered under his breath. She heard him regardless and nodded back at him.

Another dramatic exhale left his lips. He started again, much slower this time, painstakingly working the brush through his daughter’s hair. “Alright, princess, by the time I’m done, you’ll look so pretty, Mama's gonna be jealous. She might even eat you.”

The youngest giggled at that, wiggling in her stool as Sukuna brushed through the last tangle without any major casualties. As he tied off the braid with a ribbon, he stepped back, standing tall with his hands on his hips, impressed with his own work. “There,” he said with more confidence than he probably should, “Nailed it.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, still skeptical but he could see the admiration she was trying to hide, “It’s… okay,” she declared her final verdict. She was acting like it wasn’t the best job though her tone said otherwise.

Meanwhile, your eldest, still on the futon, didn’t miss a beat. “Mama would’ve done it faster.”

Of course, they adore you. Everyone did. But when you weren't around, Sukuna—who could wipe out an entire army with a single swipe and set whole villages aflame—found himself outmatched by a hair comb and two pint-sized versions of the love of his life. It’s no wonder you were able to tame the girls.

But he caught your eldest sliding a thumbs up from behind her book, her way of saying—It looks good, Papa.

And he thinks maybe he’s doing alright. Although, if you were here you would’ve probably swooped in and rescued him long ago whilst being heavily amused by his struggle. Of the two of you, it wasn't difficult to figure out who was more gentle and patient. He swore you could do motherhood in your sleep and he already knew you would tease him later about this.

“You’re thinking about Mama, aren’t you?” Your eldest asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, catching him off guard.

“What makes you say that?” He blinked at her. That slyness? Maybe she took after him more than he'd realised.

She shrugged with all the wisdom of a seven year old who’s already figured out her father. “You always get that look on your face when you’re missing her.”

Sukuna shook his head, “Well, your Mama makes this look easy.” He went back to inspecting his youngest’s head knowing deep down it was far from the flawless work you would’ve done, “Okay, princess. You’re good to go.” She beamed at him and hopped off the stool, happily oblivious to the way the ribbon had already started slipping.

As soon as she scampered off to grab her stuffed bear, he turned his attention to his eldest again, who was quirking her eyebrow and looking every bit like you.

“Listen, kid. Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” he pointed at the stool while giving her a playful glare, “Your turn.”

a/n: holding all of your hands during these trying times. this has been sitting in my draft since august so im glad it's finally out huehue

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[sleepynoons]

Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown. 

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.  

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face. 

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage. 

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of. 

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred. 

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep. 

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

[pparadiselost]

dressed to kill.

various (hinata shoyo, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei, kuroo tetsurou) x fem reader haikyuu men and the lingerie/costumes they like to see on you. warning(s): nsfw dividers: cafekitsune. minors do not interact.

HINATA SHOYO + BABYDOLLS

hinata shoyo is not a picky man. 

he’s a great boyfriend, someone who wants you to feel confident in your own skin and show off your own style. he always hypes you up no matter what you’re wearing, and the fact that he’s genuine about every compliment he gives you only adds to how much of a sweet lover he is.

but if there is one singular thing that he would get on his hands and knees to beg you to wear is nothing more than a babydoll lingerie dress.

something about them just has him going wild. it’s like he can’t think straight anymore, his usually quick brain fried into a horny hum of nothingness when he imagines you all dolled up in the sheer material. his rationale goes straight out the window and his cock takes the wheel, throbbing and aching and needing to get his hands all over your body as soon as possible.

maybe it’s how innocent it makes you look, the fabric flaring around your hips and covering the upper part of your thighs, leaving your bare legs to tease his imagination. maybe it’s how the upper half hugs your body so snugly, the thin cloth barely covering your tits and your nipples poking through if he stares hard enough. it’s really all in the balance, making your beauty shine while leaving just enough to have his imagination wandering. 

it’s almost embarrassing how often he’s jerked off to this fantasy. all of his characteristic sunny swagger is gone when he buys you your first dress and asks you to wear it, sounding more like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity rather than your energetic boyfriend. but it’s like a switch flips in his brain the very second you agree, and without a chance for you to reconsider, he throws you down in bed.

he shoves his face right in between your legs, and his mouth goes straight to where he’s been itching to be throughout this whole ordeal. the translucent material of your lingerie drapes over his head like a veil as he presses hungry kisses to your pussy. he swirls the broad of his tongue over your pulsing hole, loving the way you suck in a sharp breath and shudder. he’s going to make sure to do you right, to fuck you right, for indulging him so well.

