#like I think this is just a dress he would wear casually. to be drag he’d have to be putting on a persona but no this is just Cloud

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[blue-eli]

Sketch of Cloud in drag which just turned into Cloud in a dress.

[lov3lycosmos]

♤—♤ Mini Dress Dilema ♤—♤

Genre: smut

Pairings: Bangchan x Fem!reader

Summary: Reader uses her boyfriends non-controlling preference over her clothing choices as an advantage to rile him up.

Warnings: teasing, cursing, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, daddy kink (used once), jeongin finds out.

Cosmos note: this idea was from my pookie @vampzity 🙂‍↕️

my library! (not proofread!)

Your reflection smiled back at you as you smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress—tight-fitting, barely-there, and off-shoulder in a way you knew would push boundaries. The skirt flared ever so slightly when you twirled, bouncing against your thighs with each subtle movement. You looked good, and you knew it. But more importantly—you looked dangerous.

The soft click of the door behind you signaled Chan’s arrival.

He walked in, towel draped around his neck, damp hair falling into his eyes after a quick shower. “You almost ready, baby?” he asked casually, barely glancing up—until he did.

His eyes froze on you.

It was just a beat. Just one second. But that was enough. You caught it—his gaze flickering over your legs, the exposed skin, the tightness around your waist. He swallowed, and his jaw clenched for half a second before he looked back up with a faint smile. “You’re really wearing that tonight?”

You turned around slowly, lifting your hair off your neck like it was the most innocent act in the world. “Mhm. Is it too much?”

Chan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as his eyes narrowed in amusement. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said sweetly, grabbing your lip gloss and applying it slowly, dragging it across your bottom lip just to see if his gaze would drop. It did.

“I’m not gonna say a word,” he muttered, backing away toward the door. “But just so you know… if you’re trying to get a reaction out of me—” he smirked, “—you might end up getting more than you bargained for.”

You giggled as he left to his closet across the room, feeling victorious already.

You stayed in front of the mirror a little longer, adjusting your neckline, tugging the hem of your minidress down a fraction—though it didn’t help much. The dress was made to tease, and now that Chan had seen it, you couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny clench in his jaw. That subtle shift in his stance.

“Is it actually too much?” you finally asked, your voice softer as you turned to look at him through the mirror.

Chan, now at the closet, was half-dressed—black slacks hanging low on his hips, belt unbuckled, a plain white shirt hanging from his fingertips. He paused mid-buttoning and met your eyes through the mirror.

“You want the honest answer?” he asked, voice low, almost unreadable.

You blinked, nodding once.

He walked toward you, slow and deliberate, letting the silence linger until he was standing just behind you. One hand reached up to brush your hair gently to the side, baring your neck. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, voice just above a whisper.

“You look hot, baby. Like, so hot it’s gonna be hard for me not to lose it.”

His hand slid down your bare arm slowly. “But you already knew that when you put it on, didn’t you?”

You smirked, head tilting as a thrill ran down your spine. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, dark and low in his throat. “You know I love seeing you like this. Confident. Sexy.” His hands moved to rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into the fabric. “Wear it. Own it. But just know—if you keep pushing me tonight…”

He pressed a soft kiss behind your ear.

“I won’t be held responsible.”

Your breath hitched slightly, heart skipping as you tried to keep cool. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and maybe… between your legs too.

“…That a promise or a threat?” you whispered, half teasing.

Chan grinned, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. “Why not both?”

He pulled back with a wink, finally slipping his shirt on and beginning to button it casually, like he hadn’t just whispered threats against your composure. Like he wasn’t about to watch you drive him wild all night.

You watched him for a second longer—soft brown curls, that annoyingly unreadable calm on his face. You could play this game all night.

Let’s see who breaks first.

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The ride to the party was quiet—too quiet. Chan’s hand rested on your thigh the entire time, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin, but his eyes were trained on the road. Calm. Collected. Still so composed despite how your dress hiked up each time you shifted, despite how you didn’t bother to fix it.

When you arrived at the venue—a rented out loft with warm lights spilling through the windows and music thumping low—you knew it was time to start playing. Chan opened the car door for you like a gentleman, offering his hand as you stepped out, and you could practically feel his gaze skimming your thighs. Still, not a single word from him. Just that same maddening calm.

You greeted a few familiar faces at the door before the two of you stepped inside, where the rest of Stray Kids were already scattered around—some by the drinks, others lounging on the couches.

“Finally!” Jisung waved you over with a big grin. “Thought you two were gonna skip and do gross couple stuff.”

“We can still do that,” you teased lightly, and though it was meant to be playful, Chan’s hand briefly tightened on your waist before letting go.

You made your way into the room, letting Chan get pulled into a quick conversation with Felix and Changbin as you floated toward Minho and Seungmin.

“Y/N, that dress is illegal,” Minho said flatly, eyes dragging over the fabric before flicking back to yours.

You laughed, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “You think so? I was worried it wasn’t doing enough.”

Seungmin choked on his drink. “No, it’s doing plenty.”

You caught Chan’s eyes from across the room. He was watching. Of course he was. Expression unreadable, drink in hand, that damn calmness still plastered across his face.

Perfect.

You tilted your head at Minho, then leaned in just slightly. “Chan helped me pick it out,” you said sweetly, letting your fingers gently brush his arm before pulling away.

As you made your way toward the snack table, Jeongin popped up beside you, eyes wide as he took in the outfit. “Noona, you’re gonna make hyung go crazy.”

“Who, Chan?” you blinked innocently. “He doesn’t mind. Said I could wear whatever I wanted.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Chan start walking toward you. Slow, steady. And though he didn’t say anything, the way his eyes narrowed just slightly when you leaned over the table to grab a drink spoke volumes. You made sure to arch your back just enough. Nothing obscene—just suggestive.

Just enough.

He stopped beside you, leaning down to murmur into your ear, voice low. “Having fun, baby?”

You turned to him with a wide, innocent smile. “So much.”

“Mm.” He brought his drink to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. “Glad to hear it.”

Then he stepped away again.

Your chest tightened with heat. God, he was good. Too good.

You mingled a little more, this time striking up a conversation with Hyunjin. He complimented your look—of course he did—and you responded with a bright smile and a flirty, “You always know how to make a girl feel good.”

Across the room, Chan was now leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tense.

You kept your focus on Hyunjin, laughing softly at something he said, reaching out to brush invisible lint off his jacket sleeve. Nothing bold. Nothing too obvious. But you could feel the weight of Chan’s stare searing into your back.

And then—

“Y/N.” His voice cut through the music, deep and commanding.

You turned slowly, eyebrows raised. “Hm?”

He was already at your side, hand resting firmly on the small of your back. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “Where?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered,

“To the car… now.”

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The door shut with a deep thunk behind you, and before you could even fully sit back in your seat, Chan was already reaching across to click the lock. Silence settled in the car like a heavy fog—only the sound of your shallow breaths and the distant thump of bass from the party filling the space.

You glanced over at him cautiously.

His hands were still on the wheel. Eyes staring straight ahead.

Too calm.

Too quiet.

“Chan…?”

He finally turned his head, and his gaze was sharp. No smile. No teasing lilt in his voice.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” he asked lowly.

“I didn’t do anything—”

“Minho. Jeongin. Hyunjin.” He listed their names one by one, ticking them off on his fingers slowly. “All of them got a show. Bending over the table, touching their arms, giggling like they’re the ones making you blush.”

You swallowed hard.

“I just wanted to get your attention,” you murmured.

He scoffed quietly. “Princess, you had my attention the second you walked out in that dress.” He finally turned to you fully, leaning in until his nose brushed yours. “But now? You’re gonna have all of mine.”

You whimpered as his lips grazed your jaw, then your throat, then lower, his hand sliding up your thigh to push your dress higher and higher until the soft lace of your panties was fully exposed under the faint glow of the dashboard lights.

“I warned you about teasing me, didn’t I?” he said, fingers curling around the waistband.

“Y-Yeah.”

“And what did you do?”

“…Teased you.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t hesitate. Two fingers pushed the fabric aside and pressed against your slit—already wet, already aching. He chuckled darkly.

“You were like this the whole party?” he taunted, lips brushing your ear. “Soaking wet while you flirted with my members?”

“Chan—” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers slipped in, knuckles deep, the stretch hitting all at once.

“No,” he said firmly, other hand gripping your chin to face him. “You’re gonna keep your eyes on me this time. You wanted my attention? You got it.”

He pumped his fingers slow at first, curling them just right—dragging across your sweet spot, pulling out halfway just to plunge back in harder. And faster. Each thrust came with a scolding kiss to your neck or a filthy whisper in your ear.

“Is this what you wanted? Hm? To get fucked in the car like a needy little brat?”

“Yes—yes, please, Chan—”

He smirked against your skin. “You sound so sweet when you’re desperate.”

Your legs were shaking, thighs quivering as you neared your high—but before you could say another word, your phone buzzed in the cupholder between you.

Chan’s fingers stilled.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat as he leaned over and read the caller ID.

“Jeongin.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered.

He grinned darkly, lifted his fingers away from you (with your slick glistening under the lights), and casually picked up the call with his clean hand.

“Yeah?”

There was a short pause. Jeongin’s voice filtered through the speaker—cheerful and oblivious. “Hyung! We were just wondering where you guys went. Everything okay?”

Chan’s tone was smooth. Way too smooth. “Yeah, we just had to grab something from the car.”

You covered your mouth with both hands, thighs pressing together, trying not to make a sound as your arousal dripped down your thighs.

“Oh, okay! We’re about to order some doordash, just text me if you want anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Jeongin.”

Click.

The second the call ended, Chan dropped the phone back in the cupholder and turned to you slowly.

“You were gonna come without my permission,” he murmured. “Weren’t you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a soft nod.

“That’s cute.” He leaned in, nudging his nose along your jaw. “Let’s fix that.”

Then he unbuckled his pants...

Chan’s hands were already back on you—ripping your panties fully aside this time, dragging his soaked fingers down your folds as he pulled his cock free with the other. Thick, flushed, twitching at the tip as he wrapped a hand around the base and hissed softly.

“You made me this hard from just watching you act like a little slut at a party,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over that damn counter.”

You whimpered, hips already lifting in search of friction. “Chan, please—”

“No. Say it right.”

“Please, daddy…”

That broke him.

He pushed your thighs wide open, lined himself up, and sank in slow. All the way until his hips pressed flush against you, letting you feel every inch stretching you open, filling you to the brim. You cried out softly, hands fisting his hoodie, head thrown back against the seat.

“Fuck,” he growled, burying his face into your neck. “You feel so good around me. Like you were made for this.”

His pace started hard—deep, rolling thrusts that made the entire car creak. The windows fogged fast, the leather seat squeaking underneath you both. The sound of skin slapping, your quiet moans, his sharp grunts—it was all too much.

“You like this?” he breathed, pounding into you even harder now. “This what you wanted, baby? To have all my fucking attention on you?”

Your answer was nothing but a wrecked gasp and nod, your legs tightening around his waist as your second high started building—white-hot and dizzying.

He knew. He felt it.

Chan kissed you hard—sloppy and deep—and whispered, “Cum for me. Let go.”

Your whole body shook as the orgasm hit, and he didn’t stop—just kept chasing his own, gripping your hips bruisingly tight until a long, broken groan left him and he came deep inside, hips jerking, spilling every drop into you.

He collapsed against you, both of you panting in the humid air of the car.

And then…

BZZZZZ.

Your phone buzzed again.

Chan reached over lazily, pressed answer on speaker, just as you were still catching your breath, his softening cock still inside you.

Jeongin’s voice chirped through again.

“Hyung? You think we can’t see your guys’ car rocking from the window?”

You choked on a gasp and hid your face in Chan’s shoulder.

Chan just grinned lazily, pulled out slow, and said, “Guess we’ll be in soon.”

Click.

taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325

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[cloudtransprncy]

Cheat Code

ITZY Yuna x Male Reader | 5k words Part 1 out of ? Tags: PWP, Blowjob, Size Kink, Cock Worship, Mutual Horny Chaos, 2nd Person POV, Yuna Is Down Catastrophic

She said glasses and earrings were a cheat code—so you tested it. No big deal. Just an experiment. But the second Yuna opens the door, she short-circuits, and next thing you know, she’s on her knees. I guess it works?

The car is parked in your usual spot, tucked away from the main road where the streetlights don’t quite reach. It’s summer.

The air outside warm enough that the windows are cracked just enough to let the night breeze slip through. Chill R&B hums from the speakers, blending into the comfortable silence between you and Yuna.

Yuna’s lounged back, slides kicked off, feet propped up on the dashboard like she owns the place. Her phone screen flashes in quick bursts as she scrolls TikTok, fingers moving lazily while she sips from her boba. Cropped pink tank, low-rise jeans that hang just right, a couple of delicate rings on her fingers—casual but calculated, effortless, she knows she’s hot and she owns it.

You’re half-watching, half-zoned out, fingers drumming absently against your drink. Not thinking about how good she looks. Or trying not to.

Then she speaks, totally unprompted.

“Glasses and earrings are such a fucking cheat code for guys.”

You blink, slow to process. “…Huh?”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Like, if a dude who’s my type pulls up with that? Whip it out already, I’m on my knees.”

You choke on your boba. Cough, nearly die, and have to thump your own chest to recover. “You’re a slut”

Yuna finally spares you a glance, completely serious. “I’m sooo serious. Glasses? Hot. Earrings? Hot. Together? Killy me now. Instant buff.”

You recover, rubbing your throat. “Any guy?”

She scoffs. “Obviously he has to be cute, I’m not gonna suck off some rando that's ugly and gross.”

You stare at her, a mix of disbelief and amusement creeping in.

Yuna shifts, folding a leg under her and turning fully towards you, sitting up. Her tank top rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but you don’t look for too long. She leans in like she’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe. “Like, okay, hear me out.”

You sigh, playing along. “K, I’m listening.”

“The glasses just make the guy look smart, but like, not too smart. Unless he’s a nerd, but you get my point.”

“Suuure.”

“The earrings? Hot. Earrings are just hot. Like, I wear earrings. I’m hot.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “I don’t get it.”

She waves a hand, exasperated. “Like, hot but not too hot, smart but not too smart. ya get me?.”

You squint. “But what if the guy’s ugly?”

She pauses, then scoffs. “See, that’s where it’s tough, ‘cause the buff only works if you’re already cute, ya know? Or like… almost hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying some guys are almost hot?”

“Yeah, bro, like some guys just need to hit the gym, dress better, get some earrings.”

You just give her a look, telling her you don’t really get it.

Silence lingers for a beat. Then she shrugs, says it so offhandedly you almost don’t catch it. “Like, you’d actually be hot if you tried.”

Your brain stalls. “…What?”

She doesn’t look up, just sips her boba. “You heard me.”

You’re still blinking. “No, repeat that.”

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across her face. “Nope.”

“That felt personal.”

“It wasn’t. But if you feel attacked…”

You scoff, sitting up slightly. “I literally gym, and you gotta admit I dress nice.”

She finally looks at you, eyes dragging over your plain black tee and gray sweats, unimpressed.

You gesture vaguely. “When I go out.”

She snorts, shaking her head but doesn't disagree. “Yeah, aight.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re basically saying I would be hot if I wasn’t ugly.”

Another shrug. “That’s not what I’m saying, but if that’s what you’re hearing…”

You laugh it off, shake your head, shift the conversation elsewhere. But Yuna? She sits with it, lets the words settle.

The idea is planted.

She doesn’t bring it up again, but it lingers. Her gaze flickers to you when you’re not looking, her teeth pressing lightly into her bottom lip like she’s trying not to think too hard about it. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, scrolling her phone with a little too much focus.

A week later…

The drive to Yuna’s place feels normal—same streets, same turn signals, same playlist humming low through your speakers. But today? Today’s different. Today, you’re running a test.

You grip the wheel with one hand, glancing at yourself in the rearview mirror. Glasses on. You always needed them, just never wore them. Now? Gentle Monster frames, clean, sharp. A flex, but a subtle one.

Earrings? Left ear—a small silver star stud. Right ear—a tiny dagger earring. A balance of soft and sharp. Like you weren’t thinking about it, but also? You were.

Your fit? Casual but intentional.

Black compression shirt, snug and sculpting but not obnoxious. Grey wide-leg sweats, laid-back and effortless. Fresh kicks, spotless with no creases.

It’s intentional, but not try-hard. Like you just threw shit on, but somehow, everything fell into place.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.

Let’s see if she notices.

You knock. A shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swings open.

Yuna stands there, the striped pajama set hugging her tiny waist, sitting snug on her hips, showing just enough skin to be lethal. The fabric stretches over her curves, hinting at the toned stomach underneath, the kind of body that looks soft but still tight in all the right places.

Her red hair falls in messy waves, catching hallway light like she planned the whole damn lighting setup. Even "just hanging at home," her skin glows with that I-woke-up-like-this perfection you know for a fact takes at least three serums to achieve. Light makeup—because of course she wouldn't be completely bare-faced—just enough to make her eyes wider, her lips fuller, slightly glossed and parted in what starts as a greeting but dies somewhere in her throat.

She was expecting movie night. Takeout containers. Stupid debates about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. The usual safe routine.

Instead, she gets you. Version 2.0.

Her entire body freezes. Processing.

Her eyes make a deliberate journey: glasses, earrings—that small hesitation when she notices they're mismatched—down to how your shirt remembers every gym session you've been putting in, lingering just a beat too long where your sweats hang low, then back up to your face with the slow-dawning realization that you've weaponized her own words against her.

She straight-up blue-screens.

Her weight shifts subtly, thighs pressing together like she's trying to create pressure where she suddenly needs it. Her fingers flex at her sides, curling then uncurling like she's physically restraining herself. The sharp inhale is audible—chest rising, lips parting before she catches herself. A full system restart happening in real time.

"What. The. Fuck." It comes out flat, almost accusatory, like you've committed a personal offense.

You can't help the smirk. "What?"

Yuna's eyes narrow, flicking to your earrings again with something dangerously close to hatred—not for the accessories, but for how effectively you've played her. Her jaw works, tension visible as she grinds her teeth. The mental battle is written across her face: pride versus want, restraint versus impulse.

"You're a fucking bitch," she mutters, the words carrying more heat than venom.

Your grin widens, victory sweet on your tongue. "Hmm? Didn't catch that."

No verbal response. Just the sudden, almost violent way her fingers hook into your shirt, yanking you inside before kicking the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame.

Her grip on your wrist is tight—too tight to be casual, not tight enough to hurt. She pulls you down the familiar hallway, the same path you've walked a hundred times before, except now your heart hammers against your ribs like it's trying to escape. This isn't movie-night Yuna leading you to her bedroom to argue about Netflix choices. This is something else entirely.

The words barely form in your mouth before your back hits her mattress, the air rushing from your lungs in a soft "oof." Suddenly everything is different. Same room—same fairy lights strung across her headboard, same pile of clothes heaped on her desk chair, same vague scent of vanilla and something distinctly her—but the air feels electrically charged, dense with potential.

She climbs onto you with feline precision, one knee planted on either side of your thighs, lowering herself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture. The weight of her settles against you—warm, solid, undeniable. The smirk playing at her lips is both challenge and promise, a silent I told you so mixed with you're going to regret this in the best way possible.

And just like that, the tables turn.

Your earlier confidence dissolves under her gaze. Your breath catches as she studies you like a meal she's about to devour, eyes dragging from your face to your throat, lingering on the pulse point there before traveling lower to where your shirt has ridden up to expose a strip of skin.

Pure instinct drives your hands to her hips, fingers just grazing the warm skin exposed between her top and pajama bottoms—but before you can get a proper grip, she's caught your wrists. One fluid motion and your arms are pinned against the wall above your head, chest exposed, completely at her mercy. Her nails dig just enough into your skin to send a shiver racing down your spine, a silent warning that makes your pulse spike.

"Yuna—" Her name escapes as a whine, embarrassingly breathless.

