#it's apparently the time for massages

[shoot-of-corruption]

'shivers' + reverse

Send 'shivers' + reverse for my muse to be the one trailing their fingers down your muse’s spine.

Mariku would never have guessed that Yuugi would let him come this close... but there they were and he had the slight inkling that as long as he kept his hands on the other ones back, he couldn't do anything wrong.

He had realized earlier that Yuugi had a weird stiff walk and had asked the other if he was somewhat tense or had slept wrong... and he actually had gained a nod with the info that Yuugi experienced some pain, but wasn't sure where the main problem was... so he had actually volunteered to help.

He couldn't believe that the other one had taken the offer... just lying down in front of him, letting him trail his fingers over his back... he could very much feel the other ones spine under his fingertips.

"You are really... REALLY tense, Yuugi." He said lowly and lifted a brow. "Either all the card games, bowing over a table, or other interesting and exhausting actions in your life?" He held back a teasing snort.

[star-ocean-peahen]

so its not normal for your shoulder/chest to go click click click click when you laugh apparently

[darkwood-sleddog]

sigurd has only had one of his anti-inflammatory meds so far but the difference between yesterday and today has been night and day. his trot looks so normal and fluid, loose and relaxed. he actually wanted to go our regular daily walk mileage where before it was a question if he could even get halfway there or not. it is so satisfying being able to help those in your care.

[5-htreuptakeinhibitor]

im on a BOAT! in ALASKA! a really BIG BOAT!

[little-paper-man]

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm still bouncing around multiple things very slowly (like a couple of the journey sketches which turned into mini comics)

but currently I'm in the grips of reading a 300 page academic book on doctors and medicine of the renaissance because of the L4D/AC crossover I wanna write and I'm got a little too into making the doctor character.

[weepingactorsoverpopmusic]

[toadtoru]

CLIMB THE MINOTAUR

you’re excited to be chosen as a sacrifice and finally be able to get a proper look at the so-called minotaur. you’re thoroughly disappointed to find out it’s just some tall tattoed guy with four arms.

pairing: trueform sukuna x sacrifice f! reader contents: smut, monsterfucking, sukuna has two dicks, virginity loss (sukuna), cervix-fucking, mentions of cannibalism and killing, greek gods and myths, degradation, name-calling (brat, woman, whore) alba’s note: this came to me in a vision and i was compelled to write it. and then it turned way longer than i anticipated. hee hee. wordcount: 4.8k

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

You’re known to be peculiar. A little weird.

Growing up in Crete, you’ve always heard the stories of the Minotaur. A giant beast that lives in a labyrinth underneath the palace where King Minos lives.

No one really knows how the beast came to live, but it’s said that one day a big white bull showed up on the beach and nine months later Queen Pasiphae birthed the minotaur.

It’s not something that most dare to say out loud, but when it’s dark out and the bards are drunk enough the real songs come out at the crowded taverns.

Pasiphae, the queen who fucked the bull.

Every year a week-long festival is held where young women and men are sacrificed to the bull. It’s supposed to keep the monster at bay. It has a taste for human flesh. Apparently, the first thing it did when it was cut out of its mother’s womb, was to eat the nurse’s hand.

You know you should be filled with dread that a flesh-eating monster lives just underneath the palace. What’s stopping it from leaving its maze and coming for you?

But you just feel intrigued.

You know that it’s not normal. Other girls your age dream of heroes who slay dragons and save princesses. Yet your dreams are filled with a giant monster with a man’s body and a bull’s head, and you haven’t quite figured out if they’re nightmares or just that; dreams.

When you’re chosen to be sacrificed you can’t tell if the emotions toiling inside you are dread or excitement. Maybe it’s a mix of both?

You’re brought to the palace where you’re put in a dress, much prettier than anything you’ve ever owned. You know everyone expects you to scream and cry. That’s what all the other ones have done.

But you just stay quiet.

It only increases the sneers as you’re paraded around. The sacrificial maiden. Thank her for her humble sacrifice to save us from the hunger of the minotaur.

And when the day comes you’re led down a dark passage in the castle. Further and further and further down until the air turns chilly and the only light is from the torches the soldiers escorting you carry.

The entrance to the maze is surprisingly just a small door. Made of metal, there are several locks on the outside. The guard unlocks them one by one.

“Are you ready?”

It’s the first time any of them have spoken to you. You look at the guard beside you. He smiles and unlocks the chains around your wrist. You’re surprised they even bothered to put them on. You haven’t shown a sign of wanting to escape the entire time.

“I guess,” you reply, watching as the guard in front of you unlocks the last lock. You massage your sore wrists and wince.

“Why are you removing these? Wouldn’t it be easier to let them stay on,” you ask. The guard smiles again. This time it’s more sinister.

“It likes the chase,” he replies. You raise a brow. You wonder how he knows that. No one on the outside of the maze has ever seen the minotaur besides its mother and the handless maid. No one on the inside of the maze has ever lived to tell anyone about their experience.

The guard in front of you scoffs.

“Alright, get in there. I want to go home. Wife’s making chicken stew.” he says. You walk towards the door. The guard opens it. The one behind you swiftly pushes you in.

They go to close the door, but you place yourself between the the small gap before he can. The guards frown.

“Don’t make me push you again,” one of them says.

“At least give me a torch. Can you see how dark it is down here?” you ask. The guards share a look.

“You’re awfully calm for a little girl,”

“I’m not a little girl,” you huff. The guard shrugs. Then he hands you one of their torches.

“Sure. It’ll just make it easier for it to find you,” he says. You move back so they can close the door properly.

It will also make it easier for me to see him.

The door is closed and you look out towards the maze. Apart from the little light your torch provides, it’s pitch black. All you can see is stonewalls. You give the door behind you one last look.

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to go,” you mutter, as you walk further into the maze. You have no idea if you’ve walked for hours or minutes. Everywhere is the same, stone, stone, stone. You take turn after turn, keeping your hand against the wall on your right side.

You listen as closely as you can, after hooves on the floor or grunts coming, but the only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the slow crackle of the torch on your left.

Annoyed, you sigh. “Some chase,” you huff as you look around. It’s cold and wet by now, and your dress does nothing to shield you from the chilly air.

That’s when you see it; red eyes staring at you in the darkness. He’s too far away for your torch to illuminate him, but you can see enough, that he’s tall and big. Your breath hitches, but you can hardly react before he moves towards you. You prepare yourself for incoming death, yet you’re excited to finally see the great minotaur. You wonder how big his horns are if they curl–

Wait, what?

You furrow your brows. The shadow moving towards you doesn’t have horns. Instead, it’s a giant man with four arms. He’s strong, with big muscles and scars all over his body, along with black tattoos on his chest and arms and he’s only wearing a pair of ragged pants. Four pairs of ruby eyes glare at you as he opens his mouth, revealing a pair of sharp fangs, ready to rip open your throat.

“You’re not a bull,”

The monster, or rather, man halts. He looks confused, as though he’s not entirely sure what to do.