“fuck- you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he laughs against your cunt, sounding like a man starved. he might as well be, with how messily he’s eating you out. he smacks his lips, the wet sound of your juices coating his tongue and lips echoing throughout your shared bedroom. “shit- you’re fucking perfect… my pretty girl, being so good for me.”

you unconsciously clench your thighs around his head when he sucks on your clit. heat shoots all throughout your belly, and you’re sure you’re going to ruin the sheets with how much your pussy’s leaking. he takes turns toying with your puffy clit and teasing the outline of your hole until you’re begging incoherently for him to just do something to you already. your pussy can’t take being teased like this.

“fuck me! please fuck me, shoyo-,” you’re almost sobbing, the hem of your babydoll scrunched up in shoyo’s hands as he grips at your thighs to keep them pried apart. it leaves your exposed cunt at his complete mercy, and even thinking about that fact on its own has your walls throbbing and clenching painfully on itself. “anything- your tongue, fingers, cock- anything! please- need you inside me so bad, sho…”

“don’t worry.” he presses a quick kiss to your clit, the shaky moan you reward with him like honey to his ears. “i’ll get there. but fuck… you look so pretty… i want to take my time with you.”

you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises on your thighs from how hard he’s gripping you, his calloused fingers digging into your soft flesh. but everything about him is so arousing, and you’re equally as drunk off of him as he is to you. shoyo thinks he’s died and gone to whatever version of heaven there might be. placebo effect be damned, he swears on his life that your pussy tastes so much sweeter whenever he eats you out while you’re wearing your dress.

“got yourself all pretty for me, didn’t you? you knew that i would like this, that i’d want to fuck you senseless after seeing you in it. was that your plan from the start?” hinata asks breathlessly. he swallows back more of your slick, and his cock keens inside of his pants, his tip sticky and swollen and wanting literally any form of attention. but he can push that aside for now. now, he wants to enjoy the sight laid out before him, of your already fucked out face and your body covered in the delicate lace and sheer fabric he’s dreamt of, legs spread out the way he likes it and pussy drooling for no one but him. 

knowing that you put this on for him, that you dressed up for him, that you wanted to look good for him makes his dick so hard that it hurts. he promises to himself that he’s going to buy out some poor lingerie store’s entire stock just to see you in different colors and materials, and he’s going to fuck your brains out in each and every single one of them until you’re sick of even the letter ‘b’ in babydoll. 

“gonna make you cum on my tongue, yeah? love making you fall apart on my mouth,” he breathes against your cunt. he chuckles when he can feel you clenching up around his tongue, flicking at your hole and making your toes curl. “gonna fuck you on my cock after that then, doll. that sound good to you? gonna make you cum and squirt so you know just how badly all of this gets to me.”

this is going to become a bad habit of his, more addictive than anything else he could imagine, only making his obsession with everything that has to do with you so much worse.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO + ANYTHING WITH WHITE LACE

as much as kageyama tobio hates to admit it, he undeniably has a bit of a romantic streak. his love for volleyball, his dedication to bettering himself, his constant search for the one that continues to challenge him to unseen heights: it all points to the unending ache in his heart that searches for someone to be by his side.

only a part of that desire gets quenched when he falls for you. you were his first, and he’s determined to make you his last. it’s only logical, in his mind, that seeing you in white is enough to awaken something like a sleeper agent inside of him. it makes you think of the day you’ll be decked from head to toe in a beautiful white dress and a lacy white veil, and he’ll stare at you as if he’s falling in love all over again, barely holding back his tears as he waits for you to meet him at the altar.