"Did I say you could touch?" The edge in her voice is new—commanding in a way that makes heat pool low in your stomach.

She leans in close again and you flinch slightly, turning your head, caught off-balance by this sudden shift in dynamic. The predatory smile that spreads across her face tells you exactly what you need to know:

You might have started this game, but she's the one who's going to finish it.

Her grip tightens. "What? You getting nervous?"

And you are. Because you don’t know what she’s gonna do next. Because your hands are pinned down, because she’s taking her time, because she’s in complete control.

"Too late." Her voice is soft as her fingers catch your jaw before you can answer—firm, controlling. She lets it hang there, the weight of her words sinking in before she tilts your face up like she’s testing the weight of you in her hands, deciding whether she wants to break you apart or take her time savoring it.

She doesn’t kiss you yet. Just hovers. Close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, teasing, curling over your lips. Close enough that you can smell her—sweet, like strawberries, something feminine and bright, but dark underneath. Something heady. Something that lingers.

"What..." It slips out soft, almost breathless, escaping before you even realize. You're already leaning in—just slightly, just enough to chase the warmth of her mouth, the phantom touch of lips that still haven’t pressed against yours.

She grins. Pulls back just enough to make you ache for it. Watching, waiting. Letting the moment stretch, letting you need.

Then she finally kisses you—hungry, consuming, impossible to escape. Her lips move like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this, for you.

Her hands roam without hesitation, clawing at your shirt, nails scratching lightly before pressing harder, groping, gripping, taking. She grinds down, pressing herself closer, hot, desperate, soaked through.

Her tongue slides against yours, deep, messy, filthy. She tastes like strawberries and something warmer, something intoxicating. She bites your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before letting go, leaving you breathless, dizzy.

You manage to get half a word out—something cocky, something desperate—but she just presses her thumb over your lips, silencing you effortlessly. "Shh."

Her smirk is wicked, teasing. "Did I tell you to talk?"

One last kiss—hard, bruising—claiming—before she finally pulls back, pupils blown wide, breath heavy, hot against your lips. Still teasing, still in control.

Her eyes flicker, dark and sharp. She lets the silence stretch, lets you squirm just a little before tilting her head, smirking. And then, finally—

“Whip it out when I tell you to.”

She shifts back, slow and deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Legs crossed, arms folded, head tilted slightly—waiting.

“Shirt off.”

You hesitate. Her expression doesn’t change. Just one perfectly raised eyebrow.

You exhale, dragging the fabric over your head, the fabric peeling away from your skin, leaving a fleeting chill before the heat of the room settles over you. The shift makes your muscles tense briefly, instinctively flexing, your lean frame now fully exposed. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches. Eyes dragging down, slower than usual. She’s seen you shirtless before—at the beach, when you work out together—but this feels... different. More deliberate. More assessing. Like she’s realizing something she hadn’t let herself think about before.

Her fingertips trail over your chest, nails scraping lightly as they move down. Her breathing shifts. Not a full pause, but a subtle inhale, like she’s registering something new.

She barely skims your waistband before stopping. Lips part, but no words come out. Just a beat of silence, her fingers still resting against your skin.

Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. Moves like she never hesitated. “Pants too.”

You move to pull them down, and her hand shoots out, gripping the fabric at your waist. Stopping you. Holding you there.

She tilts her head. Smirks. “Hmm, one sec.”

She leans down, lips trailing from your chest to your abdomen, slow and deliberate, each press of her mouth sending heat curling low in your stomach. Lower. Lower. Until she’s hovering over your bulge, her breath warm against the fabric, her smirk returning as she glances up at you—waiting, teasing.

“Whip it out.”

You follow her command, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats and boxers at the same time. You push them down in one slow motion, the fabric dragging over your hips, your thighs, until they pool around your ankles. The cool air hits first, sending a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling in contrast to the heat of her stare. You kick them off, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Your cock, already stiff, springs free, swaying slightly before settling upright.

You expect some kind of reaction, a smirk, a comment, something. But she just sits there. Silent. Taking you in. Making you wait.

Then, the shift.

Her jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough to notice. Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the instinct to reach for you. A single exhale slips out—soft, sharp, involuntary.

“...Hah.”

Her thighs press together.

She blinks once, slow, expression still unreadable before she scoffs, voice flat. "You're joking."

It’s not a question. Not disbelief. It’s irritation. Like she’s pissed off that she’s this affected.

Then, before she even registers it, her hand is on you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, testing the weight. Thumb pressing into the ridge, sliding down, measuring. Her grip is firm, not teasing, not soft. Calculating. Then, she swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum across the sensitive skin.

The slick warmth sends a sharp jolt through you, your stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation. A shudder rolls down your spine, hips jerking just slightly—instinctual, involuntary. She hums at the reaction, amused, dragging her thumb back over the head, slower this time, watching you twitch beneath her touch.

"...You’ve been walking around with this the whole time?"

One slow stroke. Deliberate. Frustrated. Her breath hitches for half a second before she exhales through her nose, sharp and controlled. She’s working through something.

Then she moves.

Slow, deliberate, sinking down until her face is level with your cock. She spreads her knees wider, arching her back instinctively, ass lifting behind her as she dips her head down. The motion is fluid, effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times before—but not with you.

Her breath fans over the head, warm, teasing, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. But the way she’s looking at you? The way her lashes flutter as she drags her gaze from the base to the tip, the way her lips part slightly like she’s thinking about something she shouldn’t? Filthy.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to touch her. To run through her hair, trace over her cheek, press against the plush curve of her lips. But you don’t. You know better.

She tilts her head, lining it up. Comparing.

Her fingers tighten around the base, giving an experimental squeeze, jaw tensing slightly like she’s still processing the math of it all.

She hums, amused. Like she just confirmed something. Her eyes drag from your cock to your frame, mapping out the proportions. She’s smaller, you’re lean, cut where it matters. Her fingers tighten around your thigh—just slightly.

She exhales slow, shaking her head. Testing her own reaction.

“It’s almost annoying.”

A sharp squeeze at the base, like she’s making peace with it.

"You're just big enough to be fucking perfect."

She looks up at you, doesn’t blink. Holds your gaze like she’s daring you to move.

"Look at me."

You do. Try to. But the intensity of her gaze is too much, hungry, piercing, hot. Like she’s devouring every inch of you without even touching. Your body reacts before you can stop it. It’s overwhelming. Too much. You instinctively try to escape it, tilting your head back, but she doesn’t let you.

Her other hand catches your chin, dragging you back down to her. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Your breath shudders. You swallow hard. She notices. Smirks.

Then—she stops.

She knows exactly what she’s about to do. And she wants you to watch.

Lifting her arms, she gathers up all her hair, twisting it tight, securing it with practiced ease. It’s a ritual, a performance, because she knows you’re looking. And she likes it.

The movement stretches her out, making you take in everything—the pull of her arms, the soft dip of her waist, the sleek curve of her long torso. Cinched. Compact. Fucking perfect. Her neck, her collarbones, the bare skin of her armpits exposed for a fleeting second, all of it framed just for you.

"Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot." Your voice slips past you.

She pauses, just for a second. A slow, knowing smirk on her lips as she glances at you.

"I know."

Your fingers twitch, instinct taking over—you reach down, wanting to stroke yourself to the sight of her.

Sharp slap.

Your hand jerks away, stinging. Her eyes flicker up, challenging. Smirking.

"I already told you—keep your hands to yourself."

Then—she leans back down, the same position, same arch. She dips her head low. Her lips purse, and before you can register it, a thick glob of warm saliva drips from her mouth, landing perfectly against the tip. She watches it spread, her thumb smearing it across the sensitive skin, coating you in wet heat before she strokes again—long, slow, deliberate.

She looks up, eyes locking onto yours, smirking like she already knows she's won. "Now sit back and let me enjoy myself."

Then—she sinks lower.

Her red hair spills over your stomach, strands brushing against your skin as she angles herself just right. The dim light catches on the messy waves, glowing warm, wild, untamed. She looks up at you through thick lashes, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth parted just enough to tease you with the heat of her breath.

She’s so fucking close.

But this isn’t about you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, a slow, possessive squeeze, more for herself than for you. She exhales, lips barely parted, watching, taking you in. Her tongue swipes over her own bottom lip as if contemplating a meal she’s about to devour.

Then—she goes for it.

Heat. Wet. The first slide past her lips is tight, hot, an impossible contrast of softness and pressure. Her mouth stretches, lips plush and slick, sealing around you with a perfect, obscene suction. The wet heat of her tongue presses firm against the underside, dragging against every ridge, every pulsing inch, like she’s mapping you out with her mouth. The pressure of her cheeks hollowing pulls a groan straight from your chest before you can bite it back.

It's not careful, not teasing—hungry.

Her nails dig into your thigh as she sinks deeper, her own body reacting, thighs pressing together, chasing the heat curling in her own gut.

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t drag it out like a game. She’s working herself up with every motion, letting herself indulge.

Another moan, this one softer, needier, and fuck, she’s enjoying this. Her tongue presses against the underside, massaging every inch she swallows. She pulls back, spit slick and glistening, gasping softly before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper.

She flicks her gaze up—not to check on you, but to see how much more she can take.

The wet pop when she pulls off is obscene, spit stretching between her lips and your cock before snapping apart. But she doesn’t wipe it away—you can tell, she likes the mess.

She tilts her head, gaze flicking up to yours, breathless, her lips curling into something between a smirk and frustration.

"Fuck, you taste so good." She mutters, voice wrecked, annoyed at how much she’s into this.

You start to smirk, breath hitching as you mutter, "Damn, you really know how to—"

But you don't get the chance.

She takes you deep mid-word, zero hesitation, lips stretching, throat tightening as she swallows you down in one sudden, slick motion. The shock rips a strangled sound from your throat, something between a gasp and a groan, because fuck, that was unexpected.

It's warm, so fucking tight, her throat flexing around you as she forces herself deeper, nose pressing flush against your groin. The wet grip of her throat clenching around the tip sends heat jolting up your spine, and when she pulls back—slow, torturous—a thick string of spit clings between her lips and your cock, stretching, breaking, dripping down onto her own chin. She watches you, gaze locked, eyes dark, sharp, daring you.

"You talk too much. And I haven't told you to open your mouth."

Her voice is wrecked, breathless, but smug as hell. She grips the base, firm, controlling, and slaps the head against her lips, wet and filthy, smearing spit and precum across them before taking you back in without hesitation—deeper, tighter, longer.

Your thighs tense. Your breath stutters. Toes curl, heat pooling low in your stomach, a wildfire spreading through your limbs. Your hands clench into the sheets because if you touch her now, you're done for.

She hums around you, low, vibrating, because she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

Then she pulls back, spit-slick and glistening, pausing just long enough for you to feel the absence, to make you ache for it.

You think she’s about to go back in, your breath catches—but she lingers, gaze flicking up, owning the moment, letting the tension coil tighter. Then, slowly, she slaps your cock against her lips once more, her own breath shuddering like she’s just as caught up in this as you are. But this isn’t for you—it’s for her.

She dips lower, tongue dragging down your length, lips wrapping around one ball, sucking slow, wet, indulgent. She pauses for a second, breathing heavy, swallowing like she’s processing how good it tastes, how much she’s enjoying it.

Then she makes a sound—a frustrated groan, muffled, needy, like she’s annoyed by just how good you are in her mouth. Her hand never stops moving, stroking you in time with every pull of her mouth. Then the next, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin, a soft moan escaping her, sending a jolt straight through your core.

She licks a line back up your shaft, slow, messy, like she’s savoring the weight of you on her tongue.

Your hands twitch against the sheets, fists clenched tight, every muscle in your body strung too fucking tight, resisting the urge to grab her. She notices. She loves it.

She pulls off completely, spit pooling down her chin, tilts her head up at you, lips parted, swollen, smirking.

"Hold my hair up."

Your breath shakes as you comply, fingers threading into her red waves, feeling the silkiness as they slide between your knuckles. You gather them slowly, watching the way they shine under the dim light, then bunch them up tight, pulling them together like a ponytail, holding firm.

She exhales slow, eyes flickering shut for half a second like she’s steeling herself. Then, she looks up at you—hungry, determined.

"Good. Now don’t let go."

The moment you tighten your grip, she moans, low and wrecked, like it’s fueling her. Like she’s been waiting for this.

She takes you back in. 

In one go.

There’s no hesitation now. No more teasing. Just her fucking her mouth on you, using your cock like a toy for her own oral fixation.

She goes messy, abrupt, taking you deep with zero breaks, her hands working in sync—one stroking your shaft, the other massaging your balls, slick with spit, wet, filthy, relentless.

She gags. Chokes. Sputters saliva down her chin, but she doesn’t stop—she loves this.

Each time she sinks down, she stays longer, testing her limits, forcing herself deeper, moaning around you, the vibrations traveling straight through your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She pulls off with a wet, deep, gasp, sucking in air, but her hands never stop moving—stroking, twisting, milking you even as she gasps for breath.

“Shit,” she pants, her voice wrecked, her lips swollen, glistening with spit.

Her grip tightens, both hands now working together, slick and dripping, saliva coating every inch. She strokes faster, twisting her wrists, making a fucking mess of you, her mouth hovering just inches away, lips parted, panting.

Your whole body is tight, legs folding in slightly, toes curling, arms flexing involuntarily around the grip in her hair. The pleasure is too much, too fucking good, overwhelming, and if she wasn’t in complete control, you’d be thrusting up into her mouth, chasing the heat, the pressure. But she’s already forcing herself deep, hitting the back of her throat for you. No, for herself, taking what she wants.

Your grip on her hair loosens.

She notices.

She fucking notices.

Her lashes flutter up, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed—completely cock-drunk—and she lets out the softest, filthiest little whine, like she doesn’t want you to stop her. Like she needs this. More of this.

Your fingers clench, regaining control, and you hold her still.

Her moan shatters through you.

It’s wrecked, vibrating along your length as she hollows her cheeks again and sucks. Hard.

And then—she goes feral.

She spits again, a thick glob dripping onto the head, smearing it in with her tongue before slapping your cock against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Then she leans in, sucking and slurping her own saliva back up from your cock and groin, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate—only to sputter it back down again, wetter, filthier.

The slick warmth trickles lower, dripping under your balls, pooling there as her fingers smear it across your skin like she never wants to waste a single drop. She’s moaning the entire time, whimpering under her breath, her own body tensing, thighs pressing together, like she’s getting off on the sheer act of ruining herself.

Her tongue flicks out, lapping at the sensitive tip before flattening against it, rubbing it against her slick, spit-drenched muscle like she wants to taste every inch.

Her hand never stops moving—stroking, twisting, pumping, both hands working together now, slick and dripping, her fingers sliding with ease from how fucking wet everything is.

She’s not thinking anymore.

She’s just moving, sucking, licking, moaning, lost in it. She’s devouring you.

She sinks back down, deeper, until she’s gagging again, nose flush, throat spasming. She pulls off just to spit again, rubs her own mess into your shaft with both hands before swallowing you back down like she missed it.

She stays down longer each time.

Testing her limits. Pushing past them. Letting them break.

She pulls off with a wrecked gasp, drool dripping off her chin, her hands still stroking you frantically, like she can’t stop. Like she won’t stop.

“Fuck—” Her voice is raw, strained, needy. Her lips glisten, her cheeks are damp with spit, ruined.

Next, she slaps your cock against her tongue again, holding it there, eyes locked on yours, lips parted, panting.

Waiting.

Wanting.

She flicks her tongue once. Then again.

Your whole body tenses, a choked moan ripping out of your throat before you can swallow it down. She notices instantly, smirking, lips flushed and glistening.

"Gonna cum for me?" Her voice is low, wrecked, teasing. "Gonna fill up my mouth?"

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer. She’s back down, and you know it wont be long.

She sinks down, deeper than before—deeper than you thought she could go.

Her throat tightens, a hot, slick vice around you, lips stretched wide, nose flush against your skin. She stays there, like she’s proving something, forcing herself to take it all.

Your body shakes. A helpless, broken noise tears from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter in her hair. Your entire body is locked up, muscles taut, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but take what she’s giving you.

She swallows around you—tight, pulsing—milking you. The suction drives you insane, your mind foggy with nothing but her heat, her wetness, the way she’s owning you with her mouth. Your stomach clenches, your toes curl, thighs shaking. The heat in your gut is unbearable, climbing too fast, too much—

And then—she pulls off.

Not all the way. Just enough to drag her lips, tongue, teeth back up, slow, deliberate, before sinking back down just as deep.

She does it again.

Slow. Controlled. Absolutely ruining you.

Her hands are still working—one stroking your length, the other massaging your balls, her slick fingers pressing, squeezing, keeping you so fucking close but not letting you fall.

This time, she pulls off completely.

Your cock twitches in the open air, aching, drenched in her spit, glistening under the dim light. The sudden absence is unbearable, like she just took the world’s best heat away from you.

And then—she stops everything.

Her grip loosens. Her mouth lingers inches away.

Nothing.

You make a noise—desperate, strained. Your fingers clench, stomach tight, chest rising too fast.

She tilts her head, mocking, daring, teasing. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Say it."

Your breath stutters. She’s watching you unravel, watching you need.

You hesitate.

Her fingers go completely still.

The absence is unbearable. The loss of heat, friction, her—everything.

She waits. Just waits.

Eyes locked on you, lips parted, not moving until she hears what she wants.

“You wanna cum or not?”

Her voice is wrecked, low, filthy—and so fucking amused. Like she already knows.

Your jaw locks, but your body betrays you.

“Yuna, please—I'm so close” It rips out of you, barely a whisper, shaky, ruined.

Her eyes spark. She grins.

She giggles. It’s horny, evil, delighted.

And with that, she dives back in.

Messy. Unforgiving.

Her mouth works you over, fast, relentless, sucking hard like she’s dragging the orgasm out of you. Her cheeks hollow, tongue pressing firm, head bobbing fast, sloppy, wrecking you.

Her hands won’t stop moving—both of them now, stroking, twisting, pumping, slick and filthy, drenched in her spit.

She pulls off just to spit directly onto your tip, spreading it with her tongue, letting the mess drip down your shaft, pooling at your base.

She goes back down, faster, tongue swirling, throat flexing, each motion more desperate, more demanding. The sounds she’s making—filthy, obscene, completely unashamed.

You can’t stop it.

Your hips jerk, thighs flex, toes curl, fingers pull tight in her hair.

And then—your whole body locks up.

It hits like lightning, brutal, full-body, overwhelming.

You moan—loud, wrecked, shaking.

She pulls off at the last second, her tongue stretched out, eyes locked on you, stroking you fast as you cum hard all over her tongue and inside her mouth.

Spurts of thick white streak across her tongue, her lips, pooling where she wants it.

She stays there, mouth open, holding it, letting you see it.

Then—she closes her mouth and swallows.

A loud, filthy gulp.

Like she was made for this.

She stays between your legs a moment longer, tongue flicking slow, deliberate, dragging over every inch of sensitive skin as she cleans you up, savoring it. Her lips press one last time to the tip, a lazy, lingering kiss, before she finally—finally—pulls away, her breath still hot and damp against your stomach.

She doesn’t hurry.

She stretches, rolling her shoulders like she just wrapped up a workout, sighing like she’s completely satisfied, her fingers pressing briefly into your thighs as she pushes herself up. She moves like she owns the space, like she just conquered something.

Without another word, she crawls up towards you. One hand grabs your chin, tilting your face up, making sure you’re looking at her.

She’s still wrecked, ruined—her lips glossy, chin damp, pupils dark and dripping with smug satisfaction.

"You're never taking those glasses off again."

Her other hand moves, fingers slipping up to the bridge of your glasses, pushing them back into place with the laziest, most condescending adjustment.

Like she just did fucking community service.

You’re still panting, your limbs heavy, your chest still rising too fast. And yet—a realization grips you.

You just unleashed something.

Something feral. Something dangerous.