“You’re just some guy!” you continue, crossing your arms over your chest. “Where’s your bull's head!”

The monster blinks. His arms which were previously reaching out for you, ready to grab you, are now awkwardly hanging down his sides.

“What?” His voice is coarse, as though he hasn’t used it for a long time. “You’re supposed to have horns! A bull's head!” you accuse.

“Who told you that?” he asks, lips turning downward in a growl.

“Everyone!”

“Stupid rumours,”

You stand there for a while, staring at each other. The guy awkwardly rubs his neck with his top left arm. He clearly doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he’s not used to his victims blaming him for not being scary enough. Or animal enough? What exactly you were expecting, he isn’t sure. All he knows is that you’re thoroughly disappointed.

You sigh and walk up to him. You examine his arms, before you look up at his face. He glares at you. You raise your brows.

The guy’s hot. You can’t deny that.

He shakes his head, before turning around and walking away. You watch him go for a bit before you decide to follow him.

“Aren’t you going to eat me or something?” you ask.

“Lost my appetite,” he replies, not looking back towards you. You continue to follow him, your eyes trailing the black tattoos on his back.

“Where are we going?” you ask. The man stops, causing you to collide with his back.

“I’m going home. You’re not going anywhere,” he states, looking down at you over his shoulder. You step back, looking around the passage you’re in. Stones and stones are all you see.

You decide you are going with the man whether he likes it or not. You’d rather do that than spend the night alone in the maze.

He doesn't say anything as you walk to the place he calls home. You’re delighted when you enter a relatively small chamber. There’s not much more than a bed, a kitchen, a dining table and several books lying around. The latter surprises you, but then again, it’s probably kept him from going completely insane. You wonder who taught him how to read. It is not something just anyone can do.

On the table, there’s a sort of stew. It’s still hot, it can hardly have been there for long. He grabs himself a bowl, before handing one to you. You tentatively grab it, suspiciously eyeing the meat.

He rolls his eyes. “Relax. It's rabbit,” he replies, handing you a spoon. You sit down, slightly wide-eyed.

“There are rabbits down here?” you ask and the man nods.

“Animals venture down here all the time. You don’t actually think I can survive from a couple of sacrifices once a year, do you?” he asks.

You stare at the stew. In all honesty, you’d never really given it that much thought. In hindsight, it feels a little stupid. Like you’ve been caught right in your very own net of assumptions.

“What’s your name?” you slowly ask. He stops eating, looking at you. It’s like he considers what to say for a while, before coming to a conclusion.

“Sukuna,” he replies. You hum.

“Sukuna,” you repeat, and Sukuna grunts, eating a spoonful of his stew. You give him your name, but he hardly seems to register it as he shrugs.

You sit like that in silence, both just eating the stew. Once you’re done Sukuna stands up, stretching his arms. You watch with fascination.

“I’m going to bed. It’s late,” he grumbles, before shrugging off his pants.

You gape, staring. Sukuna stands before you, completely naked. Your eyes trail his body, watching his tattoos, leading down, down, down.

No way.

The fucker has two cocks. You swallow, watching the gigantic things between his legs. They’re almost pretty. Wait, are you turned on right now?

“Do you always sleep naked?” you ask, voice coming out smaller than you’d like.

Sukuna grunts. You take that as a yes. He walks past you, lying down on his bed and turning his back to you. You huff.

Is he seriously going to bed right now?

Tentatively, you look around the small chamber. Kitchen, table, bed, books. There’s hardly anything else.

The bed is big enough for two.

You’re not entirely sure what comes over you. Maybe it’s the dull throbbing in your core or the warm stew clouding your mind, but you take off your dress and undergarments and lay down on the bed, slipping under the covers.

Unable to look at Sukuna’s broad back any longer, you turn around, laying on your side. You feel him turning around as well, feeling his breathing against your neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep,”

“In my bed?” You can’t entirely tell if Sukuna’s angry or just exasperated. Maybe it’s a mix of both.

“Do you see any other beds here?”

Sukuna scoffs, but he doesn’t make a move to push you out. You take that as a victory, settling into the bed. Sukuna’s body radiates with heat behind you, almost like a furnace.

You lay like that for a while, wondering how this has all happened. Why hasn’t Sukuna hurt you yet?

“Do you know what I think?” you say after a little thinking.

“No,”

“I think you’re lonely. I think you want someone to care for you,” you say.

“That’s ridiculous,” Sukuna replies. He doesn’t sound at all convinced.

But there has to be a reason as to why he hasn’t killed you yet, right? Don’t monsters get lonely too?

“Is it really? Or is it just human?” you ask.

“I’m not human,”

“Some part of you must be,” you hum. You lay in silence for a while. You inch closer to Sukuna.

“Have you ever been with a girl, Sukuna?” you ask. You must have lost your mind at this point. You can feel his length against your ass and the mere size of the thing makes you drool. He grunts. You move around under the sheets, pretending to get comfortable, but making sure to rub your ass against his cock, feeling it twitch to life. A giant hand finds your hip.

“Stop that,” Sukuna says. He sounds almost... flustered? You sigh. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

“I’ll throw you on the floor,”

“So mean, big guy,”

It’s too late. His cocks are already awake. You can feel them both coming alive against you, slowly growing.

Sukuna takes a shaky breath. You wiggle some more. The hand on your hip doesn’t stop you.

“You’ve never wanted to try? It must be so lonely down here for you,” you say. His hand digs into your skin. You make circular motions. His breaths grow more laboured.

“All alone, with no one to share these cold nights with,” your tone is teasing. You turn around so you’re facing him. Lidded eyes stare back at you.

“Don’t you wanna know what it’s like?”

Sukuna is no idiot. He knows what you mean. He can feel the heat radiating from your core, every instinct in him telling him to just get on top of you and fuck you till his balls are empty.

You infuriate him. Why aren’t you afraid of him? Why aren’t you screaming or crying for help? Running away? Why is your bare body pressed up against him and why is his groin reacting this way? Why do you smell so good?

Why are you so fucking weird?

The only thing that holds him back is his curiosity. How far will you go to get what you want? How weird are you really?

You want it bad. Or you’re just really weird. A hand comes down to stroke his top cock in languid motions. “Come on, Kuna,” you sigh, free hand snaking up around his neck. Your lips ghost his. The sudden use of a nickname makes Sukuna shudder slightly.

“Fuck me, please,” you whisper. Sukuna closes his eyes. You remove your hand from his cock, to grab one of his, bringing it to your sopping core.

“Feel how wet it is,” you whisper. You lashes fan his face as you kiss the corner of his lips. “It’s all for you,”

Sukuna’s brows furrow as you run his fingers through your folds. You are truly dripping. Almost have been since you saw those two cocks. Your mouth salivates at the thought of being fucked silly on them.

Sukuna closes his eyes. You’re about to give up when you feel his thumb rub your clit. You gasp and Sukuna’s eyes shoot open.

“Are you really that desperate?” he asks, almost angrily, as he quickly shifts to be on top of you. One pair of hands on either side of your face, caging you in as his other is on your hip.