it’s not his fault that he wants to make that dream a reality so badly. you can feel the way kageyama stiffens and struggles to meet your eyes whenever you wear white around him, be it anything from a simple pajama t-shirt to something more formal. it drives him wild, and it makes him want to eat you up, to pin you down and drink up the sight of you in that pretty color, to let whatever restraint left inside of him go completely.

it takes him a surprisingly long time for him to actually bring the idea of lingerie to you. it becomes a bit of a guilty secret of his. he buys all sorts of pretty, lacy white bras, crotchless panties, and matching sets, only to get shy and hide it away in his closet. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but he wonders if he’s ramping things up too quickly, if his love might become smothering to you.

but if anything, you’re worse than he is. you’re more than happy to don whatever piece he sheepishly offers up to you, and seeing you baring yourself up to him in the lingerie he could only fantasize about makes his throat close up. blood rushes to his cock, hardening almost too quickly for him to process, and his dick feels like it’s about to explode. he whines when you press up against him and coo something sweetly towards him. your hands rub against the bulge in his pants as you press your clothed tits against his chest, his cock twitches painfully when he notices the way the lace trim moves with the plush flesh.

it’s bad. he begs you to ride him, to take his cock so he can see your entire body covered in the lacy material that mimics bridalwear so temptingly. he likes hooking his fingers around the waistline of your panties just to feel the lace ride against his skin.

“so pretty- looks so good on you-,” he slurs as you buck your hips. you grin down at him, loving how fucked out and pussy drunk he looks, the way he cries out whenever you slide down his length and let his cock breach your tight hole. “gonna cum just from staring at you… fuck, you’re so fucking tight…!”

“do you like how i look?” you reach for his wrists, and kageyama feels like he’s going to die when you glide his large, calloused palms over the curve of your hips. he gropes at your figure, moaning loudly when he can feel the white fabric moving underneath his knuckles. you smile down at him, and you make sure to bounce your tits in his face to give your boyfriend a good show. “you wanted me to wear this for you, didn’t you?”

he nods frantically. his balls are straining against your ass, and your pussy won’t quit clenching up around him. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you would take his thinly veiled fetish and turn it immediately against him. “you look good- look so, so good- wanna cum inside you…”

“yeah?” you repeat. you drag his hands up to your breasts, the white lace barely covering your hardened nipples. you groan his name when he touches you, his fingers pinching at your nipples and desperately squeezing at your tits. “you wanna cum inside of me while i’m wearing this? is that why you’re so hard right now? your cock’s so hard inside of me, tobio… feels so good when i ride it.”

he clenches his eyes shut at your praise, and satisfaction stirs deep inside of you when his cock twitches in your pussy. you speed up your pace a little bit, and his moans grow high-pitched, his hands gripping onto your chest to ground himself to no avail. heat blooms all over his body, and he can’t hold on much longer. your body feels too good. your pussy’s melting his dick, squeezing him into utter submission. knowing that you’re more than willing to let his lovesick fantasies play out makes him want to fuck his cock so deep and hard into you, to stuff his cum all up into your womb until it leaks out of you and drips down your thighs into a sticky mess.  

you click your tongue down at him. “eyes open, tobio. you’re the one that wanted to see me in this lingerie… don’t tell me that you’re chickening out now.”

“don’t- don’t tease me-,” he pants, the ragged edge in his voice has the arousal in your gut churning. he glares up at you, and the hunger and barely concealed restraint in his eyes are almost palpable. 

his hands drop from your chest down to your hips. he drags your hips up his swollen length and then forces you all the way down, snapping his hips up so that his whole, thick cock plows its way into you. red, hot electric pleasure shoots up your spine, and he manages to rip a strangled cry of his name out of you.

“is this what you wanted?” kageyama hisses. “i can play this game with you. don’t blame me if i end up knocking you up after all of this.” 