She grins, tilting her head like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

And then—she giggles.

That same horny, delighted, evil little giggle from before.

Like she’s already thinking about the next time she ruins you.

End.

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

AN: Finally got through this one and can check it off. I'm currently starting a new piece, one of my longer ones so it might be a while until its posted. Ill try my best to fill the next few days with more shorter moments like this one, but I really wanna focus on my longer fics with more depth. As always, room for part 2 with this.

[irisintheafterglow]

bsf!shoto doesn't understand when being punctual went out of style.

when you swing open your front door the instant he was about to knock, you startle backward like you'd seen a ghost.

"oh, wow." your eyes are wide open and your mouth gapes before snapping shut. "you're, uh, here very early," you manage to say, turning back inside and kicking the door the rest of the way open with your foot. he follows behind you as you hurry back to your bathroom, your makeup halfway done and seven possible outfits laid on your bed. he follows you through the hallway, stopping only a moment to glance at a baby photo of you on the wall. he'd seen the photos hundreds of times, but he found it amusing that you made the same face of surprise when you were little.

"i am ten minutes before our agreed upon meeting time, is that distressing?"

"not distressing, just surprising. in my experience," you continue while patting glitter on the inside corner of your eyelid, "guys don't usually show up on time for dates."

"well, it's a good thing i'm not other guys, then," he smirks and you roll your eyes with a poorly hidden grin. "i also didn't need to waste time picking you flowers--"

"since most of the stuff makes me sneeze anyway," you finish for him, your cheeks warm under the dusting of powder blush. you had known shoto for nearly three quarters of your life, yet it still caught you off guard every time he said something that told you he'd been paying attention to you. "very thoughtful of you." your eyes meet his in the mirror, flicking to his broad shoulder leaning against the doorframe. "staring is rude."

"then you're a hypocrite," he immediately counters with no change in tone, the only indication of his smugness the slightest narrowing of his eyes. his expression turns thoughtful, fond almost. he smiles softly and the endearment makes your cheeks warm even more. "i like that color. the one on your eyes."

"mmm, i know it's your favorite," you reply coyly. shoto's eyes drag from your face down the rest of your body, something different flickering across his face. "something wrong?"

"no, you just...you look beautiful," he manages to say.

"i'm wearing pajamas and all might socks that have at least three holes. in each sock," you chuckle, turning to him over your shoulder. "i certainly don't feel beautiful."

"i can fix that."

"what?"

"what?" he blinks at you, dumbfounded, and you giggle at his slip-up. "who said that?"

"you're funny, sho." you try to ignore the way his eyes follow every movement of your hands as they swipe color over your lips and make last adjustments to your lashes. when you're done, he steps out of your way so you can take your numerous outfit choices to the bathroom, settling down next to your bed to help you decide like he'd done before. "this is a little different, you know," you say through the crack in bathroom door as you tug on your first arrangement. "before, you were helping me decide what to wear for school award ceremonies and stuff like that."

"i could still do that, if you want," he replies with complete sincerity. "i do still want to do that."

"it's a little weird to be dating your best friend, since i feel like you already know all the things that would make me a terrible person to date," you continue and he falls silent on the other side of the door, prompting you to peek out of the bathroom. "sho? is everything okay?"

"yes, everything is fine." there's the slightest dip in his perfect eyebrows that tell you otherwise.

"the 'no lying' rule carries over from friendship to dating, you know," you remind him casually and step out completely, turning in a circle for the full effect. "what do you think?"

"i think that's a bit...warm," he states bluntly. you blink at him and half expect him to laugh, but he doesn't. he's dead serious about you being too warm.

"i am a little warm, yes," you admit in your thick sweater and fleece stockings. "but, i'd also like to dress warmer than i need to because it's so much easier to cool off than it is to warm up."

"i can do both of those things for you," shoto declares. "why wouldn't i do both of those things for you?"

"i don't want you to hassle and need to use your quirk on date night." your voice trails off but he's having none of it.

"is this what you mean by 'things that make you a terrible person to date?' planning ahead so you're not a burden?" you shift your weight uncomfortably under his gaze and can't muster any other answer but shrugging.

"i just...i don't want you to need to change to accommodate me, now that we're together," you explain quietly. he stands and takes your hands in his, lacing your fingers together without a second thought. "if it's easier for me to be uncomfortable and you to be comfortable--"

"why is both of us being comfortable not a possibility?" he asks, tilting his head forward slightly. "why can you prioritize me but i cannot prioritize you?" you have no further argument but his point is hammered home. "do you love me as you wish to?"

"wholeheartedly."

"then let me love you as i wish to. wholeheartedly."

[spookysanta]

Keep That Same Energy. (MBJ)

Summary: Michael has lost all common sense when they step out and she's wearing that dress.

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: HEAVY SMUT, public sex (kinda)

yeah no the mbj fixation has yet to die down.. sorry not sorry

from the drafts

MINORS DNI

She loved the red dress.

It was tight. Short. Loud. Everything she knew would catch eyes.

Which is exactly why he told her not to wear it.

He saw it laid out on the bed that morning and froze in the doorway, a slow smirk crawling across his face before it dropped into something darker.

“You wear that tonight, I swear to God.”

She turned, hand on her hip. “What? It looks good.”

“It looks like you’re trying to get punished.”

She smiled. “Maybe I am.”

He stepped closer, eyes raking down her body. “Try it if you want to.”

He said it with a grin, gold grills flashing in the hotel lighting, but there was weight behind the words. A promise. A threat.

She wore it anyway.

By the time they hit the red carpet, he had his hand was on her ass, tucked low like it was casual. Like no one would notice.

But they did. Everyone did.

Photographers? Ate it up. The crew? Pretended to be shocked. His co-star Wunmi clocked her instantly. Hailee barely glanced before giving Michael a pointed look. “Y’all gonna make it through the night?” She asked with a smirk.

“Barely,” she said, cheeks already burning.

The girls exchanged a look. Hailee whispered just loud enough for her to hear: “Girl, he’s obsessed. Like rabid. That man has not blinked since you walked in.”

“I know,” she said under her breath, trying not to shiver. “I can feel it.”

Michael was standing feet away but looked like he was on the verge of dragging her into a wall. His jaw clenched when she laughed too loud. His fists curled when at his sides when he had to step away from her for a photo.

During the cast shot, he stared down at her silhouette. Gripped the back of her waist like a warning. Licked his lips when she shifted. “Stop bein’ nasty,” Jayme muttered through a clenched smile, catching him in the act.

He just smirked. Didn’t even try to deny it.

During the couple photo-op, reporters and photographers asked who he was wearing. He mumbled through the answer. Because all he could focus on was her hand around his waist. Her fingers slipping low when they weren’t looking. The way her perfume hit him in waves.

“You trying to fuckin’ test me?” he growled in her ear between shots.

“I’m just standing here.”

“You’re pressing your thighs together like you want me to fuck you through this carpet.”

She didn’t reply. Just smiled sweetly for the cameras and dragged her nails down his spine as they walked away.

He blinked hard like trying to shake it off. But it didn’t work.

The afterparty was loud. Champagne-slicked. Full of industry names and fake grins. Michael tried. Toasted. Chatted with Jack and Ryan. Talked distribution with producers. He kept it together for thirty minutes.

But the second she stepped into the room again, laughing with Wunmi, the hem of that red dress riding higher with every step?

It was over.

He didn’t even excuse himself. Just walked.

Straight to her. Through the crowd. Cupped her jaw in front of everyone. Kissed her cheek. Bit her ear. “You don’t fuckin’ listen,” he growled to her.

“Hmm?”

“You think I didn’t feel your nails on my back?”

“Maybe you imagined it.”

He smiled like a threat. “No, baby. What I am imagining is dragging you into that fuckin’ bathroom and making you scream my name until the mirrors fog.”

“I thought you said you were gonna behave?”

“Mm. Never agreed to that. But I am gonna ruin you. That’s a guarantee.”

She met his gaze head-on, fingers curling into the lapel of his jacket. “Make it quick.”

He barely got the bathroom door shut.

Mouth on hers. Hands clawing the dress up. Tongue licking into her like he couldn’t breathe without her taste. His body pressed hers against the tile wall.

“You fuckin’ tease,” he snarled, biting her jaw. “Walking around in this dress. Laughing. Touching me.”

She moaned. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He grabbed the back of her neck and spun her toward the mirror. Bent her over the sink so fast her heel slipped.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, Michael.”

He pushed her panties aside and slid in hard. No warning. No patience.

She nearly collapsed.

He gripped her hips, snapped his hips forward. Rough. Vicious. The mirror shook with each thrust.

“Keep that same fuckin’ energy,” he panted. “You wanna act like a brat in public, I’ll treat you like one in private.”

“Michael—”

He grabbed her hair, yanked her up against his chest, one hand at her throat.

“You fuckin’ love this. Say it.”

“I do. I fucking love it.”

He growled and buried his face in her neck. Thrusting deeper. Meaner. Until her whole body was quivering.

She came hard, shaking in his grip, and he didn’t stop. Just chased his own release with a hiss, coming so hard he went still for a moment, breathing ragged.

When they stepped out, she looked wrecked.

Lipstick smeared. Hair askew. Dress creased.

Hailee handed her a drink with a grin. “Don’t even lie. I timed you.”

Wunmi raised her brows. “Was it as filthy as it looked?”

She took a sip, voice hoarse. “Worse.”

Michael walked out like nothing happened. Except for the sweat on his brow. And the wild look in his eye. And the fact that he gripped her hand like he’d murder anyone who even looked.

Then the DJ dropped something low. Horns, bass, heat. He turned to her. “Dance with me.”

“I need a second—”

He pulled her close. “You’ve had long enough.”

He spun her. Pulled her back. Ground against her like they were alone.

“You think this shit is funny. Driving me insane.”

“Maybe.”

“Wearing that fuckin’ dress. Making me act out. Making me want to fuck you on a speaker.”

She rolled her hips again.

He groaned. “Car. Now.”

“Michael—”

“I said now. Get your purse.”

He dragged her to the lot, slammed the car door shut, shoved coats aside, and pulled her onto his lap.

“Can’t make it home. Not when you’re lookin’ like this. Drippin’ for me.”

She gasped as he slid her panties to the side again, rubbing slow circles against her until she couldn’t think.

“You ever embarrass me like that again,” he growled, “I’ll make you cum in the fuckin’ elevator. Say you won’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Liar.”

He shoved into her, made her scream.

And did it all again at home.

When he carried her through the door, she clung to him.

“You trying to break me?”

“I haven’t even started.”

“Same dress tomorrow?”

“You better hope you can walk.”

She laughed. Then moaned when he kissed her again.

He didn’t stop until sunrise.

And even then, he whispered, “Still not finished.”

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[mintyys-blog]

Reader with big boobs cuz whaaaaaa🥹

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who has big boobs

MAIN MARK

He tries so hard to be respectful, really. He does. But then you lean over the counter to reach something, and boom—gravity does its job, and Mark just short-circuits.

“Uhh—babe, can you not do that while I’m trying to concentrate?”

“What, exist?”

“Exactly.”

He always tries to sneak glances, thinking he’s being subtle—he’s not. You catch him every time, and the worst part? He grins about it.

“Oh, come on. You’re literally walking around like a walking distraction. You can’t blame me.”

Sometimes he just lays his head on your chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I dunno how you expect me to ever get out of bed again. I’m right where I belong.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mark’s the kind of man who lives for the show. You step out in a top that hugs your chest just right, and he doesn’t blink twice—he smirks, runs his tongue along his teeth, and slings an arm around your waist like a proud bastard.

“Yeah, baby. Go on. Let ‘em look. They wish they had what I do.”

He’s obsessed with how your chest looks in just about anything—tight tees, low-cut dresses, even when you’re wearing nothing but one of his old hoodies and it’s hanging off your shoulder.

Sometimes when you’re trying to get ready, he’ll lean in, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s deep in thought.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay in? I could use a little bounce in my day.”

He never covers you up. Doesn’t get jealous. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants the world to know you’re his.

“She’s mine. Go ahead and stare—just don’t forget who she goes home with.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark is possessive, and when it comes to you, he’s not subtle about it. You step into the room in something that shows off your chest, and his gaze immediately snaps to you—dark, calculating, hungry.

“Look at you, just begging to be marked,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Don’t think I’ll let anyone else enjoy this view.”

When you’re close, he reaches out, pressing his lips to your skin with a savage bite, his teeth leaving marks on your soft flesh. He relishes how you gasp, but he’s not doing it for your reaction—he’s marking you, claiming you in front of anyone who might dare to look.

“Let ’em look, but they won’t be touching you. Not like I do.”

His hands are quick to slide up your shirt, and he drags his mouth across your chest, leaving a trail of dark, bruising kisses. He’s unapologetic when he bites down hard, just enough to make you squirm, to remind you and everyone else who you belong to. Every time you wear something that shows your chest, he leaves a few new marks, a few more hickeys that you can’t hide.

Later, he’ll smirk to himself when he sees them—his handiwork, marking you as his, the pride of his possessiveness written on your skin.

“That’s better. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

OMNI MARK

You were getting ready for the day, adjusting your top, when Mark’s eyes inevitably fell on you. There was something about the way you moved, the way your chest shifted with each step, that caught his attention every time. He didn’t say anything, not out loud at least, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual as you adjusted your clothing.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said casually, his voice cool but with that unmistakable teasing edge. He wasn’t shy about how he appreciated your body—especially the way your chest would bounce with your every move, drawing his attention.

You raised an eyebrow, fully aware of what he was referring to. “What, you like what you see?” you teased, leaning against the counter. You didn’t mind the attention, not with him. The dynamic between you two had always been relaxed, confident.

Mark grinned, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving you. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied, his tone playful, but there was that spark in his eyes—he was clearly enjoying watching you, letting the moment linger.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, but even with his arms folded, his gaze stayed on you. “You know, they’re hard to miss,” he remarked casually, his eyes tracing the curves of your figure.

His casual demeanor was always a bit of a front; while he could act indifferent, it was clear that he was drawn to you. He liked seeing you confident, enjoying your presence without feeling the need to hide his appreciation. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the way his gaze lingered, the way his smile was just a little more mischievous whenever you moved, spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, not so much out of embarrassment, but because of how effortlessly he made you feel at ease about it. “And what are you going to do about it?” you teased, stepping closer to him now.

Mark leaned in, his lips just brushing your ear. “Nothing, unless you want me to,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the playful tension between you both, but the moment was always on his terms.

He didn’t care much about the teasing or the casual back-and-forth—he just enjoyed you, in every way. Whether it was the bounce of your chest or the way you smiled, he was always going to appreciate what was his. But in the end, he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it; he didn’t need to. You knew exactly how he felt.

VILTRUMITE MARK

As you walked into the living room, his eyes immediately found you, taking in the soft swell of your chest—one of the many changes the pregnancy had brought. You had been more sensitive lately, and he had noticed the way your posture shifted in discomfort, the way you subtly adjusted your clothes to avoid putting pressure on your growing body.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He stood and moved toward you, his expression soft but serious. His hand moved to gently cup your chest, his touch firm but not possessive, more focused on easing your discomfort. He could feel the fullness beneath his palm, the way your body was changing. He didn’t mind. He never minded your changes—if anything, he found it beautiful.

“How’s that?” he asked, his voice low and calm as he rubbed his thumb over the swell, feeling the tightness there. “I know it’s been uncomfortable for you.”

Your breath hitched a little at the unexpected touch, but it wasn’t sexual—his intent was only to make you feel better, to help alleviate some of the strain you were carrying.

“Better?” he asked again, watching you with a caring, almost protective gaze as his other hand came up to rub your back, gently pressing into the tense muscles.

You nodded, a small sigh escaping you as the pressure began to ease. The pregnancy had made simple things like this more difficult for you, and even though Mark had the strength to lift mountains, he knew how to be gentle when it mattered.

“You’re doing well,” he added quietly, his lips pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as he continued his gentle touch, making sure you felt safe and cared for.

The moment was soft, tender. No grand gestures, no expectations—just him caring for you in a way only he could. You knew he was strong, but you also knew he was just as capable of tenderness when you needed it.

EMPEROR MARK

Mark’s demeanor had always been intense, and it didn’t change when it came to you. He’d never been one to hold back his opinions, especially when it came to things he found particularly… enticing about you. The way your chest moved when you walked, the way it swelled in your clothes—he couldn’t help but notice. To him, there was something commanding about it. You were his, and he didn’t mind the world seeing it.

You were in the middle of adjusting your clothes one morning when Mark entered the room, his eyes immediately locking on to your chest as you bent down, adjusting the fabric. He wasn’t subtle about it; he had no reason to be.

“You look… distractingly good,” he murmured, his voice low, with an edge to it that made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn’t move away from you, locking on to your body with the same intensity he gave to everything he focused on. He approached you, his footsteps slow and purposeful.

Before you could react, he was right behind you, his hand coming to rest against your lower back, pulling you into him. His breath was heavy against your ear as his other hand reached for the side of your chest, gripping it firmly, but not in a way that felt gentle. He wasn’t here for soft caresses; he wanted to remind you that he controlled this.

He didn’t hesitate to rub a thumb over the swell of your breast, feeling the weight of it beneath his hand. His touch wasn’t just possessive—it was commanding, as though he was marking his territory. He wasn’t subtle about how he appreciated you. He wanted you to know exactly what you did to him.

“You like this attention, don’t you?” he asked, his voice tinged with something darker now. His fingers dug deeper into your side, and you could feel the heat of his body pressed up against yours. He wasn’t asking for an answer. It was more of a statement, one that he expected you to agree with.

You tilted your head, trying to hide the fluster in your expression, but you couldn’t deny how the pressure of his touch had you weak in the knees. His hands were a mixture of roughness and control—he wasn’t being delicate, not in the slightest.

“I think you know the answer,” you managed to tease back, but the way you said it only seemed to fuel him more.

Emperor Mark chuckled darkly, his grip tightening as he maneuvered you to face him. His lips hovered dangerously close to your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, before pulling you roughly into a kiss. His hands didn’t move from your chest, exploring what was his with a possessive edge that you knew better than to question.

He didn’t care about gentleness, he didn’t care about subtlety. He liked the roughness, the way it made you feel as though you were at the center of everything. To him, you were his prize, and the way your chest looked in those clothes? It was something for everyone to notice. But more importantly, it was something for him to claim.

Mark wasn’t afraid to be rough. His power was intoxicating, and so was the way he looked at you, as if nothing—nothing at all—was more important than the way you made him feel. He didn’t need to hide it. You were his, and every inch of you was his to appreciate, in whatever way he saw fit.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s rough demeanor wasn’t just limited to his words or actions; it was in the way he looked at you, especially when you wore something that highlighted your curves. Your chest, in particular, seemed to draw his gaze more often than he let on. He wasn’t shy about it, though. When it came to you, he had no intention of hiding what he liked, and your body, with its perfect fit into his large hands, was one of his favorite things to admire.

It was a lazy afternoon, and you were lounging on the couch, your shirt clinging just right, showing off your curves in all the ways that made Mark’s eyes darken with desire. He was sitting beside you, his large frame taking up most of the couch, and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept flicking to your chest. His hand, resting on the back of the couch, was nearly hovering over you, like he was waiting for the perfect moment to reach out and grab you.

Finally, unable to help himself anymore, he reached out, his rough hand closing around the soft fullness of your breast. It wasn’t gentle—he didn’t care for gentleness when it came to you. His fingers dug in, holding your chest with the kind of possessive strength that made your breath hitch. His hand was large, but it fit perfectly against you, like you were made to be in his grip.

He smirked when he felt you flinch at the touch, and he could tell you were trying to play it cool. You always did, always tried to act unaffected by him, but he could see right through it. “You know, baby,” he growled low, voice rough with that familiar edge of possessiveness, “I fucking love how you fit in my hands.”

He squeezed a little more, and you gasped, feeling the pressure but also the unmistakable heat that spread through your body at his touch. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke again, a low, teasing tone in his voice.