His last hand is still cupping your cunt, as he tsks and shakes his head.

“Can’t believe they sent me a whore,” he mutters. With one hand still beside your face, two others grab the back of your thighs and pull them to your chest. You gasp, now completely exposed to him and Sukuna grins.

“I’m not a whore,” you reply, pouting and Sukuna grins, experimentally rubbing his fingers along your folds. You whine as he sticks a finger inside your cunt, curling his digit. Immediately, his finger stretches you out, and Sukuna hums.

He sticks another in, and another, till you feel stuffed. Your hands roam his chest before the hand beside your head grips your wrists and pulls them above your head. You’re utterly helpless; thighs and hands pinned down.

The sloppy sound of your cunt fills the cave as he continues to stretch you open. You whine and moan, attempting to buck your hips up into his chest.

“That feels good, huh? You like being stuffed like this?” Sukuna asks, and you’re not even sure if it’s rhetorical or not. He explores your body with a weird sort of interest that makes your stomach turn with desire. It’s like you're nothing but a toy to him.

“Answer me,”

“Yes,” you whine, throwing your head around. “Feels good,”

Sukuna’s grin widens. Your walls clench down on him as he curls his fingers into your G-spot. A whine is wretched from your throat and Sukuna halts his actions. You gasp for air before he presses again and you moan loudly.

“Fuck,” you say. The corner of Sukuna’s lips turns upward. His cocks are aching between his legs. Dripping precum all over his sheets and your messy cunt. He doesn’t know why his body reacts this way, but it’s not long before he can’t wait anymore, removing his digits and instead aligning his lower cock with your entrance.

He pushes in and you scrunch your eyes shut, pleasure shooting through your body. It’s like you’re on fire. Inch by inch, Sukuna bullies his thick cock into your tight little cunt. You gasp and writhe, but Sukuna’s got you exactly where he’d like.

“Gods,” Sukuna mumbles. He watches where his thick cock spreads you open, your lips obscenely stretched to accommodate his hefty size. It’s so tight and warm and wet, slick dripping out of you and down your ass.

He looks up at your face. Your eyes are still closed, your mouth slightly agape, your face flushed and sweaty. You’re so full you can hardly think.

“Should’ve gone out much sooner.” Sukuna mumbles. With one pair of hands digging into your thighs, folding you in half, another hand finds your chin, angling your face down to where your bodies are connected. His other cock lies on top of your stomach, reaching all the way to your belly button.

“Look at yourself. Do you like being split open by a monster?” he asks and you whine, opening your eyes and watching him enter you. You gasp when you see he’s not even fully in, yet you feel so stuffed already.

“You’re not a m– monster,” you gasp. Your thighs begin to shake at the stretch of it all, but Sukuna pays it no mind. He replies with a grunt, before slamming his hips into yours, fully seathing himself inside. The whine that leaves you is utterly sinful.

Sukuna frowns, feeling the pressure build in his abdomen. You’re so tight. His cock hardly fits inside, and yet you’re still clamping down on him, causing his cock to throb. He’s unable to resist your inviting heat, causing his hips to stutter against yours a couple of times before he comes deep inside you. His cock throbs as he paints your insides white, filling you to the brim. It’s so much that it spills out of your abused little hole.

His brows furrow together as he delivers a few pitiful thrusts. You gasp at the feeling, your hips bucking uselessly.

“Kuna, did you just–“

Before you can finish your sentence, Sukuna pulls out and flips you around, two hands holding your hips in place, as a third one pushes your head into the sheets underneath you. He uses the fourth hand to position himself, before he slams into you with his other cock, immediately fucking his cum deeper into you.

You moan helplessly, as Sukuna fucks you from behind, his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust, making you jolt in pain and pleasure. You grip the sheets underneath you, hot tears rolling down your cheeks, as you’re reduced to a babbling, pleading mess.

It’s all so much; his grip on you is almost bruising, his balls slap against your clit, his hand keeping your head down as another gropes greedy handfuls of your ass.

“Oh my g– gods!” you cry out, and Sukuna only fucks you faster, meaner. The loud squelching of your dripping cunt fills the room, along with Sukuna’s breathy moans and your whines.

“You say you’re not a whore, but you sure take cock like one, huh, brat?” Sukuna says and you cry out.

“So good, Kuna, you’re so good to me,” you gasp and Sukuna rolls his eyes. His other cock begins to feel lonely, he notes. He eyes your sloppy cunt, wondering if she could swallow a second cock as well as the first one. The stretch would be obscene, but he’s beginning to get the vibe that you want him to destroy you. Which is why he pulls out till just his tip is inside; rewarding you with a slap on the ass as you whine in protest; before slowly pushing inside with both cocks.

A string of curses leave you. You look back at him with tears in your eyes, but Sukuna merely smiles back, as he continues to stretch your walls to the max.

“Don’t look at me like that, woman. I can tell you live for this,” he replies, and you sob, because fuck yes you do. He fucks you in shallow thrusts, hissing at how tight you are.

He bullies both his cocks into you till you can barely think. Body pressed into the sheets below you, your hands reach behind to try to push him away, your body jolting forward. Sukuna grunts, before he leans in, wrapping his lower arms around your waist. Another one wraps around your throat as he gropes your tit with the last one. You can feel his hot breath against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as your bodies are completely flush against each other.

It’s completely instinctual as he makes you take everything he has to give. He fucks you like a starved man, hips rutting against yours as his cocks explore every inch of your insides, molding you, ruining you forever. You whimper, eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure shoot through you.

“I’m g– gonna come,” you gasp and Sukuna hums, feeling your walls flutter around him. It’s not long before ecstasy takes over your body as you reach your high, cunt gushing around Sukuna’s two cocks. The way you grow so tight, walls gripping him like a vice, makes Sukuna come soon after you, both cocks painting your walls white. It’s so much that your stomach feels bloated, cum dripping out of you and onto the sheets beneath you in a puddle. You whine, closing your eyes and melting into the sheets as Sukuna retreats from your exhausted body.

“Thank you,” you murmur and Sukuna huffs, shaking his head at your weakened state. He grabs a cloth and begins to clean you before he hears your small snores.

“There’s no way,” he mutters, giving your ass a smack, but you barely move as your snores grow louder. A small grin tugs on Sukuna’s lips.

“Brat.”

You wake the next morning, every muscle in your body sore. Despite that, you notice that you are clean and that the sheets and furs around you have been changed. You look around the room for Sukuna, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Huffing, you attempt to get up, only to wince as you feel how sore your legs and back are. You explore your skin, to find bruises and nail marks where he ravaged you last night. You poke at one, wincing at the pain.

“You’re awake,”

You look up, to see Sukuna appearing through the door. You blink.

“How long did I sleep?”

Sukuna shrugs.

“A long time,”

You pout. Sukuna’s eyes trail down your body, smiling at the marks littering your thighs and neck.