TSUKISHIMA KEI + MAID COSTUMES

despite his uptight, holier-than-thou attitude he displays at times, tsukishima kei can’t deny the simpler pleasures of seeing his pretty girlfriend dressed up in a frilly maid costume with a short, short skirt. he is just a man, at the end of the day, and something about coming home after a long shift at the museum to see you greet him in the cute costume with your hair and makeup all done for him makes his body flush. 

you’re so eager to shower him with attention, to help him unwind, to call him “sir” and “master kei” in that singsong voice of yours, and you prancing around in front of him and accidentally flashing him your dainty panties whenever the skirt bounces up too high is only the beginning.

part of him wants to shove the tiny skirt up to your waist and bending you over on the nearest surface to fuck you out on his cock, hearing you choke out his name just so he can shove his fingers into your mouth and scold you about not using the proper honorifics with him. another part of him wants to take his time with you, to feel you shudder as he slowly drags his lithe fingers up your thighs, unwrapping you like his own personal present, and making you suck him off while still fully dressed all so he can cum on your costume and hear you squeal about the mess he’s making. 

it’s not like he’s pressed for time now that he’s done with work. there’s no need to pick between the two equally tempting options when he can just do both with you.

“what a messy maid i’ve got here… you’re drooling all over me. can’t take it?” a big hand tugs at your hair, surprisingly gentle despite the harsh edge to his words. you’re struggling to fit more of tsukishima’s long cock into your mouth without using your hands, tied behind your back with a white bow that matches the rest of the decorations on your maid costume. 

you swallow around him. your mouth feels so full with his length, his girth already making you struggle to wrap your lips around him fully. you like it though, you like testing your limits like this, the warm tightness of your mouth and throat serving to pleasure tsukishima the best you can. after all, a maid’s job is to live for whatever her master wants, isn’t it?

you gag slightly on his dick when tsukishima tries to push you down a bit deeper. saliva dots the edges of your lips and coats his throbbing length. you mimic the motion of sex the best you can, bobbing your head up and down as much of him as you can possibly take. you flutter your eyelashes up at him sweetly, despite the fact that you’re blowing him off and looking more like a pornstar than you are a truly innocent maid. but it’s you, and that’s what matters more than anything else to tsukishima. 

“there’s a good girl…,” he coos down at you, and the loose smirk hanging off of his lips makes your pussy throb. it’s always hard to tell when he’s genuinely praising you versus when he’s only pretending to, but it turns you on so badly to know that he’s the one in control of everything. you slobber shamelessly around him as you daydream about how good it would feel to take his thick cock inside of your pussy. he would stretch you out so good, and just the thought of cumming and creaming on his dick makes you drool that much harder around him, like a dog to a bone.

he keeps twitching and pulsing inside of your mouth, and you know he’s close from how he’s gripping your hair and his low groans. you want it. you want him to cum inside of your mouth, and you want to swallow it all. but he has other plans in mind, and despite how expertly you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and moan at the salty taste of his pre-cum spreading all over the inside of your cheeks and in the back of your throat, tsukishima refuses to give you the satisfaction of the heady taste of his semen flooding your mouth. 

he yanks himself out of your mouth, and you whine, your throat and mouth deprived of him. you stick your tongue out, feeling like a kid with their toy stolen away, and you wiggle your hips unconsciously, arousal dripping from between your thighs and surely making a mess out of your thin panties. 

“ah, ah, not so quick,” the blond laughs down at you breathlessly. you watch with deprived and enchanted eyes as he finishes himself off, denying yourself even the pleasure of drinking his cum, and you let out a pathetic whimper when he cums on you instead. his hot cum burns your skin, hot and sticky and heavy, and it goes all over your face, your skimpily clothed chest, into your hair, and enough to flood your senses. 

you lick at your lips, the salty taste not quite enough to satisfy you completely. you need more, you want all of it inside your pussy, you’re not going to be happy with being teased and having your prize dangled in front of your eyes tantalizingly. tsukishima knows this, and he knows that a good maid should never get all needy in front of her master.

he grips your face as you try to wipe and collect his cum to lick off of your fingers. you look like a disaster, your costume now askew and his cum staining so much of your body. 