“Perfectly,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over the curve of your breast, a move that made your heart race. He didn’t even need to look at your face to know the effect he was having on you. You didn’t need to say a word. The way your body tensed under his touch, the way your breath caught—he could feel all of it.

Mark’s grip tightened, and his eyes darkened as he shifted closer, pulling you slightly toward him. “You know,” he said softly, almost like he was savoring the moment, “You’re mine. Every inch of you. And these,” he gripped your chest again, his thumb and fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh, “are exactly what I like to have.”

There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. He wasn’t shy about claiming you, and the way he held you, as though you were an object he owned, only added to the raw intensity of his attraction to you. You were his. Every part of you, even the parts that everyone else only admired, he could touch, claim, and appreciate in ways that made him feel in control.

He chuckled darkly as you squirmed slightly under his touch, still trying to play it cool despite how your body betrayed you. “You can’t hide it from me, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling you closer, “You like when I touch you, don’t you?”

You could only bite your lip in response, feeling the heat flood your cheeks as you tried to maintain your composure, but the truth was clear in how you reacted to him—how you always did.

SHIESTY MARK

Mark wasn’t the type to hide what he wanted or how he felt—especially when it came to you. If anything, he reveled in his boldness, and the more unapologetic he could be, the better. And your chest? Well, let’s just say it was one of his favorite things. He wasn’t one to be shy about his attraction to you, and the way he showed it made that more than clear.

One night, as the two of you were lying together in bed, you could feel the weight of his gaze, even in the dark. The two of you had been lounging, and as usual, Mark was being his typical cocky self. It wasn’t long before he had his hand resting on your chest, casually cupping your breast as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The touch wasn’t soft or careful—it was possessive, rough, and full of that familiar arrogance he wore so well.

“God damn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something darker than usual, “these things are too good, babe.” His hand gave a gentle squeeze, almost like he was marking his territory. He chuckled lowly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, enjoying the feel of you beneath him.

You tried to shift in bed, not really used to his boldness when it came to things like this. You didn’t say anything, though—he didn’t expect you to. He didn’t care what you said, really. It was the way you reacted that mattered. And right now? You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he lightly squeezed again.

“Don’t even try to hide it,” he growled, his breath hot on your neck. “I know you like it when I get my hands on you like this.” He could feel you tense beneath him, and it only made him smirk wider. “You always try to act so innocent, but I know the truth.”

As the night wore on, Mark didn’t pull his hand away. He didn’t care how it looked or if it made you uncomfortable. Hell, he liked it when you squirmed a little. It was just his way of showing you who you belonged to. You could tell by the way his fingers moved—caressing, squeezing, and lightly massaging your chest—that he was getting comfortable with this. Maybe even too comfortable.

He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t too rough either. His hand stayed right there, claiming you in the most casual way possible, like it was just another part of his nightly routine. He wanted to show you that he didn’t need anything elaborate to show his affection—just you, your body, and his hands doing exactly what he pleased with you.

Eventually, when the two of you settled into sleep, Mark’s hand stayed where it was, cupping your breast in the same possessive way. His grip was firm, his fingers slightly digging into the flesh as if to keep you close to him.

You could feel his breath slow down, and the weight of his hand felt strangely comforting. But deep down, you knew that Mark wasn’t just being affectionate. No, he was marking his territory, as usual—letting you know, in his own vulgar, cocky way, that you were his. You weren’t surprised when you woke up in the morning to find his hand still resting there, still holding you as though he owned every part of you. It was a simple gesture, but in true Shiesty Mark fashion, it came with a sense of possessiveness that no one else could match.

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

[manmuncher777]

Taken in tension

✧༺ Roommate toji x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings

✧༺ a/n - roommate tonji is my fucking favourite trope ever. Hi, impregnate me sir. Enjoy sexies xx

You didn’t see a lot of Toji.

That was half the reason why this whole roommate situation worked.

You both had your own lives, your own schedules. He was usually out — at the gym, running errands, disappearing for hours without a word — and you were busy enough your own things that you rarely crossed paths except in passing.

When you did, it was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

You were actually greatful you got landed with a roommate like Toji, he was there when you needed him, always fixing whatever you had broken, or helping you with heavy lifting. And you were quite happy to repay him in your own ways. You cooked dinner for the both of you most nights, and on the nights you couldn’t be bothered you would grab takeout.

He wasn’t messy — not enough to piss you off — and when he was, you didn’t mind picking up after him because he always noticed, always threw you a grateful look or a lazy, gruff thanks, sweetheart that made your stomach stupidly flutter.

Besides, he pulled his weight in other ways.

Fixing the broken sink without you having to ask. Carrying all the groceries up in one go without a complaint. Reaching things off the highest shelves, half-laughing when you glared at him for making it look too easy.

You got along well.

It was chill. It was safe.

Still…

Sometimes, you caught yourself noticing things you shouldn’t.

Like the way Toji would drag his shirt off after a run, tossing it over his shoulder, his body glistening faintly with sweat — thick arms flexing, abs hard and cut deep, the waistband of his shorts hanging low enough to reveal the sliver of a v-line that made you bite your lip and look away fast.

Or the way his voice sounded in the mornings — rough and low, rumbling out of his chest when he mumbled a half-asleep ‘mornin’ and shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but sweats.

Or the way he sometimes smelled — fresh soap and something deep, earthy and masculine that clung to the air long after he left the room, leaving you dizzy if you stayed too long.

Not that you thought about it.

Not that you let yourself think about it.

Because this arrangement was comfortable, and you weren’t about to screw it up just because your stupid brain couldn’t help but drool over your hot, sometimes-shirtless, way-too-casual roommate.

No.

You had self-control.

You were fine.

Totally fine.

But you werent always aware that you werent the only one finding this arrangement a little… testing.

I mean you couldn’t always blame him, the apartment wasnt massive, so sometime it was hard for him not to notice you creeping towards your room from the bathroom in only a towel, or strutting past him while he was watching tv, shouting a quick goodbye with your tiny little dress on, something about a girls night. He wasnt listening in that moment.

And it took everything in him not to pocket those little panties of your he finds when sorting the washing, all outs of images flashing into his mind of you wearing nothing else but those little panties, waiting for home to get home.

Of course he did his best to remain respectful, only letting his eyes linger ling enough you wouldn’t notice.

One rule that you both kept in the apartment was no partners are allowed over, one night stands of girlfriends were a strict no no on both sides. You didn’t want to be disturbed by that, and well you were single as fuck so he didnt really have to worry. The walls were thin and the last thing you needed was some girl keeping you up all night.

Only issue for you with the thins walls is that if you ever want some ‘personal time’ you have to wait until you know Toji would be out. You would be mortified if he ever heard you like that, so you keep very discreet. Just you and your little box of toys.

The box of toys that you were currently rummaging through because he had finally left, popping out to grab some cigarette or something, then he’d just hop back on his Xbox or something. You had just got home from work, and needed a moment to destress, he would be 20 minutes, surely thats enough time.

Work clothes off, T-shirt and panties on. Candles lit and you were finally ready for a relaxing evening

Your box of toys that was open, despite you not touching it recently, the box that was left rather visible under your bed when you usually have it tucked away. And the one toy you wanted, that you would be finished fast with, was now missing its batteries. The slip of plastic to place the batteries in was left visibly opened with no batteries in there.

Where the fuck were the batteries?

You knew you had left them in there.

Tucked right inside your little velvet pouch — with your trusty toy buried safely beneath sweaters and old scarves — reserved for nights like tonight.

Nights when the sexual frustration got so bad it made you antsy, desperate for even a tiny bit of release.

Single. Stressed. Stupidly horny.

It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Apparently, the universe — or more specifically, your goddamn roommate — had other plans.

You searched everywhere, in your desk, in drawers, not a single triple a battery to be found. And on such perfect timing, Toji was back.

Fucking great, looks like you were getting nothing tonight. ON all the days this could have happened.

You stared at the opened box, jaw ticking, the empty slot where the batteries once sat practically mocking you.

There was only one person who could’ve done this.

Your mind finally clicking, you live with one other person, and your certainly didn’t just throw away those batteries

One muscle-headed, thoughtless, lazy bastard who would rather loot your private stash than walk ten feet to the store.

You stormed down the hall, chest tight with irritation.

It was petty — objectively — but you didn’t care.

Because now you were still horny and now also pissed off, which was a dangerous combination.

Without even knocking, you shoved open Toji’s bedroom door.

He barely glanced up from his spot on the bed — legs spread wide, controller in hand, headset slung around his neck as he mashed buttons aggressively.

Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He finally looked up, pausing his game.

One dark brow lifted lazily.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You wanted to punch him.

You also wanted to climb him like a tree. Eyes glancing over him fully now, only just registering the fact he was shirtless, grey sweats hanging slutily low on his hips, enough to make a woman drool.

Neither urge was helpful right now.

“You stole my batteries,” you said flatly.

Toji gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

Then — fucking smirked.

“Needed ’em,” he said, shrugging, like that excused everything. “Controller was dead. Emergency.”

“Emergency?” you hissed, stepping further into the room. “Emergency? I needed them! Toji, you went through my shit! That was private”

His eyes flicked over you — lingering for a second too long on your flushed cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

What you had been about to do before he ruined it.

Obvious in the way your thighs pressed together, your arms crossed like you were trying to physically contain yourself.

Toji’s smirk widened.

“Ohh,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “That kind of emergency.”

You wanted to die.

You also wanted to hit him.

You also maybe wanted to straddle him and shut him the fuck up.

Instead, you ground out, “I want them back. Now.”

He set the controller down beside him, stretching like he had all the time in the world — the way his muscles flexed beneath the dim light of his room should’ve been illegal — and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

“An emergency?” you scoff, already frustrated beyond belief. “The hell do you need my batteries for? Your fucking remote? Seriously, I’ve been looking for those—”

He interrupts you with a lazy shrug. “Yeah, my controller died.” He repeated casually “You weren’t gonna use ‘em anyway, right?”

You stop mid-sentence, the realization dawning on you, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. “I—I was going to,” you mumble, fuming. “I was going to use them, but now they’re gone because of you. You went through my stuff, Toji. Personal shit.”

Toji slowly rises from the bed, a calculated glint in his eyes. He’s still half-smirking, clearly enjoying the way your irritation is building. He walks toward you, the tension thickening with every step he takes. His large frame seems to fill the room as he stops just a few inches away, his presence overwhelming.

“You really need to chill, ma,” he says lowly, his voice like honey, but there’s a subtle hint of mockery in it. His hand reaches up, brushing past you as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Seems to me like you were relying on some pretty weak shit to get off.”

The words hit you like a slap, but it’s his tone—condescending, taunting—that gets to you. Your lips part as you try to retort, but the heat in his gaze leaves you speechless for a moment

“I mean, really,” he continues, stepping in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “That plastic shit really get you off? Don’t you need something a bit more real?”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold your ground, but the tension between you is palpable. “I was fine before you came in and took everything,” you snap, although the desperation you feel is practically dripping from your words.

Toji smirks at your reaction, clearly reveling in the power he has over you. “Yeah? I don’t think so,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I think you were getting a little too used to that weak little thing. You were probably so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

Your heart races, and you can barely focus on what he’s saying because of the raw, intoxicating way he’s looking at you. You hate how much you want to shove him up against the wall and take control, but you’re pinned under his gaze, unable to move.

Toji’s hand moves down your arm slowly, teasing, not quite touching, just enough to make you tingle with need. His voice lowers even more. “Now, I think I could give you something much more satisfying… if you let me.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your hands trembling as they fall to your sides.

Toji chuckles softly, sensing your growing desperation. “You still upset about the batteries, baby? Or do you need something else?

“Come get ’em,” he said, grin turning absolutely devilish. “Might even help you out, if you ask real nice.”

Your mouth went dry.

Your whole body heated.

Because suddenly you weren’t sure if you were mad anymore — or just aching for something else entirely.

You stayed planted near the door, arms crossed so tight it hurt, glaring daggers at him — but he only lounged back further against the headboard, hands resting behind his head, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

He tilted his head at you, that cocky little smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Poor girl,” he drawled, voice thick and mocking. “So flustered. Bet you were all set up too, huh? Lights off, blanket pulled up real nice… fingers already creeping down your stomach—”

“Shut the fuck up, Toji,” you snapped, face burning.

His eyes glinted — dark and full of something downright wicked.

“Ooh. Touchy,” he teased. “What’s the matter? Mad ’cause you couldn’t get yourself off? Or mad because you haven’t had a proper fuck in too long?”

You hated him.

You hated how well he knew you, how easy you were to read. You hated how he was right.

You hated how good he looked, sprawled out like that — broad shoulders, abs flexing, that slutty v-line, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, those big thighs spread wide like an invitation.

He smelled like bodywash and something sharp and masculine underneath, and it was doing terrible, terrible things to your self-control.

Your nails dug into your arms.

“I needed the fucking batteries,” you bit out. “Not some — some asshole with no respect for personal property.”

Toji chuckled — actually laughed at you — low and rumbly in his chest.

“You’re real cute when you’re mad, y’know that?”

He shifted slightly — not enough to stand, but enough that the mattress dipped under his weight.

He was closer now, lazy but predatory. Like a tiger deciding whether or not it wanted to play with its food.

“And real fuckin’ cute when you’re needy, too.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

You needed to leave.

You needed to keep your pride.

You needed to not imagine what it would feel like to march over there and straddle him and grind the attitude out of him.

But then Toji gave you a slow once-over — lingering, heavy, filthy — and your body betrayed you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, thighs pressing together instinctively.

He caught it immediately.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

He patted his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Like he was inviting a fucking pet into his lap.

“C’mere. If you ask real pretty, might even let you put that mouth to good use first.”

You sucked in a shaky breath — the edges of your anger bleeding into raw, desperate want.

“You’re disgusting,” you said — but your voice wobbled. Trembled.

His smirk sharpened.

“You want disgusting, sweetheart?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping low, gravelly, dangerous. “I’ll show you disgusting. I’ll have you makin’ sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Have you crying on my cock, beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to hold onto some shred of dignity — but your body had already decided.

You were burning. Frustrated.

So damn needy it hurt.

And Toji — he was right fucking there.

Arrogant and filthy and perfect.

You licked your dry lips, fists clenching at your sides.

“I’m not begging,” you muttered — trying and failing to sound strong.

Toji’s grin widened into something positively sinful.

“Not yet, you’re not.”

He patted his thigh again — slow, taunting. “Now. Be a good girl and get over here. Before I make you.”

You glared at him for a second longer — daring him to back down — but Toji just smirked, the arrogant bastard, and patted his thigh again.

Fine.

If he wanted to play?

You could play.

Jaw set, you crossed the room in a few stiff steps and planted yourself right on his thigh — hands braced on his shoulders, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his sweats.

For a moment, you felt smug — victorious even — but then—

Toji’s hands landed on your waist, big and heavy, fingers flexing lightly against your sides.

And he didn’t grab you.

Didn’t drag you down and grind you where you wanted.

No — he just let them sit there.

Warm. Teasing.

Promising.

You tried to shift your hips, chasing friction — and that’s when he bounced his thigh once, slow and deliberate.

The jolt ran through you like a live wire.

You gasped — clutched at his shoulders — and he laughed.

“Ohhhh,” he cooed, voice dripping with mockery. “There she is, theres my needy girl.”

You scowled, but it melted into a breathless sound when he bounced his thigh again, just slightly, making you rub against him.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dropping low and mean. “Use it.

You wanted this so bad, right?

Your cheeks burned.

You couldn’t believe this — couldn’t believe you were actually — actually—

But your clit throbbed insistently between your thighs, the frustration and humiliation and desperation all bleeding together until you were moving — slow little rocks of your hips, dragging yourself along the hard muscle of his thigh.

Toji leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head again like he didn’t have a damn care in the world — like he wasn’t sitting there letting you humiliate yourself on him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he drawled lazily, watching you.

“Look at you. So desperate you’re ridin’ my fuckin’ thigh like some lil’ bitch in heat.”

You whimpered — hated yourself for it — hated the way it made him chuckle, deep and low in his chest.

His hands slid up — finally — trailing slow and lazy under the hem of your shirt, skimming your waist, teasing along the curve of your tits without really touching where you wanted him to.

You ground down harder, chasing the friction, dizzy with need.

“Toji~” the broken whine leaving your throat, a beg. A need for something more.

“Nuh-uh,” Toji tutted, voice smug. “Not gonna help you, sweetheart. You wanna cum? Gotta work for it.”

He bounced his thigh a little harder — just once — and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders tighter for balance.

“Yeahhh,” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “That’s it. Use me, baby. Grind that pretty lil’ pussy on my thigh like you fuckin’ mean it.” You were beyond embarrassed now — little gasps and whines spilling from your lips as you rode him harder, chasing the sharp little sparks of pleasure building in your gut.

“Feelin’ good, huh?” Toji teased, voice thick with amusement. “Bet you’re so fuckin’ wet. Bet I could slide my fingers right in without even tryin’.”The thought made you moan brokenly — hips stuttering — and Toji’s grin widened like he could feel you getting closer.

“Come on,” he coaxed — voice low and rough and cruel. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how pathetic you are. Show me how bad you needed it.” It was too much — the filthy words, the heat of him under you, the cruel bounce of his thigh grinding against your clit just right—

You cried out, breaking apart with a full-body shudder, clutching him desperately as you came — hips jerking against his thigh in messy, helpless little rolls.

Toji laughed — laughed — one hand finally smoothing down your back as you trembled and gasped against him. The feeling soothing you as rode out your high, grounding you to the presence of the man beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmured mockingly, patting your ass like he was proud. “Good girl.”

You were still catching your breath, slumped against him, when you felt it —

the heavy, deliberate grip of Toji’s hands sliding down to your hips. The sensation buzzing against your already prickled skin, waves of pleasure still flowing through you from that much needed orgasm. The tension inside of you now nothing but a distant memory, now replaced with something needier

“Aw, poor thing,” he murmured, voice dark with mock sympathy. “Thought that was enough for you?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before he hauled you up — manhandling you like you weighed nothing — turning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the comforter, your mind slow and syrupy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt drunk — high — boneless and pliant under his rough touch.

“Still so fuckin’ needy,” Toji rasped behind you, thumbs hooking into your shorts and yanking them down your thighs in one swift, ruthless motion.

The cool air hit your slick folds and you whimpered — humiliated at how wet you still were, how badly you wanted him. Being so vulnerable in front of him despite moments ago using his thigh to get off.

He leaned over you, big and overwhelming, and you felt the thick press of him, heavy and hot against your bare ass. You swallow thickly, he was bigger than your toys, and you were sure he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers between your thighs — thick and calloused, slipping through your slick with an obscene wet sound.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” Toji grunted approvingly.

“Messy little thing. Bet I could slide right in.”

You whined — hips arching back into him without thinking — and Toji just chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, almost fondly.

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Wasting not a second more to give you what you wanted, what he wanted. He slides his joggers just far enough down to free his throbbing cock. His tip a pretty shade of pink, adorned with small pearls of pre.

You felt the blunt, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance, stretching you wider than any toy — and then he was pushing in, slow and devastating, splitting you open with a low, gravelly groan from his chest.

You gasped, frozen against the bed as you felt him sink into you so sinfully, it was so much better than your toys. His thick cock gliding into your welcoming walls. Mouth hanging open at the feeling of his pressing so deep inside you

“Better than your toys huh?” A chuckle sounds out from behind you and you curse your fucked out brain for speaking out loud. You werent lying however,

You gasped — tried to rock back against him — but Toji grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he hissed, sinking deeper. “Take it. Let me fuckin’ stretch you out.”

It was too much — the overwhelming stretch, the filthy, sticky heat between your thighs, the way your body just took him greedily, still trembling from your first orgasm.Toji bottomed out with a heavy, satisfied grunt — hips flush against your ass — and for a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the way you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and ragged.“You feel so good. Better than I imagined. Fuckin’ made for me, huh?”