“Did you fuck a bull last night or something?” he asks. You furrow your brows and grab a pillow to throw at him. Sukuna snickers, dodging the pillow.

“Get up,” he says.

“No,” you whine, burying your face in your other pillow. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, but you hear footsteps. You sink further into the bed, hoping that he’ll go away, but you squeal when you feel four hands grab you. Sukuna puts you over his shoulder, one arm securely wrapped around you. You fight in his grasp, kicking your legs and hitting his back.

“Let me down this instance!”

“So demanding,”

He doesn’t seem to care about your objections as he gives your ass a firm slap before walking out of the little cave he calls home.

He walks for a little while, as you huff and puff on his shoulder before you finally reach your destination.

It’s another small cave, but this one has a lake. The water is crystal clear, and you can see the bottom beneath it. It is shallow, hardly going above your waist. Above it, a small waterfall cascades down and the lake connects to a small river. You gasp.

“This is beautiful,”

Sukuna shrugs, before getting in the water. You squeal at the temperature, writhing in Sukuna’s arms, but he keeps you steady as he sits down in the water.

“Stay still, brat, it will soothe your body,” he replies as he submerges both of you. He isn’t lying. The water is cold, but it relieves your sore body, making you feel much better.

He lets you go, and you sit down in the icy water. Sukuna sits beside you. “What happened to the others?” you ask, curiously.

“Who?” Sukuna asks.

“The other sacrifices,” you inquire. Sukuna raises a brow. You consider you might not want to know the answer, but it’s too late now.

“I ate them,” he replies. You gape. Sukuna grins.

He hasn’t actually eaten any. Well, he has eaten some. But most he just killed. But he likes the look on your face.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

“Well, I couldn’t just let them go,” Sukuna shrugs as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world. You wonder if being alone for so long has made him unable to feel real empathy. If the loneliness has just made him a shell of a person.

“There are exits here?” you ask. Let them go. He makes it sound so simple, but the only entrance to the labyrinth is supposed to be the one you came through.

“Yes, several,” Sukuna says. You think your jaw somehow drops lower than it already was. Sukuna isn’t a captive? Does he enjoy being here? You suppose that explains the rabbit stew, although you were too stunned at the moment to investigate when he served it to you.

“The architect who built this labyrinth was a captive himself. He swore to never subject anyone to that same fate.” Sukuna explains when he sees your puzzled expression. Almost as if you’ve opened a fountain, words spill from Sukuna’s lips. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken this much before.

“He came to visit me quite often. Taught me everything I know,”

You nod. That would explain the reading, the cooking, the having somewhat manners besides undressing in front of you and threatening to throw you off the bed.

“Then he stopped coming one day,” Sukuna says. “I was always an unwanted child.”

The last comes almost as an afterthought, and you wonder if he’s saying it more to himself than to you. How old was he before he was cast into the labyrinth? You can imagine Queen Pasiphae’s scowl on his face, King Minos' bitter words.

That’s not my son.

“He’s dead,” you say. Sukuna’s brows furrow.

“What?”

Everyone in Crete knows the story of Daedalus. Architect and inventor, he was the pride of King Minos, building beautiful ships, looms and other inventions. He’d tried to escape with his son, by building each of them a pair of wax wings.

If only Icarus hadn’t flown too close to the sun.

"It’s Daedalus, right? After his son died, the grief killed him,”

Sukuna nods. There’s a whirlwind in his eyes, a thousand thoughts rolling over his mind. “I figured,”

You sit in silence for a while. Then you move over to straddle Sukuna. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your naked bodies cling together, as a pair of arms tentatively wrap around you.

“What are you doing?” he asks and you giggle. Sukuna feels the vibrations run through his body. “I’m hugging you,” you reply. Sukuna blinks. Slowly he pulls you closer, four arms now wrapped around you. It feels nice, safer than you’ve ever been. You know you should feel disgusted by the man hugging you, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to it. You just feel warm. And sore.

You feel yourself being lifted, as Sukuna rubs his cock against your entrance. “Kuna,” you gasp, three arms still wrapped around you. You look up at him, and Sukuna swears you have stars in your eyes. Slowly, he sinks you down on his cock, revelling in the feeling of how warm you are.

Fuck. It’s like he’s getting addicted to your soft body. He never wants to go without you again.

“You must be a witch,” he groans, beginning to bounce you up and down like you’re his little fucktoy. The fullness makes you dizzy, and you lean into his chest, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. The squelching water around you fills the cave along with your little whimpers.

“What the fuck have you done to me, woman?”

i could fix him. (with my pussy)☝🏼😤

i know this isn’t even freaky for tumblr but it’s the first time i’ve posted something like this, so be nice to me. 🥹

also i proof read like three times and i don’t want to anymore so here you go, sorry for any mistakes, i love you.

thank you for reading!

masterlist | divider by plutism

[thebestsetter]

I love it when my husband has a bad day.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I want to see him sad because things didn't go as planned during practice or that teammate of his was more annoying then usual. I just like the way he acts when he comes home to me after a bad day.

Some people shout and get angry. Other people isolate themselves to calm down after those (unavoidable) bad days. But not the man I promissed to love in sickness and health.

When he comes home, he doesn't say anything. He takes off his jacket and shoes as quick as possible and just throws himself at me. He then proceeds to nuzzle his head in my neck, still not saying a word, and, after he found the "perfect" position (which I know he did, cause he sighs and smiles when he does find it), he grabs my hand and puts it in hair, as if it's a silent plea for me to tangle my fingers through his locks and massage his scalp.

We spend hours like this. Just me and him bathing in each other's presence, without anything or anyone else to intervee. Sometimes, he even falls asleep, and I want to gush about how comfortable he is around me and yap about how cute he is while sleeping (even if he drools all over the bed most of the times). And then I concentrate on him and him only: his softened breath, his heart pace starting to slow down and those inconscious sounds he lets out when I caress the right spot.

I love to whisper to him about my day while passing my hand underneath his shirt, noticing the tension leaving his body and feeling each muscle he worked oh so hard to build. One time, I even joked about giving him a massage. He didn't deny it, so I think he wants one. He just doesn't know how to ask (we really need to work on this kind of communication).

I love my husband. And I love the domesticity and good moments his bad days provide: just me and him, showing our love for each other without needing to say anything.

ITOSHI RIN, ITOSHI SAE, Barou Shoei, Shidou Ryusei (hear me out on this one), Oliver Aiku, Michael Kaiser, Nagi Seishiro, Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shoto, Ushijima Wakatoshi, KAGEYAMA TOBIO, KOZUME KENMA, Tsukishima Kei, Akaashi Keiji

~ A/N: This is heavly inspired by a reddit post I saw!! Apparently, the og post user is @ThrowawayEngland2022 on reddit. Make sure to follow them!!