“did you actually think you deserve my cum, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly into a dark sneer. you barely suppress a shudder as his cock slowly hardens again, and it might just be your imagination but it looks thicker, longer, harder than it was mere minutes ago. he smiles mockingly at you as if he can detect your anticipation mixed with fear. “my messy maid… if you want it that badly, you’re going to have to work a little bit harder for it.”

KUROO TETSUROU + PLAYBOY BUNNY

kuroo tetsurou wasn’t always the silver-tongued, handsome man he is today. people always laugh when he recounts his younger days, especially when he was nothing more than a nerdy high schooler with horrible bedhead, an affinity for chemistry, and an incessant love for his school’s volleyball team. he doesn’t have too much trouble garnering attention nowadays, but there was a point in his life when all he had to quell his own confusing teenager hormones was a pile of trusty playboy magazines stashed discreetly underneath his bed. 

it makes his cheeks prickle with embarrassment to think too long about the scantily dressed women in all of the pictures and pin-ups, worn out after years of use, but he’d be lying if he said seeing the models dressed up in the signature bunny custom didn’t do something to his adolescent mind. even though it’s so lewd, there’s something classy about the way the costume accentuates the figure and leaves just enough covered for the imagination.

it’s no wonder that that became his first pick when the idea of dressing up for him came up. and god, the sight of you shyly approaching him in the same costume that became such a staple in his heart makes him want to eat you up whole. nothing you do can cover yourself from his hawk-like eyes, and seeing you squirm and trying to hide under your hands or arms makes him want to turn you into a mess where you can’t hide any part of yourself from him.

“mmm… it fits you perfectly, doll,” a low voice rasps from behind you. kuroo’s thick thighs make the perfect seat for you, and your stomach does a flip when you can feel the tent in his pants rubbing up against your ass. the leather of the costume’s main piece does wonders to your body. they push up your tits perfectly, and that coupled with a pair of sensual black stockings, red bottom heels (which kuroo generously paid for which earned him a long lecture from you after you saw the price tag), and the cutest little bunny tail on your ass makes you the vision of a wet dream come true. 

he grips your hips, big hands feeling up the curves of your waist and ass. he rocks you back and forth on his bulge, and you’re rewarded with a groan from somewhere deep in his throat when he feels the electric sparks of having his favorite girl grinding against his erection. you pick up the rhythm, rocking your hips against him, the act so desperate and so carnal despite the layers of clothing between the two of you.

“you have- hah- no fucking clue how long i’ve imagined you like this-,” kuroo chuckles. his big palms go from your waist up to your chest, and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his calloused fingers hover over your tits. goosebumps dot your skin as he starts to slowly grope your chest, earning you yet another provocative moan from him when he keeps rutting into the soft flesh of your ass.

you bite down on your bottom lip, grinding down on him to stimulate your clit. it feels good, the dull blooms of pleasure doing wonders for the heat creeping all over your body. the idea of cumming untouched like this makes your head spin, and you want it more than anything else. you want your hole to become a leaking, cock-hungry mess all from dressing up in a lewd bunny costume for kuroo and from humping into each other like animals in heat. you know it’s going to make being fucked out his cock eventually feel that much better. 

“please, tetsu-,” you whine, your nails digging into his forearms. your voice is high strung and strained, whiny and girly just the way he likes it best. “wanna cum- wanna cum for you… you feel so big already… wanna take your cock inside me too…!”