Your fucked out brain couldn’t even process what he was saying, imagined? Had he thought about this too?

You nodded helplessly, whining when he gave a shallow thrust — hips grinding into you slow and deep, dragging the thick length of him against your fluttering walls.He fucked you lazily at first — deep, heavy strokes that made you sob into the mattress — placing all of his weight behind his merciless strokes, rocking into you slow and sharp. Relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

He was so deep you were sure you could feel him in your throat, you could feel every ridge, every vein, Like you were moulded to him.

But his patience didn’t last for long

Soon he was pounding into you, rough and relentless, your hips slapping against his with every brutal thrust.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji growled, watching the way your body shook under him.“Take it. Take it all.”

You babbled something incoherent — something desperate — but Toji just laughed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could murmur filth into your ear.

“What’s that, baby?” he teased, voice all syrupy condescension. “Can’t even talk, huh? Fucked you stupid already?”

You whined, blinking up at him, lips parted — brain mushy and overloaded.

“That’s alright,” Toji rasped, fucking you harder, crueler. “You don’t gotta think. Just gotta cum for me.”

And you did — with a wrecked cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

You felt it when he came — the hot pulse of it inside you, the low, guttural groan he let out against your shoulder — and then he collapsed over you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing — the sticky, filthy aftermath of it hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Toji nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there, voice rough and low:

“Y’still mad about the batteries, princess?”

[ebodebo]

—thinking about jason todd being a smug bastard... MDNI

Wayne Manor was swarmed with people. 

Once again, your parents had insisted on attending one of Bruce's charity galas, dragging you along.

You couldn't help but feel like an outsider in this world of opulence and pretense.

It was fun to dress up with thousand-dollar dresses and jewels, but, Christ, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of clinking glasses, making it stuffy even in the corner of the room where you stood.

They were nothing more than a group of pretentious assholes parading around and gloating about their wealth.

The very sight of them filled you with a profound sense of disdain for the whole event, a feeling that seemed to grow with each passing moment. 

You just thanked God Bruce always provided good booze.

"Cute dress," a deep voice sounded next to you.

You know immediately who it is.

"Was gonna wear red, but I didn't want you to get all jealous, Jason," you jest, your tone oozing with sarcasm.

"Is that right?" He smirked, handing you a glass of champagne. 

"Yeah. So I settled for blue," you shrugged, grasping the champagne.

"I think red suits you better," he hummed, sipping the alcohol. 

"I bet you do, Toddy," you chirp, eyes leering over the glass as you sip.

"You think you're so funny," he mutters, referring to the silly nickname you call him to his dismay. 

"I think I'm pretty hilarious," you smile, clearly amused with yourself.

"I can tell," he jibbed, taking another swig of the alcohol, eye peering over the rim to lock with yours.

You open your mouth to speak but are interrupted by a refined, high-pitched tone dripping with an air of superiority calling out for Jason in the dimly lit, crowded room. 

"Jay," a blonde girl quipped, making no effort to greet you, only batting her lashes at him. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Well, you know..." He trails off before mustering a fake smile. "Duty calls."

She lets out a horrendous giggle that has you laughing at the sheer absurdity before her eyes lock on you.

"And...you are?" Her tone is almost revolted, adding to the tension in the air. 

Just take the high road, you think to yourself. 

"I'm a friend," you plaster a ricus smile.

She purses her lips, her eyes betraying a mix of jealousy and curiosity as they dart between you and Jason.

You'll play nice tonight, sure. 

"Don't worry. I have a date of my own," you lightly smile, internally cringing, torn between maintaining your composure and the urge to flee.

"You do?" Jason asks with utter perplexity.

No.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

His eyes squint, you gulp.

"Well...where's the lucky guy?" Blondie poses, her arms crossing over her chest, her condescension palpable in her tone. 

Your eyes quickly scan the room before you hear a familiar voice walking behind you.

"There you are!" You beam, turning around, reaching for poor Dick's wrist, and pulling him next to you. 

"Dick?" She questions, her curiosity piqued.

"Dick?" Jason questions, his tone dripping with disgust.

"Not happy to see me?" Dick teases as you casually thread your arm through his.

You don't miss the way Jason's whole body tenses. 

"How...charming," Blondie quips hesitantly before she threads her arm through Jason's.

Jason doesn't miss how your whole body tenses, issuing a smug smirk at your bewilderment. 

Oh? He wanted to play dirty.

Well, two can play that game. 

"Isn't he just a charmer?" You chirp, your tone laced with unnoticed faulty admiration. "Dick's just so sweet. He just...swept me off my feet," you say, fighting back a cringe, but the sight of Blondie's scowl and Jason's stiff posture makes it all worth it. 

Dick shifts his eyes down to yours; you give him a quick wink, and he nods lightly, pulling you closer to his side.

He would do just about anything to get under Jason's skin. 

"She flatters me," Dick beams. "She's the real charmer."

You smile brightly, your eyes moving between Blondie's perplexed eyes and Jason's narrowed ones.

"Didn't think you two talked," Jason grumbled, his tone simultaneously skeptical and sour, his eyes never leaving Dick's face. 

"Yeah, I can't believe we haven't talked sooner." You smiled, your gaze shifting from Dick's bright eyes to Jason, noticing his knuckles turning white around his champagne glass. 

Got him.

"I can't believe I let you keep her to yourself, Jason. She's a great conversationalist," Dick chimes with a slight smirk at Jason's irritation.

Oh. Dick is having way too much fun. 

"I'm aware," Jason continently says, taking a sip of his alcohol. 

"Even better baker—what is it you made me the other day?" Dick questions, turning slightly to face you. 

Your eyes widen in surprise at his improvisation skills, your brain slightly scrambling before you find the words. 

Hell, if the whole superhero thing didn't work out, he could make a killing as an actor.

"Brownies," you spout after a moment.

"You made this idiot brownies?" Jasom suspires, clearly vexed. 

"I did," you smile, inwardly enjoying his apparent displeasure. 

Jason moves to speak but is quickly interrupted by Blondie.

"I'll have to have some shortbread cookies made for you, Jason," she says, smugness oozing as she pulls him closer to her side. 

Right like he would ever eat—

"I love shortbread," Jason says with a wide grin.

"You hate shortbread. You've always hated shortbread," you sputter out without much forethought. 

"Maybe I like them now," Jason shrugs, a sly smirk growing.

Your eyes narrow slightly before they widen a little in remembrance. "Oh, Dick," you tug on his arm to catch his attention. "I almost forgot you left your jacket at my apartment the other day," you prompt.

"Why was he at your apartment?" Jason instantly says, eyes staring daggers into Dick's.

"Just hanging out," Dick answers plainly, his lips quipping only slightly.

"Well, you two sure seem...close," Bondie quips, sipping champagne. 

"Yeah," Jason mutters through gritted teeth. "They do."

As you sip, your eyes leer over Jason's face over your glass of champagne.

His jaw is slightly clenched, and his eyes are narrowed.

Jason Todd, jealous?

What a sight.

"Speaking of apartments," Blondie breaks the silence, turning her head towards Jason. "Daddy just bought me a new one in SoHo. You should stop by," she says before she follows with a wink.

"Oh?" Jason hums lowly, clearly still a little irritated.

You let out a low scoff. "SoHo's kind of a detour, no?"

"It's not too far from here," Blondie says, somewhat defensively. "Plus, I wouldn't mind a long car ride with you," she brings her manicured finger up to run seductively across the pocket of Jason's tailored suit.

You tasted a slight coppery taste, only then realizing you had bit down so hard on your cheek you had drawn blood.

"If you two wanted to head out now, we wouldn't blame you," Dick remarks.

You whip your head around to face his, mouth agape in surprise.

"Would give us a chance to leave, too," Dick finishes, sending a wink your way.

"Together?" Jason poses, tilting his head to the side. 

"Of course," Dick says cooly. 

As you look back at Jason, a tiny flicker of amusement glints in your eyes. 

You can see the gears in his brain turning.

"That's a great idea, Dick," Blondie chimes. "Let's get a head start."

You breathed a shallow breath before swallowing hard, looking Jason straight in the eye.

"Jason," you murmur, voice almost pleading.

"Yeah," he simply says, barreling his way over to you and grabbing your forearm.

"Where are you two going?" Dick asks, a shit-eating grin growing on his face.

"Move, Dick," you say with much more venom than intended.

"Move it, Grayson," Jason spits simultaneously, pushing past his brother.

His arm is tight around your forearm, guiding you out of the room. 

Dick throws his arms up in defeat. "What the hell did I do?"

"Where are they going?" Blondie asks, noticeably irked. 

Dick turns to look at her, pursing his lips slightly, and sighs. 

"Just—do you wanna dance?" He begrudgingly extends his hand.

Blondie perks up almost immediately, grasping his hand and pulling him toward the dance floor.

"She's so gonna owe me," Dick mutters, referring to you, as he is being dragged to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, Jason had led you down a hallway into a nearby broom closet and locked the door behind him. 

"You know, my parents don't think you're a good influence," you say casually as Jason's lips graze your neck. 

"Is that so?" He murmurs against your skin while your fingers thread through his slicked-back hair, holding him in place.

You toy with your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding along. 

The feeling of his hot mouth on such a sensitive area feels tantalizing. 

"They think you're a very bad boy, Jason," you tease before whining as his hand wanders to fondle your ass over your dress. 

You feel him laugh against your skin as his hand skims up your back to grasp for your zipper, pulling it down. 

"What do they think I'm gonna do?" He asks, slipping the front of your dress down as you reach for his tie, pulling him to your lips.

"Make me a bad girl," you murmur against his skin. 

His lips quip in amusement before he pulls back and quickly slips his tie off. "You already are a bad girl, Baby."

You let out a small laugh as you reach out to pull his suit jacket off, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his white collared shirt underneath, before bringing your hand to rest over your heart dramatically. "Me? No. Never!"

He lets out a low laugh that has your stomach in knots as he slips off the collared shirt. 

"Don't think I didn't notice that little game you were playing," he mutters, slipping your dress down to the pool around your ankles.

"You're a little shit starter."

"I was simply evening my odds," you simply say, stepping over your dress and using your foot to push it to the side as Jason unzips his slacks. 

You tilt your head. "She your little girlfriend or something?"

He tilts his head up, mouth opening in amusement. "Come on. You take me for a cheater?" He simply asks, slipping his slacks off. 

"I take you for a lot of things," you begin, pulling him closer by his wrist to press your lips to his. "But a cheater isn't one of them."

He tips his head in appreciation before hungrily engulfing your lips with his. 

"Don't tell me your parents think Dickie would be better for you?" He murmurs in between breaths. 

Your fingers entangled in his hair yet again, pulling him impossibly closer. "Actually, yeah," you suspire. "Or Roy."

He pulls back slightly. "Harper?" Disgust is apparent in his tone.

"Hell, he's worse than me."

You let out a breathy laugh before it contorts to a breathy moan as Jason's pointer and middle fingers skim over your clothed cunt. 

"Besides, neither of them could tame this greedy pussy," he rumbles, fingers delicately moving, pressing up against your clit. "No one could."

You let out a whimper as his fingers move his ease in and out of you, your underwear adding another layer of stimulation. 

"Well, no one....except me," he dips his head to hover over your ear, lips barely brushing the skin. "Yeah?"

You don't respond.

You were too focused on his fingers moving in you and his warm breath fanning your ear. 

"Say it, Baby," he coos as his pointer and middle fingers tweak your clit. 

"Say I'm the only one who can tame this greedy pussy."

You grip his shoulders tight, shamelessly rocking yourself against his fingers to gain more friction.

Your breathy moans shoot directly into his ear as he quickens his movements. 

"Say it," he commands, low and gravelly. "Or I won't make you come."

"Okay—shit," you stutter, trying so hard to get the words out in between pants. "You're the only—one," you begin through gritted teeth. "Who can, can—tame this," his movements pick up at your cooperation. "Greedy pussy," you whine out, grinding your body down on his fingers. 

"What a good girl you are," he praises before, to your dismay, he pulls his fingers out entirely. Your eyes widen in anger, mouth contorting to reprimand him before he moves to slip his slacks and boxers off entirely, revealing his painfully hard erection.

"I'm gonna make you come, Baby. Don't worry," he assures, voice breathy. "But you're gonna come around me."

You release a shallow breath at his words.

Sure, your orgasm had dissipated when he pulled his fingers out, but, fuck, was it back now. 

He leans his head down to press a deep kiss to your lips before his hands move to grip the back of your thighs, easing you up and pushing you against a side wall. 

Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist as his fingers slip into your panties, pulling them to the side to make room for his cock. 

His eyes flick to yours, raising slightly—you sure?

You give him a quick nod before he slips himself into your slit, which was already so slick—ready for him. 

His head goes back at the contact, gripping your hips tighter to keep you in place.

You rock your hips, muttering a curse as he moves against your aching clit. 

"Was he really your date?" Jason props unexpectantly, moving his hands down to grip your ass as he plows into you much deeper. 

"Wha—Dick?" You exasperate, unsure of why his brother was now a topic. 

"Well, yeah," he breathes. "Unless you have some—some other date I don't know about," he pants through labored breaths. 

"I—why are we talking about this when you're inside me?" Your voice is already hoarse as you scramble to grip his neck tighter.

"Fuck. I like that," he groans before returning to the topic. "Just—tell me. Please," he pleads.

"No, Jason." You're surprised you found enough breath to speak. "I don't even talk to him like that," you say honestly.

A slight grin grows on his lips at the admission as his pace quickens.

"And Blondie?" You spit out.

"Blondie?" A cheeky smirk grows on his lips at the nickname before his face turns serious. "Hardly know her."

You give him a slight nod, clearly satisfied with his answer.

He leans his head down to lay in the crook of your neck, groaning and curling into your skin as he drills into you.

"Shit," you curse, starting to feel the build-up of tension in your lower stomach.

"I know, Baby. I know," He croaks into your neck. "Me too."

It only takes him a couple more thrusts for him to groan and spew curses, and you whine and moan as you both simultaneously come. 

After you both recuperate, he eases himself out of you, hissing, as he places you down gently, even helping you slip your dress back up and zipping it up, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder blade in the process.

He slips his boxers and slacks back on as you grab his collared shirt and slip it on him, delicately clasping each button. 

You snicker when you ease the zipper to his slacks up as he groans at your touch. 

"You are a bad girl," he jests, slipping his jacket and tie back on.

You let out a breathy laugh as his hands find your waist, pulling you toward him. He presses a sweet kiss to your temple. 

"Also," he begins his voice a low murmur against your skin. "I hate shortbread."  

You smile and rise onto your tiptoes, hovering near his ear. "I know," you whisper before pulling back, your eyes locked onto his.  

"I've always known."

a/n: lmaoo poor dick

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[cyberhughes]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ . 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 NSFW! 18+

possessivebf!jack x reader

warnings: college au | pinv | jack hughes is a PERVERT. | panty stealing | allusions to a physical fight | gaslighting/manipulation | allusions to blackmailing | male masturbation | dacryphillia | JACK WOULD NEVER DO ANY OF THIS THO HES MY SWEETIE PIE🫶IM JUST CRAZY FOR THIS STUFF

author’s note: guys i’m unleashing my inner freak w this one…have i been watching too much of mr joe goldberg?? maybe so but ykw who gaf!! also last little blurb thing before i post chapter two of too sweet i’m sorry for the wait 😭

NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT!

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who walks you to and from every class on campus. he’ll carry all your belongings, because he’s such a gentleman. he doesn’t care that he’s almost always late to every class of his, he just wants to make sure his girl gets where she needs to be safely.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who always has his hands on you. whether its a hand in the back pocket of your jeans as the two of you walk, or having a hand rested on your thigh while you eat lunch with your friends. no one noticing how his fingers trace higher and higher underneath the table.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who places sloppy kisses along your neck, fingers dancing along the hem of your panties. he just wants to make you feel good after your stressful week. “please pretty girl, let me help.” his breath hot against your ear as his hands dip past the waistband, fingers barely grazing your cunt as you nod, whimpering his name. originally you wanted to finish a paper that was due in a few days, but that would have to wait.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who feels dirty for thinking about how your fingers would look wrapped around his cock while you simply try to show him your new set of acrylics, that he paid for of course. you’ll ramble on about the drama your nail tech was telling you about her boyfriend, something about him not putting a ring on it? yet all that he could process right now what the thought of you clawing all over his back as he pounded into your tight heat.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who leaves surprises like chocolates and flowers in your dorm for you while you’re out. he’ll set everything out nicely on your bed, including a little hand written note about how much he loves you. he’ll glance at your laundry basket just under your bed as he’s about to leave, quickly stuffing a pair of your panties into his pocket before leaving.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who feigns innocence when you search your drawers, wondering how you could have possible lost so many pairs of undergarments. oh well, of course he’d take you to victoria’s secret to buy some more.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who pouts when you tell him you’re going out for lunch to catch up with your old friend, matt. why were you wearing such a short dress for something so casual? but of course he trusted you, it was matt he didn’t trust. he’d pull you close to him for a hug, breathing in the scent of your hair before tickling along your collarbones with kisses. “just play with me for a bit before you go.” he whispers, hands sliding up to your waist, dragging your dress up. and well, let’s just say you had to get a rain check for lunch.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who lingers in his car in front of the bar after dropping you off for a night out with your friends. maybe he’ll walk in, just wanting to take a peek that you’re safe. maybe, he’ll be faced with the sight of some random man placing a hand on the small of your back as you chatted. his sweet girl, so naive to the fact that he was currently hitting on you. and just maybe, he’d have to follow this guy out, following him down an alley way, needing to teach him a quick lesson about touching his girl.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who stares lovingly into your eyes when you express your concern as to why his knuckles are all bruised and covered with dried blood when he picks you up later that night. he’ll hush you, reaching his dirtied hand to cup your face and pull you in for a kiss. “was just an accident, baby.” he’ll whisper against your lips before kissing you again, with more passion this time. he didn’t need you to know what had went down in that alleyway, he just wanted happy thoughts for his girl.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who drives you back to your dorm. he’ll make sure you drink plenty of water, take your makeup off and help dress you into your pjs, even though you were fully capable of doing that yourself, but you were his princess. he’ll lay next to you while you fall asleep, tracing circles along your skin with one hand while he scrolled through his saved phots of you while he waits for your roommate to return as well, to be sure that you aren’t alone for the night.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who has the neckline of his tshirt tucked between his teeth, muffling his whimpers as he pumps his cock underneath his sheets. he’ll have his phone in his free hand—remember those pictures he was looking through? those pictures of you wearing nothing but your panties, posing for him and making sure he had something to look at while he was away. pictures he had sneaked while he was thrusting into you from behind, ass cheeks red from the way he groped you. pictures that he had taken up your skirt when you stood in front of him on the escalator—what? at least it was him and not some pervert, he was protecting you.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who pounds into you, cold hands groping over your breasts that bounced with each one of his thrusts. “thought you loved me, baby.” his voice voice barely above a whisper and he pouts, his movements getting harsher. tears welled in your eyes at the pleasure that coursed through your body, trying to form a proper sentence, “love you jacky! matt’s just…” he lands a particularly sharp thrust at the mention of that name and you moan. “ngh, just a friend!” you plead, reaching up to grip onto him like a koala, manicured nails digging into his skin. he knew you loved him, more than you could understand. he just wanted to see those pretty tears stream down your face, you were such a pretty crier.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack that had to interfere when he overheard your best friend telling you that jack wasn’t good for you, that she felt he was too controlling. of course, jack had to have a conversation with her. it wasn’t right that she was putting those silly thoughts into your head, just like how it wasn’t right that she cheated on her boyfriend over spring break—which he had video proof of. you didn’t need a friend who was such a hypocrite.

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who cradles you in his arms, stroking your hair and kissing away your tears as you cried about how your best friend dropped you out of nowhere, not even giving you an explanation. “s’not your fault baby…they don’t deserve you.”