Masterlist

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[fingertipsmp3]

Physio really kicked my ass today I’m not gonna lie. And my friend has the temerity to be like “do you want to come over 👉🏻👈🏻” girl with THESE legs?? No I do not

[nereidprinc3ss]

make me late

in which spencer finds a few minutes to spare with fem!reader in the morning

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence, sub reader, fingering (here we go again), 'slutty' is used to describe an action but not by spencer, spencer slaps r's ass one (1) time, (hot), mild overstimulation a/n: apparently need to post at least one fingering fic per week or i'll fucking die. very short and sweet but as always let me know if you like it, i have a crush on all of you!

You’re used to Spencer’s alarm going off early in the morning—typically you tune it out or sleep right through it. Today, however, it rouses you more than usual. You roll over, blinking your eyes open. 

“Sorry,” Spencer mutters, finally turning it off and leaning over to kiss your head. “Go back to sleep, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down again when he tries to get out of bed.

“Don’t go,” you beg into his shirt, slinging a leg over him. His hand slips under your (also his) shirt, rubbing the bare skin of your back.

“I have to. You know that.” 

“I just want you to stay for a little bit,” you insist. 

“No you don’t,” he drawls, voice still gravelly with sleep, “You want to make me late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say innocently, burying your face further into his shirt as if you could extinguish the heat in your cheeks. 

His hand drops from your back to reach under your thigh, pushing your underwear to the side. You gasp when his fingers make contact with your soaked core, involuntarily pressing your hips closer. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Stop it! That’s not fair!” You squeal, attempting to wriggle away once you regain your senses. But the bastard wraps his arm around your waist like a vice, forcing you to stay in place as he sinks a finger into you with no preamble. Instead of satisfying him with a vocal response, you keep your face hidden in the crook of his shoulder and remain obstinately silent. When he begins to slowly pump his finger, you’re forced to bite the fabric of his shirt to shut yourself up. 

“If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll stop,” he says plainly, but obviously he knows that’s the last thing you want. His ring finger joins the other and your mouth falls open, a tiny, choked breath against his skin. “Do you want me to stop?”

Don’t give in, you say to yourself. Wait. What are you not giving in to? Fuck, that feels good. You hum quietly—an excellent display of self-control considering the noises you’re actively holding back. 

“Are we already getting whiny?”

“‘m not whining,” you bite. 

“You’re always whining.” There’s nothing to do but prove him right when he begins massaging that spot inside you with a practiced stroke of his fingers—the one that makes you arch your back further and spread your legs a little wider—makes you oh-so compliant and all together, a bit slutty. But Spencer has told you that by definition, you’re not a slut if it’s just him who you lose all self-respect around. “My pretty girl feels so good, huh?”

You agree with a mindless mumble, forgetting that you were ever going to try and fight the pleasure. 

“It feels so good.”

“I can tell, baby. Listen to the mess you're making.”

Soft, wet sounds emanate from where you’re probably dripping around his fingers. A moan is muffled by his shoulder as your own fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt and sink into the flesh of his waist—though you doubt he minds. 

“Please don’t stop, please please please—" It’s quiet, almost demure as you plead. 

“You’re so sweet when you get like this,” Spencer coos. “I wish you were always so well-behaved.”

No, he doesn’t. Both of you know he loves fucking the attitude out of you, and at times, back into you. But you’re not in any place to correct him right now, as his fingers slip in and out of you so quickly, exactly where you want to be touched. 

“Oh, right—right there, that’s—oh, god,” you squeak. 

Your face is still nuzzled in his shirt, your voice is still so delicate and weak with sleep, rising in pitch with your pleasure until it breaks. 

“Right here? This is where you need it?”

“Yes,” you practically cry, “I’m gonna come, Spence—” your hips rock back and forth to meet each stroke of his fingers inside you, vision going white with with pleasure. 

“Yeah? My pretty girl is gonna come all over my fingers?”

“Mhm!” You speed up the motion of your hips. He chuckles, which might offend you if you were in your right mind, but it’s early, and you’re tired, and your soul is trying to untether itself from your body. 

“Let me feel it, baby. I wanna feel you coming, can you do that for me?”

A breathy keen rushes from your throat as your orgasm begins to suck you out to sea like a riptide, flooding your lungs and blood and everything with so much easy pleasure you’re barely awake and you don’t care one bit. 

“Uh-huh, good girl,” Spencer murmurs, not letting up with his fingers as you fall through your orgasm. Another choked moan takes you by surprise when his free hand falls with a heavy clap to your ass, before rubbing the stinging flesh. “Let go a little bit longer, baby, I’m right here.”

You’re barely breathing, still seeing stars as he continues to fuck you leisurely with his fingers, more out of pure affection than anything else. Eventually he slips them out, teasing gently over your clit as your stomach tenses. But you let him keep going. You’ll do anything to keep him in bed for a few minutes longer. To that end, you gather enough breath to speak. 

“Can you please fuck me?” 

He hums pityingly, moving his hand from between your legs to lovingly soothe the tender skin he’d slapped just a moment ago. 

“You know I can’t, baby. I shouldn’t have even done this. I really have to get a move on.”

“But you did do this,” you say, eager to point out the fallacies in his argument, “which means you could also have sex with me and we could be really fast and you could just take less time getting ready for work.”

Your chin is now resting on his shoulder as you look up at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he leans down to kiss your nose. 

“The answer is going to stay no, sweet thing. I don’t care how much you beg.”

He’s already gently sliding you off of him and getting out of bed as you pout. A few moments pass, and you can’t think of a good retort as he moves about the room, gathering a towel for his shower and digging through the dresser. 

“You’re mean.”

“Aw, poor baby. You only got to come once. Nobody has ever had a harder life than you.” Spencer dodges the pillow you throw and laughs, coming back to lean over the bed as you glower at him. “I’m sorry I woke you up. If you can’t fall back asleep in the time it takes me to shower, I’ll make you fancy coffee.”

“Fine.”

“And I’ll be extra nice to you when I get home.” He kisses your head and then your lips, and then disappears into the bathroom. 

In a completely predictable turn of events, you’re dead to the world by the time he gets out of the shower. He makes you the fancy coffee anyway, leaving it in a thermos on your nightstand. 

He’s late to work. He can't pretend to be sorry.

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

[windser]

thinking more about streamerbf!kenma and how his subscribers have been pestering him about a q&a but kenma just hates the idea of just talking about himself. he’s fine having the sole attention on him while he’s playing games, used to idle chatter and occasional questions about his play style. but thirty minutes of what it’s like to be kenma ?

hard pass.

he complains about this to you one night, head tucked into your lap while you run your fingers through his scalp. he was approaching another significant subscriber milestone and his usual rewards aren’t cutting it. they just want to get to know you kenma, you try to reason. but all you get in return is a soft grown that could double as a whimper.

as a moderator, you know how his fans can get. social media in general when they unite under the same goal. no, this will hit a pinnacle if not handled carefully. part of you gets it. it took quite a bit of time for kenma to open up to your social agenda. from inquiring from his favorite type of bird to how he decides on what video game to play next, you spent what feels like years now getting to know your other half. now your boyfriend hardly even blinked while answering your-

at the thought, your lip purses in consideration.

days later, kenma only gives you a questioning grunt when you slide beside him during his stream. a few months ago, he’d purchased you a more comfortable chair to lounge in to share the same space as him. he rarely minded when you did, but usually you’d give him a heads up.

his chat is well trained enough at this point to know when you’re around.

user795: is that them? user23: hiiiiiiiii!! welcome user55: are they going to play today ?

you follow the messages with a hint of a smile, only giving a little wave in frame before turning to kenma. your boyfriend had removed the headphone closest to you, a small acknowledgment that always sent your heart a flutter.

off screen, you massage the top of his thigh which earns you a another quick glance and a slight slouch as he relaxes into your touch.