“yeah? you want that too? keep talking like that, and i’ll fucking lose it for real…,” he grunts. you yelp when he bites down on your shoulder, sharp teeth marking up your unmarked skin and the sudden sting has your cunt clenching up painfully. the thrums of arousal thrashing in your core are all your mind can grip onto, and the shape of kuroo’s cock straining against his pants and grinding into your swollen clit makes your whole body feel weak.

you’re glad kuroo’s enjoying this so much, that he can prop your body up the way he wants you to. he’s so strong even in the midst of this sex-induced haze, and knowing that he has nothing but this kind of insane desire for you makes you feel almost giddy. it’s nice; it’s powerful to know that you have this effect on him. 

“gonna cum for me, bunny? while you’re all dressed up and pretty in my lap?” kuroo laughs. you nod, the faux ears atop your head threatening to go askew. his hands massage at your chest, every part of your body egging him on constantly. he kisses over the bite marks he left on you, the switch between loving appreciation and starved lust telling you everything you need to know about how this whole thing with him is going to end.

it’s a no-brainer that he thinks you look absolutely ravishing in his favorite outfit, but he swears that the costume is gonna look even better when it’s all crumpled on the floor, your naked body bared all for him. you’re going to look so cute, so innocent, and so adorable bouncing in his lap as he pinches your nipples from behind, that teasing tone of his pushing you towards an unending series of orgasms. kuroo can’t wait to feel you fall apart in his arms, to feel your helpless pussy fucked out on his cock. 

“that’s my girl,” he praises you, voice hushed and sultry. “my pretty, obedient bunny. cum all you want. gonna make sure that’s all you do for the next little while…”

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to these vetted gofundmes to help families!

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ FLOW ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. with your auto workshop at risk of closing down, your best friend kira ryosuke offers to introduce you to people who are definitely in need of your high quality services: underground street racers of blue lock, whose obsessions are winning the races. however, your arrival at the track makes them think otherwise. 

CHARACTERS. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, barou shouei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, yukimiya kenyu, otoya eita, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

CONTENT. f!reader. street racer au. fluff. 1.3k wc. rewrite of flow at my old main blog @/verxsyon. reader is labeled as “kira (ryosuke’s) girl” because they are always seen together. possessive behavior (barou). mentions of violence (shidou & rin).

VERA. what’s better than egoist soccer players? egoist street racers. you know what could be better than egoist street racers? the reonagi divorce arc in hd— oops, lmao. you know what could be better than the reonagi divorce arc in hd? season 2 premiere this week and sae has more screen time! i also bought a reo figure in his high school soccer uniform to celebrate, and it was the last one too. lucky!

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ISAGI YOICHI

the heart. quickly becomes popular for his freshness to the arena. isagi is a good friend of kira, so there’s one more person you can trust. while in his care as kira meets up with his team, he gives you a tour of blue lock to keep you entertained. sweet and kind, he fetches you water and asks if you feel alright because the racers have been ogling at you since you arrived. interrupted by an uproar caused by a racer who is standing on his car with paint all over his body, isagi is beyond irritated.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BACHIRA MEGURU

the monster. obsessed with spray paint and loves decorating his car with it. bachira is terrible at being an artist. playful and cheerful outside, he holds amateur art performances for the crowd before races to get them pumped up. his gaze makes isagi flinch when he is told by the latter to quiet down. you can still hear the warning of staying close to someone you trust. he emits a dangerous aura, a strong first impression. bachira feels the same when he’s up at your face, studying you intensely.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. CHIGIRI HYOMA

the surge. the fastest racer in blue lock, securing victories at the speed of light. as chigiri approaches bachira to scold him for scaring newcomers, his beauty is so unreal that you don’t even realize you’ve been staring at him. he apologizes for his friend’s antics, justifying that he acts like this before a highly anticipated race. unfortunately, chigiri is not in this one due to a leg injury but luckily has someone helping him to stay in shape: an orange-haired racer waiting at the garage in his car.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE

the hero. kunigami has the highest endurance in blue lock, outlasting all racers in long-distance races. he acts like an older brother as he is very protective and solves issues in a civil manner, balancing out his friends’ hot-blooded personalities. kira trusts him enough to take you home as your best friend has matters to take care of. you thank kunigami for the ride and being nice to you. embarrassed, he says he’ll see you at the race and nothing else before zooming away.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BAROU SHOUEI