⋆˚࿔ bf!jack who loves you so much and would do anything for you <3

masterlist 💞

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[sports-on-sundays]

McLaren hat / OP81

Summary: Oscar x girlfriend!reader - You never realised how much pressure would come from simply being a Formula 1 WAG, and start to go a little bonkers with all the PR.

Warnings: I don't remember if Abu Dhabi was hot this season (probably like wasn't at all) but just pretend it was okay?, stress, kind of low self image, anxiety, taking great lengths just to feel accepted

Requested?: No

"Hey Y/n- whoa." As soon as Oscar looks up from his phone at you, his eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up.

You watch as he looks you over, and immediately say, "Does it look alright?"

"Does it look alright?!" Oscar asks, standing up right away to be in front of you. "Y/n, you look gorgeous." He steps closer, taking your hands, looking at your tight, short black dress, leather boots, and (of course) the McLaren hat upon your head.

"You sure?"

"What do you mean, 'you sure?'?! Of course I'm sure!" he says with a little smile, his eyes returning back to your gaze. "But what made you decide to dress like a model today, anyway?"

You smile softly, glancing away, feeling comforted by his validation, before saying with a little shrug, "I don't know. Just felt like it." Most of the time, you just wear casual clothes: a McLaren shirt and hat, white jeans, and maybe sunglasses. So you can get how Oscar would be so shocked. You suppose you just weren't expecting this much of a reaction.

He brushes your cheek, saying, "You did your makeup differently, too, didn't you?"

"Yeah... is it too much?"

"Not at all. It's bold, but I like it."

You nod with a little relieved sigh. "You sure?"

He nods confidently. "Positive."

"Oh, good," another little smile creeps up on your face. "That's good to hear. Well, I guess I should leave you to your duties now, Oscar. See you later!" you begin to turn around to leave, but he suddenly grabs your hand to pull you back.

He gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and mutters, "Have fun, beautiful," before letting go of your hand again and letting you walk off.

"Oh! Oscar! Don't you think I would look pretty in this...?" you ask excitedly, tugging his hand, holding up a top on a clothes hanger. It's been two hours already of you dragging Oscar from store to store, buying and trying on clothes, simply because you wanted to apparently 'get more nice clothes to wear to F1 races,' and Oscar hasn't had the heart yet to suggest finishing up.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I think you would..." he says, a bit distant, before snapping back into it and saying, "But red's not really your color. Not that you don't look good in it. You look good in everything you wear. I'm just saying-"

"No, no, I get it... I just remember Alex wearing something like this..."

"Alex?" Oscar asks, confused. "Alex who?"

"Oh, you know. Alexandra," when he just proceeds to look even more confused, you add, "Charles's girlfriend?"

"Oh..." Oscar nods as he realizes who you're even talking about, and shrugs, before saying after a few seconds, a bit confused, "Well, of course she'd be wearing red. She's Ferrari."

You crinkle your nose. "Do you really expect me to wear bright orange, Oscar?"

He snorts and says, "No. All I'm saying is that maybe she just wears red for Ferrari. I don't know, I'm not paying attention to her. I only pay attention to you, and though I think you look beautiful in red or not, either way, all I'm saying is that it's just not your color. Besides, you told me to be honest at the beginning of all this. I'm just trying to do what you want me to do. But in then end, I don't really care what you wear; you look amazing either way."

You frown, and suddenly groan, "I wish I looked good in red!"

Oscar smiles, still a bit confused at this complaint. "Why?" he asks earnestly.

You shrug, glancing back down at the shirt. "I dunno. Because Alex looks so good in red."

Oscar cocks his head a bit, apparently still not really understanding. "Who cares what Alexandra looks good in? Because I certainly don't."

You sigh, getting a bit exasperated. "I don't know! I guess I'm just trying to look pretty on the paddock, but I look sucky in all the lovely styles that everyone else always wears!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Oscar says, his hand immediately going to your shoulder. "First of all, you never, ever look sucky, no matter what you're wearing. Second of all, in my opinion, you're always the prettiest in the paddock, no matter who's there. And third of all, who says you have to wear the styles everybody else is wearing? I think your current style is perfectly lovely and fine and beautiful, but even if you do want to change it up, you can find your own. Or invent your own. You don't have to copy Alexandra, or whoever else."

But you only hear half of what he's really saying, and register nearly none of it, and the moment he stops talking, you hold up yet another red top (that honestly doesn't really look that different to Oscar), and say, "How about this one? It's a different shade," holding it up to yourself.

Realizing that this really isn't a battle he's going to win, Oscar just sighs, smiles, and nods, saying, "Actually, yeah. I like the fit would be good. And this color suits you a bit more, too." To him, it looks like the exact same color.

You grin, seeming much more pleased, "Oh, good! Can I go try it on?"

Oscar sigh a bit, smiling and shaking his head, murmuring, "M-hm, sounds good. Can't wait to see it on you, beautiful."

As you walk off to the changing room, Oscar thinks he hears you murmur something about how 'maybe you should just go more for Carmen's style.' Oscar's eyebrows just scrunch together at that, and as he sits down outside the changing rooms to wait for you to come show him, all he can think is, Maybe that's just the way girls are, and I really don't understand them after all.

The excitement of having some of the prettiest girls in the paddock complimenting your outfits is almost too much. The girls that you admire so much.

The ones that handle the fame and attention so well.

You feel like you're already doing better with all that stuff. Once you're convinced you look good, which usually takes at least a half hour of switching outfits, at least twenty reassurances from Oscar, and at least one outside person complimenting your appearance, you feel like a different person.

Like you could conquer the world!

Well, Oscar's not a very sensitive person, nor overly perceptive. It doesn't bother him that you seem to be a bit preoccupied. Not really. Sure, there are some times he wishes you were around when you're not, like you used to be, but he doesn't take it personally. He wants the best for you. And if the best of you is to distance yourself a bit in order to find yourself, or whatever you're doing, he trusts you. As long as you keep saying there's nothing wrong, and you're all good, he'll keep being the first person to believe it.

He just keeps sort of ignoring his intuition telling him that something is just off. Because you're not just growing. It's almost as if you're changing into a new person. Not the girl he asked out years ago. Not the girl he's fallen in love with. On the outside, on the paddock, in public, with all the cameras on you, you seem like the bubbly, friendly perfect type of girl with everything all right. You've never really been that type. Of course, you've always been happy, and to him, you're just perfect. But you've never been so camera hungry and extroverted like you seem to be now. You seem so confident in yourself, it almost seems fake. Though Oscar would never dare consider that thought anymore. It's just that in private, you seem to be the polar opposite of that: tired, quiet, let down. It's like the balanced girl he knew that was consistent nearly all the time has just switched to opposite extremes in different situations. And, well, Oscar has no idea why. He'd be lying if he were to say he wasn't concerned.

But he also can't see any way it'd be right to bring it up.

He just kind of misses the way it used to be. The way you used to be.

"Oscar!" his thoughts are suddenly interrupted by your voice and your footsteps entering the room. It's the early morning before he has to head to the paddock to begin the last race weekend of the season, and he's been laying in bed on his phone for a few minutes, waiting for you to get out of the hotel bathroom so he can have a quick shower.

"Yes?" Oscar asks, setting his phone down as you enter the room. You enter the room to show him your clothes, feeling slightly nervous, and unsure, like countless times before.

You twirl in your outfit, which consists of a white strapless top, dress pants, and black high heels. "How do I look?"

This has been going on for months, now. Probably about half the season. And in that moment, it just kind of snaps in Oscar's brain, and without thinking, and without being supportive like he always is, he decides that today, he's going to be honest. "Well, you look gorgeous. As always, of course, Y/n." He sits up and slips off the bed, before continuing practically, "But how thick are those pants? It's supposed to be killer hot today, and I'd hate for you to cook in those. I mean, they do make you look killer hot. They do look nice. And the high heels are lovely, but you always talk about how much your feet hurt after wearing those. Especially out on the paddock? And," he adds, reaching you, so he's nice and close to you, before picking up his McLaren cap off the hotel nightstand and sticking it on your head, "When did you stop wearing this hat, hm? I always thought you looked adorable in it."

You stare at each other for a few seconds, as if neither of you were expecting all that to come out of Oscar's mouth.

But what happens next is about the last thing Oscar would expect.

You take the hat off your head, throw it at his feet, turn on your heel, and walk straight out of that hotel room.

It all happens so fast, Oscar doesn't even have a moment to register what just happened and call you back before the door shuts behind you.

Ten unread messages from Oscar, and you don't even know why you're so mad, but the last thing you want to do right now is see him.

The first thing you want to do is think through it. Convince yourself he's wrong, and you're right.

He wants me to be a certain way for some reason, and it bothers him that I'm becoming who I want to be? So he just likes an ordinary girl with ordinary looks and ordinary fashion and an ordinary personality?

The truth is, you have no idea why he'd want that more than what you're trying to be.

Maybe he's just controlling? He just wants control over what you wear and how you act? But for the years you've dated him, he's never displayed qualities like those.

Then what is it? your brain screams, and for some reason, tears begin to fill your eyes.

And that's when a whisper of a thought dares to say, Doesn't Oscar want the best for you?

Is doing all this really the best for you?

But all the PR and popularity with fans it's brought you... it's so... validating.

But also so exhausting.

And when you come home at the end of the day, don't you want nothing more than to just take that mask off and destroy it?

You know how fake it is. It's like you work every day to make your mask become your face, but that will never happen, and that's painful.

You were happier before, but your outward 'success' was, like, close to nothing.

Do you really want this?

Can you even give up now?

With all the validation from the fans and media?

Maybe Oscar was a bit much today in the hotel. He was. But maybe he had a point, too...

It's like you can't stop. You keep it up for the rest of the weekend, even to Oscar, now, pretending everything is okay, and it's too much.

But you can't stop.

At the end of the weekend, though, after it's all said and done and you've had enough and all you want is to go to sleep and let your dreams sweep you away, everything in you wants to break down.

You need to be alone.

You need to be alone so you can finally be real.

And, of course, when you walk into the hotel room, there Oscar is, sitting by the window.

Just looking out of it.

"What are you doing?" you demand in slight confusion.

You see him look at you in the reflection of the glass. He doesn't even turn around.

Is this all I am now? Merely a reflection in the glass of the person I was to him?

"Looking out the window, and you?"

"That's all?"

He nods, before finally glancing back at you. Showing you his real, handsome face.

It's late, so late.

He just won his driver's championship, and all you want to do is fall apart.

Why isn't he more happy?

Probably just tired.

And here you are, with your nerve, saying, "Oscar, would you mind leaving?"

You see his eyes flash in confusion in the glass. Fear, even, maybe for just a second. He stands up and faces you, his hands going to your shoulders. "Leaving?"

"Just for... a bit."

"Why?" he demands.

"I need some alone time."

He stares, his eyes softening further, before murmuring, "Since when have you ever asked me for that? How many times have we been alone together?"

"Aren't I allowed some privacy, Oscar?"

"Isn't your whole life privacy, by now, Y/n?" It's not an accusation. It's a desperate question, that you have no answer to.

Because you don't want to say yes, but you can't say no. "Please, Osc..." you murmur, trying to keep it together. "I need this time."

"Darling..." he whispers, like a silent prayer.

Your stomach lurches. Why is he calling me that?

Doesn't he only talk like that when he needs me?

"Oscar, listen..."

"Please..." he whispers. "Let it go. At least for me. Don't you see this isn't good for you?"

"Oscar, I-" your voice cracks.

He sighs. "We don't have to talk. We don't have to lay together, or sit together, or be next to each other. We could be on completely opposite sides of the room as each other." He gulps, before adding, "Just let us be alone together. Like we used to always be, when it hurt, and we needed alone time, but we knew we'd both always be there when the other needed it. It's starting to feel so lonely out here without you, darling..." he stroke your cheek gently.

You gulp, fighting back tears.

"Take off those shoes, go put on your pajamas. Just relax, beautiful. Let your cover fall. I don't ever want to forget the you you are without it."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Never."

"Then why-"

"Because I'd rather you cry if you need to than hold it in and let it rot the inside of you, love."

Love.

"That's the first time you've ever called me that..." you murmur as you slowly lean against the bed to slip off your shoes.

He smiles softly, which surprises you.

You quickly slip on pajamas, before crawling into bed, and murmuring, despite yourself, "Can you come over?"

And in seconds, Oscar's crawling into bed next to you, tucking the two of you in.

"Hold me."

"It's my pleasure," he responds softly, gently pulling you into his chest.

You lay there like that for a while, before whispering, your voice so weak, "Oh, God, Oscar... I'm so, so tired."

"I know you are, darling. I know." He kisses the tops of your head.

Your voice cracks a bit, and this time, you let the tear fall. "I just... I just felt like maybe I should've... been more like them. I'll admit it, I got jealous."

Oscar strokes your hair.

You swallow. More tears fall. "I just guess I felt like I wasn't good enough, but they all were."

"Good enough for what?"

You stare, the question lingering like a germ in the air. "For the media. For the fans. For every single person watching me every single race weekend."

He kisses your nose. "Pressure got to you. Did you ever feel like you weren't good enough for yourself?"

You swallow, shrugging. Nod a bit.

He sighs softly, nodding. Takes your hand and begins whispering, "I want you to know. You're worthy of every single kiss, every single hug, every single sigh, every single tear. You're worthy of every single star in the sky, every single drop in the ocean. You're worthy of laughter and sunshine and so, so much love. You're worthy of..." Oscar trails off, suddenly feeling an unexpected wave of emotion hit himself, before he gains his grip once more again and continues with, in merely a soft whisper, "You're worthy of all the joy and goodness in with world. And you'd know that if you knew how much joy and goodness you project into the world, without even trying, without even thinking about it." He swallows to keep his voice from cracking, and finishes with, "Please know, no matter what happens, or whatever anyone says, I'll always love you for who you are. I'll always be here to be your home. I want you for everything you are, and nothing that you feel you've ought to be. Because to me, you're perfect just the way you are. That is the kind of worth you have, and I wish you could see that, too."

The moment the last beautiful whisper of a word exits his mouth, you break down, fall into him, and cry. And he whispers about wiping away every single one of your tears, because you deserve none of the pain you're going through.

The fact that you've done all this, and brought it on yourself, and hurt him, and he stills says this.

Once your tears have subsided, Oscar smiles a bit, looking into your eyes like you're the most beautiful sunrise, or sparkling dew fresh in the morning, or the glimmer of the sun on the ocean, or any other beautiful thing that could fascinate even the coldest of people. And he whispers, wiping away the last of your stray tears, "Dress for no one but yourself, love. Be who you are. Because whatever you want to wear, you'll stun me. And I love you for exactly the person you are, nt the person you feel you ought to be. Whether you're in an evening gown with the most beautifully done makeup, or in your pajamas with tangled up hair, to me, you'll always, no matter what, be the most gorgeous, amazing, beautiful, perfect woman I have ever set my eyes upon."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Oscar, you..." You're utterly speechless.

He holds you close, and for the first time in months, you feel a certain peace envelop you.

You feel like you're home again.

Maybe all you needed was a good cry and the most perfect boyfriend any girl could ask for.

As your exhausted body gives itself away to slumber you hear Oscar murmur after gently kissing your scalp, "Can't wait to see you in my McLaren hat again, darling."

And you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

[deonsx]

Second Request U can egnore! Rin's gi¹rlfriend loves to dress him and brags about the beauty of her boyfriend, she usually go shop for him (with his money ofc) and forget to buy herself anything the point that his clothes is more than her's! Nprp cuz rinnie will buy for her instead and make her wear his clothes🙂‍↔️💞

hiiii I hope it turns out the way you want, thank you for adding imagination to me.

Rin’s girlfriend loves dressing him up. It’s her favorite pastime, though Rin himself finds it mildly embarrassing. One Saturday, she drags him to a clothing store under the guise of “just browsing.” Of course, Rin knows what’s coming but goes along with it, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his usual stoic expression in place

After a couple of hours of her making him try on countless outfits, she holds up a sleek jacket and says “This would look amazing on you! Try it!”

Rin sighs but doesn’t resist, slipping it on while she beams. As he steps out of the fitting room, she gasps dramatically and says “See? You’re ridiculously good-looking! It’s almost unfair”

Rin, slightly flustered, mutters “You’re overreacting” But the faint blush on his cheeks gives him away. Later, Rin notices that while she’s piled his arms with clothes to buy, she hasn’t picked out a single thing for herself. When he points this out, she waves it off casually saying “I’m fine! I just love shopping for you”

The next day, Rin quietly goes shopping by himself and buys a few things for her, including a dress he’s sure she’ll like. When he gets home, he hands her the bag without much ceremony and says “You’re not allowed to forget yourself. Wear this tomorrow”

She’s surprised but grins brightly, teasing “Aw, you’re so thoughtful, Rinnie! But why do I feel like you just want me to stop wearing your hoodies all the time?”

Rin shrugs, barely reacting, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he replies “Maybe. Or maybe I think you’d look better in my clothes anyway” The following morning, she steps out in the dress Rin picked, only for him to grab one of his oversized hoodies and toss it over her head “Looks better now” he says simply, but his smirk betrays his satisfaction

Sweet Dynamic:

She loves bragging about how gorgeous Rin is to anyone who’ll listen, much to his annoyance “Did you see my boyfriend? Isn’t he ridiculously handsome?!”Rin, meanwhile, tries to pretend he doesn’t hear, though his ears turn red every time while she’s busy spoiling him

Rin quietly takes care of her in his own way—whether it’s making sure her favorite snacks are stocked or slipping a hoodie over her shoulders when she’s cold

Her wardrobe gradually fills up with Rin’s hoodies, jackets, and even a few T-shirts she steals from him. Rin doesn’t really mind—he thinks she looks better in his clothes anyway

When she gets carried away shopping for Rin, he eventually just picks out something for her, hands it to the cashier, and says “She’ll take this too”

When she teases him about how his wardrobe is ten times bigger than hers now, Rin deadpans “Your fault. You picked everything”

Enjoy!

[solxamber]

i love your writing style smmm so could i request headcanons for ace (or any other charas if youd like ^^) reacting to a fem reader who usually wears really baggy outfits to hide the fact that theyre a girl and just generally doesnt really care too much if she looks presentable, suddenly getting dragged away and all dolled up because vil or someone sees their potential or just hates seeing them all disheveled. Would be really funny to see reader wearing clothes that shouldnt suit their usual messy but wearing clothes catered to their right gender just somehow compliments them in every way (maybe a little like haruhi from ouran lol)

Ace, Deuce reacting to a Glow Up

a/n: added deuce cause i can't separate adeuce, sorry for the long wait, i hope you like it <3

Ace Trappola

Ace isn’t the type to pay attention to small details, but when he sees you walking into the cafeteria all dolled up, he practically chokes on his drink. He does an actual spit-take, earning glares from everyone around him.

“Wait, what the—THAT’S the prefect?! No way! Did Vil brainwash you or something?”

True to form, Ace masks his flustered reaction with relentless teasing.

“Whoa, are you trying to get someone’s attention or what? Who’s the lucky guy, huh?”

But deep down, his brain is screaming, Oh no. They’re way too cute. Abort mission.

He cannot stop staring. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s absolutely not. Every time you look up, you catch him gawking at you from across the room. When you call him out on it, he quickly looks away and mutters, “W-What? No, I wasn’t staring. You’re imagining things.”

Ace keeps slipping up and saying things he doesn’t mean to out loud.

“I mean, you look… uh, decent, I guess.”

Five minutes later: “Okay, fine, you look great, but don’t let it go to your head!”

If anyone else compliments you, Ace suddenly gets super competitive.

“Oh, sure, they look good, but it’s not like that big of a deal. I mean, I’ve seen them in worse.”

He’s secretly seething every time someone even glances your way, but he plays it off with his usual cocky attitude.