“ken, what was your first ever game you played ?”

now this gets you a longer look, one accompanied by a furrow brow and confusion. his lips move in a mumble but audible enough to hear however as he concedes without question, "mega man.”

from the corner of your eye, you see that chat reacting to his answer, some acknowledging it either familiarity and others new to it.

user124: ohhh i played that. good game man user775: i think my cousin played that but i’ve never seen it. can you still get that? user65: @user775 the og? you need backwards compatibility i think but yes user8895: i had a hard time beating that one. has kenma ever been beaten by a game?

still following the chat, you catch the question and propose it to kenma. with you here, he minds the chat a little less closely, only catching up when he breaks between missions.

“in middle school you played this one game for what felt like weeks, did you ever beat it?”

kenma shifts his leg under your touch, redirecting the circle of your thumb to a new spot. “tactics ogre? no, i kept getting stuck on the last boss. tetsuro asked to borrow it to try but he lost it.”

he’d obviously been miffed by the lost game but apparently not enough to repurchase it and probably complete it. that note didn’t seem to be lost to the chat.

user321: damn at least we know he’s human. even kenma gets stumped user642: to be fair that was a tough one. even the creator acknowledged that it was tough on players on release user533: i bet he could beat it now. that should be his next walkthrough.

“ah,” you bite your lips when kenma's gaze flickers briefly to the chat. “yeah, i might. i already have it in my library.”

grinning, you give him a light squeeze catching his eye in return before they went back to his game. you browse the slowly rolling in questions carefully, weeding through the more repetitive ones to find ones with more substance.

“did you ever play anything other than volleyball growing up?”

you wince when your boyfriend full on turns to face you. that might have been too specific of a question, something you so obviously knew and had no reason to ask without context. so all you could do was give him your best pleading gaze, hoping he’d play along and ask later.

it’s not until he huff that you know you’ve won, his response coming right after if not with a bit of sass.

“i got nagged enough between you and tetsuro with just volleyball, that was more than enough.”

user863: looooool user3626: i can’t really imagine kodzuken playing anything else. like soccer, can you imagine? user6556: nah volleyball was fitting user3322: they’ve always been familiar but how long have you guys actually dated?

your mouth opens and close sky soundlessly on the taste of that one. you knew in general when kenma actually asked you out, just short of your second year in high school. back then, the two of you had been fumbling with your feelings for months. but you never really learned when those feelings actually seeded for him.

but that was a moment for off screen conversation. instead you ask

“our first date back in second year of high school, you took me to the arcade and i obliterated you in DDR, remember that?”

kenma fires back quickly,” after i put high scored you on every other one.”

it's impossible not to grin as you remember that day. what had started as an awkward date forty minutes in had lasted an additional three hours as the both of you eased back into your normal routine.

user7: ughhhh to have a gaming s/o user6552: they’re so cute goals man user172: are they actually gamers ? user032: @user172 kenma plays some games with them on stream. they’re actually pretty good user4534: ohhh kodzuken never talks about his his favorite snacks, can you ask what those limited ones he always eats are?

that was an easy enough questions that got written off as your own ignorance. while you often did the grocery shopping, kenma placed most of his snack orders online. partly due to its limited availability and other reasons pertaining to it being out of country. kenma responds easily in turn.

user333: wait, is this the q&a we've been asking? user405: omg i have soo many questions saved!!!! i didnt realize it was today user7532: i thought kodzuken didn't want to do this? user89305: @user7532 well he's answering questions like he is

you frown as the chat explodes with activity, some questioning the validity of the 'event' others spamming the feed with their questions. it's more than enough to draw kenma's attention away from his other screen and you find yourself pausing as he tenses under your touch.

while you hadn't maliciously tricked him, you had coerced him into this. he'd have every right to scold you for it. you wince when he scoffs, preparing for the brunt of it. but what comes next is just a sigh as he shifts in his chair, the movement inviting your hand to rest comfortably more towards the inside of his thigh as he leaned back.

"you guys ask too many questions, this is why i didn't want to do this q&a. if you get too much for them to handle, i'm going to end the event."

and while his words sound stern, he truly does harvest a bunch of excited individuals as the stream only explodes even more with enthusiasm and inquiries.

frankly way too many for you to keep up with as you bewilderly try to scan the chat for feasible ones to ask. when you finally identify one and turn to ask, you find kenma watching you with that smug pull of his lips.

"well what's next?"

bonus:

eventually, kenma had taken over selecting his own questions as the stream properly shifted into the q&a event, title change and all. the chat adjusted to the new handler as well, being more strategic about their question timings in order to get the most of his attention.

every so often you would chime in, but you mostly relaxed back in your own chair with your legs resting across his lap.

you weren't sure how long exactly you expected this event to go, but you knew it was getting late. not necessarily for a kodzuken stream, but in the day in general.

it was kenma's touch now, that stroked your skin as his gaze followed the never ending influx of questions.

user345675: has he talked about hinata shoyo yet? user09432: i feel like people are asking the same questions user869320: will you ever have guests on your stream? user9642: kodzuken what is it like to run your own company?

intrigued enough, he opened his mouth to reply when another question rolled in

kenmaskitten: what does kodzuken want for dinner?

you look up from your phone as kenma's attention shifts to you. he holds your gaze as he replies,

"i want katsu."

you shrug, easy enough and all the ingredients are probably in the kitchen. however, as you go to slide your legs away, kenma captures one ankle.

"and apple pie."

that was less simple and tastes like a reward.

[dollfacefantasy]

toji fushiguro x crybaby!fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dacryphilia, size kink, daddy kink

Thinking about the first time Toji lets his sweet, sensitive girlfriend ride him...

It happens around a month after you and him start dating. It's the first time you have sex. He hadn't had to wait that long to take that step since he was younger, but for you, he was willing to do it again. 

He liked you a lot, and he also figured it'd be worth it. Not only were you beautiful, but your nature - sweet and shy, eyes always downcast with cheeks hot from timidity -  made him crave the moment when he'd get to see you come apart. When your eyes would be rolled back in your skull, your lips parted and wet, those warm cheeks slick with tears rolling down them.

On the night you agree to go all the way, he offers to let you ride. He tells you it's because you'll have more control that way. He's a big guy after all, you'll want to set the pace. On top, you can decide how much you take and how fast you go. So you agree. It seems like the most logical choice in this situation.