the king. barou is the racer that kira complains about for as long as you can remember. he’s selfish and arrogant based on what you gathered so far from kira, claiming that the venue is his throne and the next race is his for the taking. his attitude fits your expectations; you already dislike him upon the first encounter. barou has the audacity to “claim” you as his prize when he wins this race. you’ll definitely follow kira’s advice to avoid him for sure when you see this guy again.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. MIKAGE REO

the heir. reo considers kira to be one of the best in the arena, besides his best friend, nagi, of course. a master of negotiations due to his status as the future chairman of a corporation, he hopes you will find his terms reasonable and collaborate with him as a business partner. but what he doesn’t expect is you playing hard to get. a pretty rich boy does deserve wild goose chase, making his pursuit exhilarating just like races at blue lock. nagi thinks that what he is doing is a waste of time.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. NAGI SEISHIRO

the genius. most people are happy with their achievements, but nagi does not care less as they’re essentially reo’s efforts. all he cares about are his video games and his cactus until you arrive to the arena with kira. all of a sudden, he attempts to impress you; “attempts” being the keyword. yet reo does the work once again by introducing him to you as his precious treasure and brags that you will see nagi’s full potential at the upcoming race. nagi doesn’t find you to be a bother, so he hopes to see you again. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YUKIMIYA KENYU

the model. his charm is the focal point of his character, which drives the audience nuts. curious by nature, yukimiya wonders about the qualities you possess other than being “kira ryosuke’s girl” and how you manage to get the likes of barou, who treats everyone like trash, and nagi, who thinks of only going home, at your whim. seeing you teach nagi about car anatomy allows him to introduce himself. he believes that there is something special about you, but a friend of his thinks so otherwise.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. OTOYA EITA

the ninja. otoya claims to be not like his fellow racers and prefers to stay in the shadows. he doesn’t see you as an angel sent by god in the form of a mechanic to fix their cars, not understanding why everyone is smitten by you. he isn’t interested in interacting with you at first, however, that is proven wrong when yukimiya makes you laugh at a silly joke. it’s rude to make you feel unwelcome, so he decides to give you a chance. a crow- like racer mocks him for thinking he doesn’t find you attractive one bit.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KARASU TABITO

the assassin. all about good vibes and good times, karasu does not want anyone to act “mediocre” around you. many newcomers are notorious for never setting foot in this place after their first round. he is relieved to hear that you came at your own volition thanks to kira. majority of racers you met so far are nice to you, so he doesn’t need to worry about making an impromptu spiel of why blue lock is great. if you think he’s too friendly for your taste, what about the guy stalking you right now.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SHIDOU RYUSEI

the joker. unrestrained both in words and action, shidou goes about his day and does everything as he pleases. judging by how yukimiya, otoya, and karasu are quick to shield you, he’s bad news. the altercation grabs kunigami’s attention, who he has massive beef with. being “kira’s girl” doesn’t phase him, nor your best friend going after his head for being near you. one of his rivals isn’t amused by the ongoing circus act, as if he didn’t break his nose in the previous race.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI RIN

the puppeteer. rin has a score to settle with his older brother, sae, who is betting on shidou for the next race. physical violence is a usual solution to settle arguments, and it’s worse for rin to be involved in another fight with shidou, especially before a race that determines his fate and prove to his brother that he’s the best of the best. he doesn’t spare a glance at you or ask if you’re alright, as sae walks into the garage to check out the commotion.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI SAE

the prodigy. sae is one of the top eleven racers at the underground. you now know that he is betting on shidou for the upcoming race. rin does not seem pleased. even if it’s not obvious at face value, everyone can tell that there’s bad blood between the brothers by the intense atmosphere created from their staring contest. sae looks at you then at his brother, who he scoffs at for his lack of concern for you. for a girl to experience this in the first week, he’ll stop by your shop as reparation after the race.