He also starts overcompensating. Ace starts trying to act cooler around you to match your new look, which inevitably backfires. He’ll lean casually against a wall, trip over his own feet, and then pretend it didn’t happen.

“Yeah, uh… totally meant to do that. Just testing the floor’s stability.”

Despite all the teasing, Ace can’t help but soften a bit. He starts doing little things, like carrying your books or offering to help you with classwork (even though he’s probably worse at it than you are).

“What? I’m just being nice. Don’t read into it, okay?”

If you thank him or genuinely compliment him in return, Ace loses all composure.

“Y-Yeah, well, don’t get used to it! I’m not your servant or anything!”

Later, when he’s with Deuce and Grim, he won’t stop bringing up how “weird” it is to see you like this.

“It’s not that I care or anything, but like… did you see them? Who knew they could clean up like that? Crazy, right?”

Deuce, who has caught on, just side-eyes him. “Dude, you’re obsessed.”

One day, while you’re back in your baggy clothes, Ace blurts out:

“You know, you looked good all dressed up, but you’re fine like this too… Not like I care or anything!”

His face turns bright red, and he immediately backtracks, leaving you laughing at his expense.

In the Long Term:

He continues teasing you, but it’s lighter and less frequent, like he’s trying to cover up how much he actually liked seeing this new side of you.

Eventually, Ace becomes oddly protective of you when Vil tries to drag you off for another makeover. “Hey, leave them alone! They’re fine the way they are!”

He’ll never outright admit it, but your glow-up has him reevaluating his feelings—and now he’s in even deeper than before.

Deuce Spade

Deuce sees you walk into the cafeteria, and his entire brain just shuts down. He stops mid-bite of his lunch, fork suspended in the air, staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

“...Is that… the prefect?” he whispers, nearly dropping his plate.

Deuce attempts to act normal, but he’s about as subtle as a brick through a window.

“Oh, hey! You, uh, look different. I mean, not in a bad way! Like, uh, good different! Wait, not that you didn’t look good before! I mean—uh…”

Cue him tripping over his own feet while trying to keep up with you.

He genuinely believes Vil might’ve forced you into this makeover.

“Are you okay? Did Vil threaten you or something? Blink twice if you need help!”

When you laugh and explain it was more or less voluntary, Deuce blushes furiously and mutters, “Oh. Well, um… you look really nice.”

When other students start complimenting you, Deuce doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he’s proud that everyone is noticing how amazing you are. On the other, he’s irrationally annoyed by how much attention you’re getting.

“Yeah, yeah, they look great, okay? You don’t have to keep saying it!”

If anyone gets too bold with their compliments or tries to flirt with you, Deuce is immediately stepping in.

“Hey, back off! They don’t need your input!”

You have to gently remind him that people are just being nice.

No matter how hard he tries, Deuce keeps sneaking glances at you. When you catch him, he looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“I wasn’t staring! I just… thought I saw something behind you!”

Deuce isn’t the smoothest when it comes to expressing his feelings, but he tries his best.

“You… you look amazing. Not that you didn’t before! But, uh, this is, like… wow. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

While Ace might tease you about your glow-up, Deuce’s first thought is whether or not you’re okay with all the attention.

"If you’re feeling uncomfortable or anything, just let me know, okay? I’ll tell everyone to back off.”

Deuce starts doing little things to make you smile, like grabbing extra napkins for you at lunch or awkwardly trying to help carry your things. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time.

Later that night, Deuce vents to Epel, pacing around the room.

“I mean, they’ve always been great, but now they look so… I don’t know! It’s distracting! What am I supposed to do, Epel?!”

Epel, munching on snacks, just rolls his eyes. “Wow, you’re hopeless.”

One day, when you’re back to your usual baggy clothes, Deuce finally works up the courage to say something genuine.

“You know, I thought you looked amazing all dressed up, but honestly? You don’t need all that. You’re already perfect the way you are.”

He says it so earnestly that you can’t help but smile, and his face immediately turns bright red. “I-I mean, uh, not perfect! I just—uh, never mind!”

In the Long Term:

Deuce continues to be your biggest supporter, quietly cheering you on from the sidelines while trying not to make his feelings too obvious.

He’s protective in the sweetest way, always ready to step in if Vil pushes you too hard or if anyone makes you uncomfortable.

Every once in a while, he’ll bring up how great you looked during your glow-up, but it’s always with a shy smile and a soft tone. It’s clear he liked it, but he also thinks you’re amazing just as you are.

Over time, Deuce starts to realize just how much he cares for you, and your glow-up only solidified what he was already feeling.

Masterlist

i didn't focus on the gender much but if that part is important let me know

[puckinghischier]

What do I have to do to get some filthy Nico thoughts this morning? Xoxo

not much, honestly

was thinking about how absolutely rabid he’d be after that canes game, all high on winning. but unfortunately for him, you’d be out of service for a few more days, mother nature having paid you a visit a couple of days ago. of course you’d help him out, giving him a nice, long, treat on your knees to reward him for the victory, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he could have all of you.

he’d be such a little menace about it too. snaking his arms around you while you’re in front of the mirror, doing your hair, letting them rest dangerously low on your waist. little smacks to your ass anytime you pass by him. waking you up in the morning by rutting his morning semi against your ass.

and when the two of you are out in public? god, he’s almost worse than when you’re at home. drinks with the guys turned into you being trapped in the booth, nico’s hand resting high on your thigh, fingers brushing you over your underwear. you knew wearing this dress was risky, especially with how he’s been the last couple days, but you figured since you would be out with the guys he’d be on his best behavior. but of course you were wrong. his long pinky makes long, drawn out circles on your barely covered clit, working you up continuously just to casually slide his hand away. only to do it all over again every ten minutes.

then, when you came to visit him at the rink for lunch, he was dragging you into a random corner, kissing you like he was trying to take all of the oxygen from your body. his heavy frame pinning you against the smooth wall of whatever deserted hallway you were in. he knew you were close to being his again, having his own tracker app on his phone for your cycle. which also means he knew you were in the stage where you were becoming increasingly more desperate and horny as the hours ticked by.

“nico…not here. please. you know we can’t. just another day or so,” you’d pant out, so close to just letting him have his way with you anyways. his response would be a hand coming up to cup over your sex, digging the palm of his hand into your clothed clit. “just think of everything you could’ve had already. all the fun you’ve missed out on, caused me to miss out on” he whispers gruffly in your ear, biting the sensitive skin there. “don’t you think i finally deserve my reward for having such a good game the other night?”

you let out a harsh gasp, the sight of your open mouth and perfect tongue poking out combined with your wild eyes nearly enough to make him start ripping clothes off right here, not a care in the world if anyone would see the two of you or not. he brings a hand up to pinch your bottom lip between his fingers, pulling the skin out. he has the urge to do something he never has before, which is letting a dribble of spit drop directly from his mouth into the small pocket created by your outstretched bottom lip.

he watches your pupils dilate in surprise, releasing your skin so it snaps back into place. he looks down at your throat, watching you swallow the saliva he just transferred to you. he smirks, knowing by the look on your face, and clench of your thighs, he’s almost got you.

you hear footsteps approaching the two of you, straightening up and pushing nico away from you only slightly, not wanting to get caught in a compromising position in his workplace. an equipment manager rounds the corner, looking up when he notices the two of you and waves.

“hey cap! got that new stick in you were wanting! on my way to go pick it up now, actually. meet me out on the ice?” he waves in greeting, cheery attitude showing he’s excited about the delivery.

“sure thing! see you out there in a few!” nico responds just as enthusiastically, a stark contrast from his demeanor mere seconds ago. you both watch the man retreat down the hallway, having given you a small wave of goodbye, which you returned.

“okay well…i’ll…uh…see you at home, yeah?” you clear your throat, hardly able to concentrate on the words you’re speaking.

“mhmm. see you in a bit,” he places a kiss to your forehead, backing away from your still stunned figure. “oh! and stop by the kitchen on your way out. grab a water, you seem a little…thirsty,” he smirks at you as he walks backwards, teasing you for just how quick you were to accept and swallow his spittle moments ago.

that night when he returned home, he couldn’t find you anywhere. you weren’t in the living room on the couch, in the small kitchen, in the bedroom. when he called out your name you emerged from the shared walk in closet, clad in his favorite lingerie set of yours.

“good news, neeks,” is all you managed to get out before he was stomping towards you, backing you against the floor-to-ceiling shelving of the closet. a few shoes dropped off the shelf at the force of his actions, but that was the least of your worries right now. you could fix them in the morning, considering the two of you never managed to leave the space the whole night, waking up on the carpeted floor to his soft snores, one of his suit jackets draped over your naked body as a makeshift blanket.

[hoshifighting]

       hoshi + playboy bunny

WARNINGS: +18, smut, halloween party both reader and hoshi are dressed as playboy bunny's, fingering, crying, penetrative sex, protected sex, all fours, riding, overstimulation, aftercare, mingyu give reader encouragement, crush!hoshi, squirting, he calls reader bunny.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“really playboy bunny? don’t you think this is too outdated?” you mutter, eyeing the little white pompom on your butt that sways every time you turn. you’re leaning forward at the mirror, tilting your head, lips pursed, wondering if this whole thing might just be too much. or maybe it’s not enough.

“y/n, every guy goes wild for this costume. it’s like... an unspoken rule.” mingyu’s sprawled across your bed, flicking through his phone, looking up just to roll his eyes. “especially if we’re talking about hoshi. dude practically loses his mind over anything with ears and a tail.”

you snort, shaking your head as you tug at the bodysuit, adjusting it for the hundredth time. “maybe he’ll just find it hilarious that i look like a bunny roadkill with ears sticking up like this.”

“nah, you look ridiculous in the best way.” he grins, propping himself up and giving you a once-over. “if you’re worried, i’ll lend you my jacket for the ride there. gotta protect my favorite attention magnet.”

that earns him a middle finger as you step back, but secretly, the idea of having mingyu’s huge jacket draped over you makes you feel a little more… armored. it’s one thing to strut around like this in the mirror, but another entirely when you’re gonna be walking into a party full of his friends, all of whom you know aren’t above throwing a snarky comment or two.

the cab ride to the party is a whole other level of weird. mingyu’s jacket hangs heavy on you, smelling like his cologne, like he’s smothering you in that woodsy scent that, admittedly, is kinda comforting. “feel like i’m cosplaying you,” you laugh, crossing your legs and watching his reflection as he watches you.

“yeah, yeah, just wait till we get there. you’re gonna be the highlight of the night,” he says, leaning back, eyes on you, like he’s planning something you don’t know about yet.

finally, you’re standing outside the house party, which is already buzzing loud enough you can feel the bass thumping up through the driveway. you hesitate for a sec, knowing the second you step inside, that jacket’s coming off. mingyu nudges you with an elbow, grinning.

it’s like a reveal, honestly. the minute you slip out of his jacket, it’s a ripple effect—heads turning, eyes widening, and then, just for a sec, silence falls across the group near the door. like the scene pauses for just one breath, and then someone’s like, “oh damn, y/n really came out tonight.”

mingyu just rolls his eyes and puts a hand on your shoulder, a little too casual, like he’s trying to ground you. “get your eyes off my friend, you creeps,” he laughs, but there’s a glint of pride there too, like he’s proud he dragged you out of your comfort zone.

and that’s when you see him—hoshi. he’s across the room, talking to some guy, laughing, and it takes you a second to realize he’s wearing…

bunny ears too.

only hoshi would have the audacity to go full playboy bunny, with the bow tie and all, shirtless, and he’s grinning, completely unbothered, his gaze wandering until he finally, finally spots you.

his grin freezes, and there’s a split second where you see his eyes drag down from your ears to your bodysuit, to the pompom swaying on your butt, and then back up to meet your eyes. and the look he gives you? god, it’s something straight out of a bad rom-com. he’s laughing, clearly in disbelief, mouthing something like “no way,” shaking his head. but then he just goes, “y/n? really?” crossing the room, and the grin on his face makes you feel like maybe you’ve outdone yourself.

“don’t laugh!” you say, smirking, and crossing your arms, even though the movement makes your boobs practically spill out of the bodysuit.

there’s no denying hoshi’s gaze keeps wandering, landing just below your face, like he’s trying not to be obvious about it and failing spectacularly.

his eyes are practically sparkling, and he’s already pulling you in, wrapping his arms around you in that way only he does, with that ridiculous amount of warmth and ease.

“you look insane!” he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek as he plants a quick kiss there, his bare chest pressing against you. you barely have a moment to react before mingyu’s strolling up behind him, still holding that jacket he promised, but instead of handing it to you, he pauses, raises a brow, and gives hoshi a smirk. then, without missing a beat, he does the oldest, dirtiest gesture in the book—index finger slipping through a circle he makes with his other hand, his eyes meeting yours with this knowing, wicked look. and god, you can feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks.

hoshi chuckles, and he glances back at mingyu, he catches it, and his eyes go wide, cheeks flushing in that cute, bashful way that’s so him. “mingyu, dude, could you be more obvious?” he laughs.

“i mean, come on,” mingyu shrugs, crossing his arms and nodding at you. “you don’t get all dolled up like this for no reason, right? thought you might as well go all the way.”

you laugh, nudging hoshi’s shoulder as he pulls back slightly, still not quite letting go. “yeah, yeah, keep it up, mingyu, and i’ll start charging for every stare you throw my way.”

hoshi grins, leaning in closer, his voice dropping a little. “they might actually make some cash tonight,” he teases, nudging your hip playfully looking at his friends in the corner, his gaze still locked on yours, even as mingyu scoffs and steps back, giving you both a moment of space.

“oh, please, hoshi,” you mutter, trying to keep your equilibrium. “you’re staring just as much as they are, don’t even pretend.”

“can you blame me?” he says, eyes drifting down before they snap back up to yours. “i mean, i didn’t expect this level of… commitment,” he smirks, giving you an exaggerated once-over, his fingers toying with the little bit of fluff on your bunny ears. “you’re really going all in, huh?”

“well, it was either this or come as a pirate,” you reply, shrugging, though you’re hyper-aware of how close he is. “but i figured you’d like this more.”

he raises an eyebrow, leaning in even closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, “oh, i do. believe me. i mean, you’re practically a professional bunny now. we might have to get you a part-time gig at some club or something.”

“ha! you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you tease back, nudging him, but your voice has this slight waver that you can’t quite control, because he’s watching you with this intent, focused look, like he’s memorizing every little detail.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes suddenly serious, like he’s not even joking. he lets his gaze linger on you, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip just slightly, and it’s impossible to ignore the warmth blooming in your chest.

“are you gonna keep staring all night, or do i get to enjoy this party?” you finally say, raising an eyebrow, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

he grins, leaning back just slightly, though his hand finds your waist, steadying you as the crowd around you shifts. “oh, i’ll stop staring, sure—right after i get my dance,” he says, voice playful again, but his eyes are still so fixed on you. “come on, you owe me one for showing up looking like that.”

“oh, you think i owe you?” you laugh, folding your arms, but before you know it, hoshi’s pulling you toward the dance floor, his hand warm on your back, guiding you through the crowd. he’s animated, so full of energy, laughing and joking as he leads you, and there’s this playful tension between you, like he’s daring you to match his pace.

once you’re in the thick of it, surrounded by bodies moving and music thumping, he spins you around, catching you off guard as he pulls you closer, his hands landing on your hips. “so… what’s the story here?” he says, voice hardly audible over the music, but his eyes are sparkling with curiosity. “is this all for fun, or is there, i don’t know, something more going on?”

“hoshi, please,” you roll your eyes, though you’re grinning, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning into him. “you really think i’d go through all this trouble for just anyone?”

he laughs, clearly pleased with himself, and there’s this smug little tilt to his smile. “so… just for me, then?” he raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he’s enjoying this way too much, practically reveling in it.

“maybe,” you shrug, though you’re fully aware of how close his hands are to the edge of your bodysuit, and the way his thumbs trace small circles on your waist is definitely not helping your focus. “guess you’ll have to keep wondering.”

“oh, that’s cold, y/n...” he says, laughing.

the music’s pulsing, and after a couple more songs, you’re breathless, finally pulling back just a little to catch your breath. “so… you planning on letting me go any time soon?” you say, grinning up at him.

hoshi just shakes his head, his hand holding onto yours and tugging you back in. “you think i’m letting someone as hot as you walk around here alone?” he says, pouting a little, his gaze dipping over you one more time, like he can’t help himself. you laugh, rolling your eyes, but it doesn’t stop that little thrill in your chest, the way he looks at you.

it’s around then that you feel a light tap on your shoulder, and when you turn, chan’s there, his usual grin stretched wide. “hey, y/n,” he greets, eyes flicking over to hoshi before he gently nudges him aside with a laugh. hoshi just shakes his head, moving back a bit, arms crossed as he watches, but that little smile doesn’t leave his face.

“hey, chan,” you say, leaning against the wall, still feeling that buzzing energy from dancing with hoshi. chan’s energy is a little lighter, a little easier, and it’s somehow refreshing. he leans close, resting one arm on the wall beside you, talking animatedly about something that happened earlier with mingyu, his other hand occasionally landing on your shoulder or arm. his fingers linger a little longer every time, but it’s friendly enough—though maybe a bit more touchy than usual.

you catch hoshi’s gaze from across the room, watching as his eyes narrow, the subtle flick of his jaw as he takes a long sip from his drink, looking way too calm. he’s still keeping that sharp eye on chan, like he’s waiting for him to do something worth stepping in for.

chan’s mid-sentence when you turn, pointing out the fluffy pompom on the back of your outfit. “look, they even gave me the tail and everything,” you laugh, turning slightly so he can see. chan’s grin widens, and he laughs, reaching out and squeezing the pompom gently with a playful chuckle.

he’s still laughing, his fingers tapping the fluffy tail, but your eyes slide over to hoshi again, and this time, he’s not sipping his drink anymore—he just downs what’s left in his cup, sets it aside, and begins walking toward you both. chan’s laugh stumbles a little as he catches sight of hoshi, and that easy confidence slips for just a second.

“hey, chan,” hoshi says, his voice light, though there’s a weight to it, an edge under the friendly tone. “mind if i steal y/n for a bit?”

chan gives a little nod, scratching his neck, though you can tell he’s unsure. “yeah, sure,” he says, stepping back, the wide smile he’d had now just a polite curve.

hoshi moves in, fingers finding your wrist, and he leans in close, his breath brushing your ear. “i’ll be waiting for you in my room,” he murmurs. he lets go of your wrist and heads toward the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder once before disappearing up them, leaving you rooted in place for a second.

“uh, sorry, chan,” you say, laughing a little to ease the tension, though your mind’s definitely upstairs now. chan brushes it off with a casual smile, telling you to go, and you slip through the crowd, making your way to the kitchen, where mingyu’s already there, nursing a drink.

you pull him to the side, leaning close. “emergency!,” you whisper, eyes wide. “hoshi told me to meet him in his bedroom.”

mingyu’s eyes go wide, practically bugging out of his head as he glances between you and the stairs. “are you serious?” he almost chokes, grinning like he’s the one who just got invited. “finally! no more listening to you go on about hoshi’s insane body and that stupid smirk he does. you elbow him, but he’s just laughing, a little too pleased about it. “so… what are you still doing here?” he says, lifting a brow. “need me to hold your hand up the stairs?”

“shut up!” you hiss, feeling the nerves hit you full force now that you’re actually thinking about it. “it’s… it’s hoshi, okay? i don’t just wanna walk up there like i’m—i don’t know, desperate or something.”

he rolls his eyes, shaking his head like you’re missing something obvious. “and you’re not desperate?” he says, giving you a look. “come on, this is the guy you’ve been daydreaming about. just go up there and knock his socks off!”

you hesitate, chewing your lip, and mingyu sighs, reaching around the counter, grabbing a bottle of tequila. he twists the cap, holding it up. “one shot for courage?” he grins, tipping the bottle towards your lips, and you let him pour, feeling the burn slide down your throat as you gulp it down.