In truth, he suggests the position for far more selfish reasons. Reasons that make themself apparent as soon as you finish swiping his swollen tip through the wetness of your folds. He suggested it for this view. You, sinking onto his shaft, forcing yourself lower while whimpering. He could see it all over your face in the way your brows were furrowed and your nose scrunched. The stretch of him inside you stung, but you wanted more of that painful pleasure.

He watches with lust blown pupils as you lower atop his thighs. Your cunt swallows each inch of his cock one by one, the walls squeezing around him a blissful massage. He can feel your slick leaking from you, dribbling down to his sack.

"Toji. It-" you start, cut off by your own whimper. God, your eyes were already brimming with tears. He has to restrain himself from blowing his load in that moment. "I can't move. It's too much."

The scarred side of his lips curves upward into a smirk. "Too much? But your pussy's takin' it so well, princess," he croons.

His hands find your hips, fingers wrapping around your waist and thumbs petting your skin in small strokes. He keeps you steady as you adjust to the thick length filling you up.

"It's too big. Can't do it," you pout, a droplet of water falling from your eye. Your lip wobbles and his dick throbs inside you.

"Yes, you can. Do you need some help?" he asks, gently mocking you.

You're quick to nod, no shame behind your agreement. Those hands on your midriff grip tighter and tenderly lift you up. And then they drop you back down.

He goes so slow, but from the sounds you're making, you'd think he was jackhammering up into you. You choke out moans and mewls while your fingers dig into the spheres of his shoulders, leaving little crescent indentations on the smooth surface of his skin.

"That's right, baby. Hold on tight. Daddy's gotcha," he grunts.

You were so fucking wet. Gushing down his length, marking the sheets beneath him with a darkened splotch of arousal. He keeps bouncing you in a steady rhythm. Your head had fallen back, leaving your throat exposed to him.

He takes the opportunity presented with no real hesitation. His mouth latches onto your neck and kisses the skin, licking at the warmth and nipping love bites onto the flesh. While he's doing this, the frequency of the lewd noises between your legs increase in frequency. You're starting to bounce yourself too now.

More whimpers fall from your lips in between hiccuped sobs. He watches in awe. This is why he wanted you to ride. He could be involved and control things when needed, but he could also watch you fuck yourself dumb.

You keep rising and falling, bouncing up and down on his lap. Tears pour from your eyes as if they're coming from an endless reservoir.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, his hands sliding up to your breasts. He pinches and tweaks your nipples, savoring the extra whines it brings out of you. He watches the little buds perk up, almost calling out to his mouth to engulf them.

"Am I- 'm I doin' good?" you whimper, pulling his attention upwards.

"Mhm, doing great. You keep bouncing on daddy's lap. We gotta break in that cute little cunt, yeah?" he says. Not that you notice it, but he grins. Of course you wanted his approval. Just like when you'd take him to the mall with you and come out of the fitting room in a new skirt to show off, you wanted to know that he thought you were doing something right.

You nod, your eyes bleary from tears and the mental fog you were fucking yourself into. His palms fall down to your hips again to aid your movements when needed. One of them slides to your center though to give your clit a few little rubs. The bundle of nerves was aching for his touch. He could tell because when he touched it, your face practically went lax the way you melted from the fiery pleasure in your core.

"F-fuck," you stutter. Your waterline overflows with tears while your eyes droop from your proximity to release.

He chuckles and guides your body close to his. Your hips still try to maneuver up and down, but he knows he has to take over now. Your face slots into the crook of his neck, and he leans back, tilting your body upwards into a position that he can thrust in.

"Such a good girl. You did such a good job for your first time riding," he coos. His cock starts sliding in and out of your hole. You're soaked, so there's no resistance. Just his skin on yours, his fat balls swinging with each pump of his hips.

"Thank you," you whine.

"Let me finish it out, baby. It's too hard for a pretty thing like you. Y'got nothing in that little head of yours right now, just hot air between those ears, hm?" he asks.

You nod lazily and hum, a low and pleasured pitch vibrating from your throat.

"Thought so. We'll get you going longer eventually. Gonna have this pussy trained to take me however I need," he grunts.

He keeps fucking into you. His heels dig into the ground for leverage so he can rock up and down, smack his hips against yours. The pace is fast but deliberate. Each stroke strikes a pleasure spot and knocks you closer to the edge. Every swivel of his hips caresses a vein on his shaft and brings him nearer to shooting his hot, sticky cum inside you.

He can feel your body getting taut with the need to explode, so he starts hammering faster. It cracks whatever resolve you had left and brings full-fledged cries from you. Tepid tears trail down your cheeks and throat and pool against the column of his throat. It drives him wild.

He fucks you over the edge, not stopping at all when you squeal out 'daddy' for him. His eyes roll back because your cunt gets impossibly tighter. It feels like you want to milk him, want to squeeze every last drop of release from him. Lucky for you, he's willing to give you all that he can.

His hips sputter as they dart up, instinctively seeking the warm embrace of your pussy to unload into. His motions get messy now; some cum is fired into your center while some smears and leaks to the outside from the erratic nature of his thrusts.

You both pant when the afterglow washes over you like sun through a beautiful stained glass window. Your body melts on top of his. It feels like you're one and not just because his cock is softening inside of you. Your cries quiet to sniffles and tears stop flowing. He holds you tight and rubs your back.

"If you cry like that while riding, I can't wait to see what you do when I get your legs over my shoulders," he mutters with a smug lilt to his voice.

[hoshigray]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - oral (m! receiving) - ball-massaging - face + throat-fucking - praise - pet names (baby, cutie, mama, sweet thing) - implied that reader has given oral prior - first-time Toji finding enjoyment in receiving oral - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of spit.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: "Toji has never really enjoyed oral. At least, not until Y/n went down on them for the first time…"

I was playing with NSFW prompts for the first time, and this was literally the first one it gave me…genius. (¬‿¬) guess kinda a switch-up from this oldie i did~ hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's, accept this as my welcome back present, hehe~ also tysm for 4.6k, hello????

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

“…Hey, Toji?” 

“Yeah, baby?”

“…Can I…..give you a blowjob?”

Up until this point, Toji was never one to be given oral from anyone. 

Giving oral isn’t a problem. But receiving it from someone else? That’s another thing. Call it his personal preference or years of sexual experience, but the older man never actually found pleasure in it. It could be from the many inexperienced minxs he’s had to get his dick wet, whose frequent teeth and bites sabotaged the mood for him. Or probably from the others who just really didn’t appear to know what they were doing — again, ruining the mood. Or the fact that most of the time, as mentioned, he finds himself satisfying his partner at the time more than himself. 

Not that he minds at all; no, no. He finds great satisfaction in going in between someone’s legs and getting them turned on from his work. But when it comes to the thought of having his dick sucked, it’s a hard pass. Respectfully. 

Which brings us to the present: him on the couch with an arm wrapped behind your shoulders, bringing you close to him as you watch television comfortably. The ceiling lights dimmed to a warm low glow, your head draped on his shoulder as his hand rubs comforting circles on yours, and the silence only filled with the voices coming from the TV isn’t awkward in the presence of you two. Why would it be? He’s with you, his little sweet thing. And that’s all he wants right now.