“better?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. he places his hands on your shoulders, giving you a small shake before he adjusts your bunny ears and fixes a few stray strands of hair.

you breathe out, nerves prickling along your skin, like you’re about to float right out of your body. “mingyu, if i faint, just drag me back down here, okay?” you half-joke, still clutching onto his arm.

he laughs, ruffling your hair again, “you’re not gonna faint. i’ll walk you to the first step though.” he gives you one last nudge, and you make it to the stairs, glancing back as he calls, “promise me you’re gonna leave this party still walking, yeah?”

you roll your eyes, giving him one last scolding look before climbing up. every step feels like a whole saga, until you’re finally at his door, just barely cracked open like it’s waiting for you. you press your fingers to the handle, steadying yourself before slipping inside and closing it gently behind you.

hoshi’s already sitting there on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide, hands braced behind him. his head’s tilted back, one brow raised with this faint smirk as he takes you in, the way your chest’s heaving just a bit too fast, cheeks already flushed. you try to calm your breathing, pressing your lips together to keep from biting them as you close the door clicking the door locked, fingers gripping the door handle as you stand there.

“c’mon, you don’t have to stand there looking all shy now,” he says, tapping his thigh, the grin on his face widening. “come here, bunny. this is what you came up here for, right?”

your heart races as you walk over, feeling every nerve in your body sparking up, and you place one knee beside him before swinging the other over so you’re straddling him, knees sinking into the bed on either side of his thighs. he settles his hands on your hips, pulling you down snug against him. you try to lean in, but he just leans back, grinning even wider.

“don’t be in such a rush,” he murmurs, his lips hovering just out of reach. “you’re already here, got all night.”

his fingers slide up your sides, over the curve of your waist, tracing every line slowly, he tilts his head, leaning closer to your neck, his breath brushing against your skin. you shiver, barely able to hold back a sigh as his lips graze your neck, soft, teasing.

“you know, i couldn’t even focus downstairs,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear. “every time i looked over, there you were… flaunting that little tail.” he chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling against your collarbone. “knew you’d come find me sooner or later.”

his hands trail down to your hips, squeezing just enough to make you feel it, but he still doesn’t kiss you, his mouth just brushing along your jaw, teasing. he’s watching every reaction, every twitch, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“you look too damn good,” he murmurs, hands sliding up to your waist again, thumbs brushing the fabric stretched tight. “been wanting to tell you that since you walked in.”

your hands slide over his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin, and you’re practically holding your breath, waiting for him to just close that last bit of space, to kiss you for real. but he just smirks, still dragging this out, his lips pressing another slow, hot kiss to your neck, then another, his hands tightening around you.

his fingers dip down, right between the base of your thighs, grazing that sensitive spot over your bodysuit. “oh, what’s this?” he hums, eyes glinting as his fingers press, right there, making you jump a little, gasping as he just laughs taunting. “nervous, bunny? you’ve been putting on quite the show tonight. kinda expected you to be ready for this.”

he brings his hand back up, dragging it slowly along the side of your thigh, back to where the tail rests. his fingers play with it, tugging gently, brushing against your skin through the fabric. “got you all dolled up like this, bouncing around with that little fluff. you know what that does to a guy?” he clicks his tongue, tilting his head and letting his mouth hover so close to yours that your lips practically ache, but just before you lean in, he pulls back, smirking when he sees you bite down on a whine.

“you want me to kiss you?” he teases, eyebrows quirking as his lips almost touch yours, only to pull back again. “look at you, bunny. i can feel you shaking, can practically see how bad you want it. all this fuss just to be up here in my lap, begging for it.” his eyes get that mischievous glint, watching you intently.

his hand drifts down again, his middle finger pressing between your thighs, applying just enough pressure through the thin fabric that you feel every inch of him pressing against you. you can’t hold back the soft whimper that escapes, your hips shifting as if you could get closer. “oh?” his voice is all smooth, leaning close, whispering in your ear as he chuckles. “think i feel something here. been this worked up for me all night, hm? tell me, bunny.”

he moves his hand just enough to pull the bodysuit aside, and his fingers brush against you, bare and wet, sensitive enough that the slightest touch makes your breath hitch. he pauses, lets out a soft groan, pulling back to look down at his fingers. “damn, you’re soaked.” he lifts his fingers to show you, glistening, and then lets them trail back down, tracing circles that make your legs tremble. “you weren’t kidding, were you? knew you wanted me bad, but this…” he laughs softly, his breath hot against your neck as he presses a kiss there. “never thought you’d be this needy.”

you try to stammer something back, but words feel impossible with the way his fingers keep moving, steady and slow, as if he’s luxuriating in every reaction. “c’mon, bunny,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping inside, pussy so wet and greedy, sucking it all in, finding you so easily that you can barely catch your breath. “give me something. tell me how long you’ve been wanting this.”

“h-hoshi…” you gasp, feeling your cheeks go even redder as he laughs, clearly pleased with himself.

“yeah?” he whispers, fingers pressing deeper, making your whole body respond, legs clenching around him. “don’t hold back. i’m right here.”

you let yourself go, your body responding to the way his fingers move, slick and ribbing, the wet sounds are almost embarrassing, echoing in the quiet of the room, but he’s not even trying to hide his laughter, each laugh dripping with that dark, horned-up energy that makes your stomach twist.

“you’re really getting into this, hm? riding my fingers like a little bunny in heat. thought you were shy?” his eyes are gleaming, and you can see that he’s practically losing his mind with lust, just as you are. the way your hips instinctively rock against his fingers is making it hard for him to think straight.

“hoshi-ah!—” you manage to gasp, your body feels electrified, like every nerve is lit up, and the pressure building inside you makes it hard to focus on anything else. he laughs, that low, throaty sound, clearly enjoying the way you’re unraveling in his hands.

“what? can’t handle it? not my fault you look so damn cute like this,” he teases. “there we go, that’s my girl. just keep riding me like that. you’ve got this.”

you grip his shoulders, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin as your eyes roll back, threatening to take you somewhere blissful and hazy. it’s like the world around you fades away, and all you can focus on is him—his fingers, still buried deep inside you, pushing you closer to that edge you desperately try to reach. the slick sounds of your pussy mix with his labored breaths, a soundtrack of pure sex echoing off the walls.

“wait,” he suddenly breathes out, his voice strained. your heart races as he shifts, trying to find a condom somewhere in the chaos that is his bedroom. even as he rummages around, his fingers stay just where they are, still pressed against you.

“hoshi…” you murmur, your voice shaky as you feel that lingering sensitivity from his touch. he glances up at you completely consumed by you.

“just a second,” he manages, and you can see how hard it is for him to keep his focus as he finally finds the little foil packet. he leans back, pulling you closer, and there’s a wicked smile playing on his lips. “herre, you do it. i wanna watch you.”

you nod, hands shaking as you reach for the condom, your fingers fumbling slightly with the package. he resumes his teasing fingers, moving them inside you, and your breath hitches.

“god, you feel incredible,” he murmurs, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he watches you, mesmerized by how easily you respond to him. your moans escape before you can hold them back, and you feel your cheeks flush even hotter.

“m’not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he warns, but his voice betrays him, coming out breathy as he gives a playful thrust of his fingers, coaxing more sounds from you.

he resumes the rhythm of his fingers, and the sensation almost makes you forget what you’re doing. “ah—hoshi!”

“feel good?” he asks, like he’s genuinely concerned for your pleasure.

“y-yeah,” you gasp, riding the waves he creates, trying to keep yourself steady as the pleasure builds again. “so good.”

hands are trembling as you reach for him, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his jeans, your breath hitching in your throat. “it’s… it’s kinda tight,” you admit, biting your lip, you can feel his excitement growing, and it only makes you even more nervous.

“don’t worry about it. just take your time. i’m right here,” he reassures, with that, you unbutton his jeans, sliding them down just enough to expose him, and your heart skips a beat as you lower his underwear, finally revealing him to you.

your hands tremble as you reach for him, the feeling of his fingers still lingering on your skin making it hard to focus. but you do your best, slipping the rubber over his length, feeling how hard he is, and the way he breathes out sharply when you finally make contact. it makes you swell with confidence.

“wow,” you breathe, your eyes widening as you take him inside the rubber. he looks so delicious, so ready for you.

“like what you see?” he teases, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as he lays back comfortably, pulling you to him. his hand intertwine with yours, guiding you as you slide the condom on him.

“yeah, i do.”

“good.”

“hoshi, please…” you plead, you want nothing more than to feel him inside you. “i need you.”

“patience, bunny,” he murmurs, teasing you with every thrust of his fingers. “you’ve got to show me how bad you want it. ride my fingers like you did before, and then we’ll see.”

you moan, the sound echoing in the room as you start to move your hips against his fingers, rocking back and forth, feeling that familiar tension building again. “i’m trying!” you whine. “but it feels so good… i don’t want to wait.”

“i get it. trust me, i want you too. just hold on a little longer,” he encourages, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you. you feel like you’re melting under his gaze.

the pace of his fingers increases, and you can feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, your breathing becoming more erratic as the sensations grow stronger. “i can’t… hoshi, i can’t hold back much longer,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

“let go for me, baby,” he breathes, pushing you further and further to that edge. “just let it all out, and then we can really have some fun. i want to feel you fall apart.”

the moment he feels you squelch around his fingers, a wicked grin spreads across hoshi's face. he uses his fingers to spread you wider, that little pompom bouncing slightly as he watches you melt. but before you can melt completely, he guides you down onto him, urging you to sink onto his waiting cock—all in. and just like that, you're sent spiraling to hell and back in the middle of your orgasm.

a scream escaping your lips as you bury your face into his chest. your cries ringing in his ears, a sweet melody.

he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, feeling the rapid thump of your heart against his chest. “you good?” he asks, his fingers slide down your back, gentle and soothing, trying to help you catch your breath as his cock twitches inside you. “you looked like you were about to explode.”

“i—i think i did,” you mumble, still a little dazed. the pompom on your costume sways with every quiver, a ridiculous but endearing sight that makes his grin widen. “hoshi, i—oh my god, it’s too much!” your voice comes out in a high-pitched whine when he grinds up.

you bury your face against him, seeking comfort in the warmth of his body, and the sound of his heartbeat thrumming against your cheek calms the storm inside you, if only just a little.

“i know it feels like a lot, but just wait. will be good, i promise. will ride me so good... my bunny..”

the thought makes u all horny again, and you can’t help but squirm as you process what he’s suggesting. “but… what if I can’t?” you stutter, glancing away shyly.

“you can, I promise,” he insists, his eyes softening as he leans closer, brushing his lips against your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, and I’ll make sure you feel every second of it. just trust me.” his words are a warm caress, soothing the lingering worries, and the way he says it makes you feel safe.

he raises your head just enough to capture your lips, and it’s like a combustion igniter between you. his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you, teasing you with a sluggish kiss that makes you melt. it’s rousing, and you find yourself leaning into him, wanting more, craving the heat radiating off his body.

with a speedy movement, his other hand spreads your ass, giving him a better grip as he pulls you closer. “let’s get you to ride me, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips, and the way he says it makes your heart race even faster. you can barely comprehend.

“hoshi, i—” but you can’t finish your thought; he’s already guiding you, and your body instinctively responds, you can’t help but gasp into the kiss, breaking it as you try to regain your composure.

“can’t believe how wet you are for me. it drives me insane.”

“you’re so much, hoshi,” you admit, you begin to move, lifting your hips and then sinking down slowly, feeling every inch of him stretching you, filling you up completely. you can’t help but moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“yes, just like that,” he urges, his hands squeezing your hips. “you’re doing amazing, baby. keep going.” the way he praises you pushes you to ride him harder, to take more of him.

“hoshi!” you gasp, feeling the inferno pool deep in your belly. you can’t believe how good it feels to finally be connected with him like this, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

he grunts, flipping you around and positioning you on all fours, your bunny tiara tumbling onto the sheets as you crawl onto the bed. the fabric beneath you is soft but the way he thrusts into you is anything but gentle.

“come on, y/n, keep that ass up for me,” he growls, his breath heavy as he digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place. “you wanna feel me deeper, right? i need to see you like this.”

you can merely hold yourself up as his thrusts grow stronger, sending your body forward with each powerful push. “hoshi, please,” you whimper, trying to maintain your balance as your body instinctively responds to him.

“please what?” he teases, his fingers tightening around your hips, his grip possessive. “are you begging for me? ‘cause if you don’t keep that ass up, i might just stop right here.” he emphasizes the last part with another hard thrust that makes you gasp, your body aching for more.

“i’m trying—fuck, fuck!” you manage to say, he’s watching you, waiting for you to comply, adds an edge of desperation to your movements.

“good girl,” he murmurs, he thrusts again, and you can feel him so deep inside you that it’s almost too much to bear. “you’re so fucking tight, y/n. it’s like you were made for me.”

you can’t help but push back against him, trying to find that perfect angle. “hoshi, please—don’t stop. i need more,” you plead.

“that’s what i like to hear,” he says. “you’re such a little minx, crawling around in that cute little outfit. it’s making it hard to think straight.” he shifts his angle slightly, hitting your g'spot with his bulbous cockhead.

the tears fill your eyes, your face twists, turning into full-blown sobs as he hits the spot again and again, you don't have more control of your body, hips slumping on bed.

“oh, baby,” hoshi coos, his voice softening as he notices. he pauses for a moment, his movements halting, but then he grips you by the hair hair roughly, pulling you back just enough to arch your back. “don’t cry. talk to me. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“i’m so close!” you cry, your voice cracking as you cling to the sheets, your body arching to meet his hips again.

he resumes thrusting into you, but this time it’s different—he pushes with more strength, less rhythm, like he’s trying to anchor you back to the moment. “focus on me,” he murmurs “feel every inch of me. let go of everything else.”

he smiles when he sees you react again, your eyes rolling when e lift your hips again, fucking his cock inside your swollen cunt until you spill around him. “you’re so fucking beautiful when you cry.. it makes me want to break you again and again.”

you clench tight around him, every nerve ending sparking to life, with each powerful thrust, hoshi drives you further into that delicious abyss. your body instinctively responds to him, tightening and fluttering around his length.

“oh fuck!— clench around me like that… just like that.”

you respond instinctively, clenching tighter, the action earning you a sharp intake of breath from him.

you’re clenching harder than ever, your mouth falling agape as the waves of pleasure crash over you like an unstoppable tide. hoshi can feel it; the way your body is tightening around him, squeezing him just right. he knows he’s close, too.

his fingers work their magic on your clit, massaging it furiously, until you gush around him, which he wished he could feel on his bare cock. “i can’t hold it!” you gasp, and as if hearing your plea, he speeds up, his fingers dancing over your sensitive clit.

“that’s it, y/n! let it out!”

a scream that echoes in the room even though the party's music bothered the whole time. you squirt, soaking the sheets and his body, hoshi couldn't hold after that. not here, not there. never. you looked so fucked out. because of... him?

“fuck, yes! just like that,” hoshi growls, his breath hitching as he feels you soak him, the slickness making your movements sloppier, until you fall completely on the bed.

he pulls out and heads to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. you hear the faint sounds of running water in the room.

hoshi watches you for a moment, your breathing slow and steady now, the remnants of bliss still evident on your face. he chuckles softly, shaking his head at how you’ve managed to turn his entire bed into a scene straight out of a movie.

“hey, y/n,” he says again, his voice a gentle nudge to bring you back to reality. “you still with me?”

you blink your eyes open, the world coming back into focus, and a lazy smile spreads across your lips.

“i think we need to do some cleaning.”

“cleaning?” you echo, glancing down at the damp sheets, realizing just how soaked they really are. your cheeks blush, as your mouth open. you don't even have the chance to say sorry before he's patting you.

“please, don't be embarassed! can you lift up a bit? i need to roll this off so we can get to the fresh stuff.”

“sure,” you mumble shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. as you raise your hips slightly, he deftly pulls the duvet from under you, rolling it away to expose the clean sheets beneath.

hoshi carefully grabs a towel, its soft texture feeling comforting against your skin. he starts by dabbing gently at your body, wiping away the remnants of sex, his touch both tender and teasing. “you know, you really went all out with that costume. it’s a shame to see it go,” he smirks, as he deftly removes the bodysuit, revealing your bare skin underneath.

“it was cute, right? but not super comfy,” you admit, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

“definitely cute, but a bit too tight for my liking,” he jokes, tossing the towel aside and reaching for one of his oversized shirts hanging on the back of the door. he holds it up with a grin, the fabric slightly wrinkled but still looking inviting. “how about this? it’s way more comfortable. you can borrow it for the night.”

you nod eagerly, slipping into the shirt as he helps you pull it over your head. it swallows you whole, the fabric falling down to your thighs and making you feel cozy. “ah, much better,” you sigh, relishing the softness.

hoshi watches you with a smilling like a fool. “you look adorable.” he teases, his eyes sparkling. “um...i’m going to let mingyu know you’re sleeping with me here tonight, alright? he’ll freak out if he thinks you’re wandering home alone at this hour.”

“oh... thank you soonyoungie” you agree, flopping back onto the bed, the soft sheets welcoming you. “but don’t take too long! i might fall asleep before you come back.”

“no way! can’t have that happen,” he says, slipping into a pair of comfortable sweatpants. he flashes you a quick wink before heading towards the door. “i’ll be back in a flash. just hold tight, alright?”

[kurokawaia]

thoughts on sasuke with pregnant reader (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (don't feel pressured if you don't want to write it Honey!! you know i love what you write either way 🫂)

Oh my goodness^^ ofc i'll share my thoughts nonnie!! you're too sweet omg 🫂🫂

CW/TW :: pregnancy, fem!reader, thelast!sasuke/postwar!sasuke, reader is a medical ninja

I can just imagine that on his travels that you are there with him. He is the one that asked you to come which surprised you because you'd never thought he would, until he did. During the time you were together, wondering outside the village, going to various places, you landed up pregnant.

This wasn't something to be disappointed of! No! In fact, Sasuke was the one who first brought up the topic, expressing his interest and you wanted to as well. The only problem was... how dangerous it would be for you now that you are having a child.

Sasuke and you managed to come to an agreement, that you'd go back to the village and he'd continue to travel around for two weeks before coming back for a week to spend time with you until you were further along, to which he'd stay three weeks and leave for only a couple days.

You were around 19 weeks pregnant and the both of you have been in the village for only a mere couple of hours after reporting in with the Hokage. He didn't even suspect a thing, you were wearing a coat which covered your body so he couldn't tell, only that you informed him that you wouldn't be travelling anymore due to some health issues.

But, this is were all the 'drama' starts. You're out getting some groceries because there is nothing in the house, nothing. You changed out from your ninja attire to something more comfortable, a fitted maxi dress which did, very obviously, show of your growing baby bump. Casually, you were just plopping in the stuff you and Sasuke needed into the smaller trolley's (sasuke isn't here bc naruto dragged him away to get some ramen, you said you're a strong independent woman who can shop herself (●'◡'●) )

This is when the stares start to begin. Because not only can they see your pregnant, but they can see the Uchiha Clan symbol sewn onto the back of your dress. The Uchiha symbol on your back wasn’t exactly subtle, and with your bump showing, it was pretty clear who you were and what was going on. You can feel the stares, you were only gone for what 7 months, that's not that long but you guessed that it was the fact that you left not pregnant and came back so.

It wasn’t every day they saw Sasuke Uchiha’s partner out and about anyways, since you work at the hospital AND being pregnant. That's a shocker. A group of older women passed by, their eyes lingering a little longer than usual. You didn’t blame them. Sasuke wasn’t exactly the type to be open about his personal life, and here you were, very obviously carrying his child. They probably never expected to see this side of him.

After a while, you headed to the checkout, noticing the stares hadn’t really stopped. You couldn’t help but think about how different life was now. Being with Sasuke always meant people were watching, but now, with a baby on the way, it felt even more intense. But you knew it is only because they never thought they'd ever see the day he'd settle down, and now he has!

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.