So, after all the fidgeting with your thumbs and the occasion glances at him (which he noticed, of course), it was apparent that you’d soon ask him something out of the blue. What he hadn’t expected, though, was that question. 

“Pfft, that’s random,” he scoffs at the sudden question, and more subtle chuckles resort from the bashful turn of your head. God, you were so cute. “Why ask, sweet thing?”

“I was…just wondering, you know?” Your eyes travel down to your twiddling thumbs, avoiding Toji’s deep, observant emerald gaze. “We’ve been together for this long, and not once have I ever given you a blowjob. And I know, you always say you’re fine with it, but like…I really wanna give you one.”

And that’s when you muster up some confidence to peer up at him meekly, and that’s what seals the deal for Toji. Who is he to deny such puppy dog eyes from his baby? 

“Okay then,” he chortles with a smirk, the scar on his right side rooted up. It’s just a blowjob. If not for me, then for them. “Do what you do, cutie.” Little did he know that this would blow his expectations far out.

It started out nice and slow. Toji indulged in your kisses as you snuck your hand into the hem of his drawstring pants, sucking on his tongue while fingers crept inside his boxer briefs to give his cock a rub. He groans into your mouth, liking how you’re setting the mood until you take your lips away from his and slide off the couch to be between his legs. Removing his underwear to the floor, you examine his half-soft dick before using your hands to wrap around the base, massaging around it while you take the tip in your mouth. Toji sighs in bliss at the feeling of your soft licks and rolls of your tongue, shifting around to get more comfortable on the couch.

His erection becomes less and less flaccid, hardening around your mouth. This is where you decide to take in more of his length, hallowing your cheeks as you push your puffy lips down halfway down his erection. By the time you reach this base, your throat is so full of Toji’s girth that you use his sweatpants as reins for your hands as you try to give yourself a few seconds to adjust to the limb occupying your throat. You continue to suck on his cock, bobbing up and down with your saliva coating him, your tongue moving around on the underside of his dick every time you suck up to the tippy top. 

The sucks and strokes to his length become a little faster, and it’s here that Toji can’t concentrate on the television. Subtle twitches of his leg result from the hummed moan you express while taking him to the hilt. The vibrations that resonate along the inner walls of your throat are felt. It feels so good. And the tongue of yours? Fuck. His brows trench down when your tongue licks from the bottom of his ridge to the frenulum, giving his cockhead an onslaught of rough licks and kisses that has Toji exhale through his nose. “Hmmnn, fuck…Y/n, baby, y’re so good at this…Uhghh!”

You release his tip with a soft ‘plop’ with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his spit-covered cock. “Ahahhn, really?” Oh, fucking shit, don’t look at him like that. Your hooded eyes peering up at him with a soft smile while your hands maintain a stroking rhythm that has Toji squirm around your grasp. And then you surprise him with a grasp of his ballsack, oh you’re a devilish cutie. “That makes me happy to know,” you give him a giggle when Toji involuntarily bucks to your hands; the veiny limb contrasting with your pretty fingers is such a sight to see. The pulsating commotion between your legs progresses more by the second.

More dangerous licks paired with the massage to his balls as Toji huff is bliss. “Ahhh, sh–shit…Ya like how my dick tastes, mama?”

Taking his cock back into your mouth with alluringly half-lidded eyes is the answer you give him, your lips covering your teeth as your jaw relaxes to welcome his neither limb back inside your warm oral cavity. The suction of your hallow cheeks became lethal with the increased speed, your tongue now swirling around him and creating such deviant noises that only Toji focuses on despite the television vices failing to drown them out. 

Holy shit, Toji wasn’t expecting this kind of treatment at all. This was downright out of the water from all the other oral ordeals he’s had in his life. How the fuck were you so good at this!? Cupping his balls while slurping his dick was such a dangerous combo; Toji doesn’t know how long he’ll contain the urge to stand and fuck your face here and now. Goddamn, the faster you bob your lips on him, the shiver down his spine is hard to ignore. His hips jerking to your mouth; he wants to fuck your face so bad. And just looking at your ass sway while you suck on him, he knows you’re enjoying this as well. 

It reaches a point where he can’t take it anymore — he wants to go faster and harder. So Toji grabs your head as he stands up and dials the tempo to a harsher motion, propelling your lips down to his pelvis. And you’re quick not to panic, being sure to breathe when Toji smacks his testicles to your chin and ruts into your face and throat with no mercy. Toji moans at the sensation of your gummy walls wrapping around his length, hissing at your muffled wails as he hits the back of your throat. “Fsshhh—Hnngh!! Fuckin’ shit, just like that, mama, just like that…Ohhggh!”

You can feel the veins on his girth pulsate, indicating that his release is soon coming. The thrusts to your face get erratically faster, so you’re sure to grab onto his sweatpants to make sure you don’t lose balance as he spills his load down your throat. Ending it with a few rough hits to your lips, Toji groans with gritted teeth, shaky, strong legs pumping his semen for you to drink, which you merrily take with muzzled squeals on his shaft. The both of you experience the last moment of this euphoric high until Toji’s body calms down, heavy breaths going slower with every expel. He gives you a few moments to suck him off a little more before removing himself from you, gradually pulling his length, quivering with the aftershocks at the dismissal of your warm walls around him. And he jolts when you tease him with one last lick to the sensitive tip. 

“Hahhh, damn, cutie,” Toji takes a seat back on the couch, eyeing you down with a weary smirk and furrowed brows. “Since when did ya like to get down and dirty?”

You sheepishly smile back and avert your eyes down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m glad you liked it, Toji.” 

“Sure as hell did,” he bends down to grab your chin and bring you in for a kiss. The squeaks you let out when he bites your lips are too adorable and hot to his ears. “Want me to eat you out, sweet thing?”

“Really?” God, you were too cute — beaming at him like that with such a lovely smile. 

“Sure thing. Besides, I saw the way you were movin' that ass while suckin’ me off. So, I got you,” Toji takes off his sweatpants, moving his legs to be on the couch entirely. His dick is still standing erect, and he gives you a suggestive grin before tapping his chest, a sign for you to get ready and sit on him. “Only if ya can do that shit on me again.” The request takes you aback for a minute, but you chuckle and stand up. You remove your bottoms and underwear, and Toji notices the wet spot on the material. 

Again, Toji is never one to be given oral. But if he’s going to be treated like this, you might be able to change his mind.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[meiieiri]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒

Now isn’t this just perfect?

Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.

A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.

Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.

“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”

Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?

“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”

It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.

He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.

He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.

Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.

“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”

You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.

“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”

“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”

That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”

“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.

The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.

You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.

You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.

He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”

You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”

Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”

“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.

Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.

You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.

Clang-dong!

“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.

Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”

“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”

“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.

Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.

Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.

“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”

He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.

“Y/N.”

Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”

You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”