#long hair slicked back white t shirt come on

[sencrose]

— RARE, USED IN GREAT CONDITION!

gojo satoru x f!reader. tags: established relationship, idol au, squirting, cunnilingus, pet names (angel), gojo referring to your pussy as "she", inappropriate-ish use of muffler towels. wc ~ 1k. divider by @/adornedwithlight

“Isn’t this like…” you trail off, looking at the muffler towel splayed across the bed. You’ve never really gotten a good look at it, despite Satoru wearing it to all your shows. In your defense, it’s usually hung around his neck, or when he’s really excited, he’s whipping it around like a lasso.

It’s cute. Decorated with whimsical doodles in the background, a chibi drawing of your likeness in the center, along with your group logo in bubbly letters on either side of you.

“Like what?” Satoru asks.

There’s a lot of words floating through your head, the longer you look at it. It’s thin—impractical for what he’s proposing. Weird is another thought that shoots through your mind, but then again, it’s Satoru. He’s suggested stranger things.

“I don’t know… sacrilegious?” It leaves your mouth before you’ve really had the chance to let it ruminate and sit on your tongue. Frankly, the most unconventional word you could’ve landed on.

Satoru raises a brow with a boyish grin, his frame pushing closer against yours before cooing, “you tell me.”

It’s so easy for him to get you flustered, make you rub your legs together to quell the desire burning in your core, it’s almost infuriating.

“I mean, it’s worth a lot secondhand…” You’re not really thinking about what you’re saying, too distracted by Satoru—the smell of detergent that lingers on his shirt, the way snow white strands caress his face, the look of pure adoration in his eyes as he gently leads you onto the bed, the towel placed under you. No matter how long you’ve been together, you’re not sure you can ever get used to it.

“You think I’d sell this?” Satoru dramatically grabs his chest and pouts. “Oh how you hurt me, angel.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You pout back, looking off to the side.

Satoru simply smiles again before hooking his finger around your underwear before pulling.

“I know, it’s just cute to see you get embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you murmur back.

“Are you now?” Satoru presses against the seam of your legs, spreading them slowly as if he’s savoring the anticipation. Once he gets a good look at your pussy he licks his lips, nearly salivating at the sight. “Guess you’re right, she doesn’t seem that embarrassed to me.”

“You’re a freak, you know that?”

“And you love me.”

You can’t deny that. And you can’t deny the heat pooling in your core as his fingers tease your labia, already slick with arousal.

“This wet for me already?” he teases, finger drawing soft circles around your clit that earn a moan from you. “You sure you aren’t the freak?”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” With that, Satoru licks a long stripe against your pussy before swirling around your clit with his tongue. It’s maddening, starting off so aggressively. If anything, he’s the one shutting you up, your breathing hushed, the only sounds really escaping your lips being whiny moans.

“T-Toru, w-wait, it’s too much-”

He hears you. You know he hears you because he does the opposite of what you want him to do, his finger pressing into your wet hole, slipping in until he hooks onto your g-spot. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your cunt when you let out a loud whine.

Your grip on his hair only tightens as he continues, but he takes it in stride. By the way his tongue is moving you’re sure he’s taking it as a sign to go harder, licking and laving at your clit with frenzied fervor.

It’s too much to listen to. Lewd, wet squelches echoing throughout the room as Satoru eats you out like a man ravaging his last meal. There’s nothing delicate about it, just raw, unadulterated indulgence. All you can do is grip onto him harder, tighten your muscles for the climax to come.

You barely notice when he slips another finger in, pussy soaked from the mix of your arousal and his spit. It’s only when he starts bullying that spot that sounds like pure liquid sloshing around, only getting louder the longer he continues, that you notice.

“W-Wait, Satoru, something’s coming-”

“I know, let it all out for me angel,” he hums sweetly between strokes of his tongue, his fingers reaching an unrelenting pace as the coil in your stomach comes to an abrupt snap.

All you can let out is wail as you come undone, your orgasm full-bodied, pleasure rushing through every nerve and synapse until it frays out. Satoru doesn’t stop though, eating you out and fucking you through it till you’re in tears.

“S-Satoru please, wait-”

But he doesn’t. It’s like he has something to prove as his tongue flicks at your oversensitive clit and laps up your arousal like a dog led to a bowl of water. His fingers reach a steady rhythm again, pressing against that wet spot until you give him what he wants.

“You can give me another, I know you can,” he coos, and you’re not sure if it's directed towards you or your cunt. That tension rises and builds again before you’re crashing again with a moan, all your muscles taut as you gush around his fingers with an ironclad grip on his hair. Satoru enthusiastically laps up everything you give him—the remnants of your arousal on your inner thighs, the patch of liquid pooled underneath you, too much for the towel to absorb.

Your grip finally loosens around him, petting his head gently before running your hand through his hair, a silent act of affection.

When Satoru emerges from your legs, he looks just as fucked out as you, hair mussed and wet from all the liquids you unleashed onto him, face painted with a rosy blush. Satoru pulls the towel from underneath you, and it’s only then you realize just how drenched it is. When he holds it up, it’s dripping. Really, the towel was a moot point.

Satoru’s unphased by it all, wrapping it around his neck like he would at one of your concerts.

“Should I wear this to the next show?” he asks with a proud grin.

“Please don’t.”

[rosygaze]

desperately want to write an eddie fic based on style by taylor swift

[young-aleyska]

I've come to the conclusion that every Taylor Swift song can be declared EvaJacks coded if you try hard enough.

[campbyler]

are we gonna get a 'style' chapter? because will and mike in acswy are so heavily style coded (or maybe its just me being a swiftie)

i meannnnn i don’t think any of our current chapters are explicitly based off of style if that’s what you mean? however we have plenty of other taylor inspired chapters (squints at ch8) and inspiration tends to strike whenever and wherever it wants to so you never know! they are soooooo style coded tho i can’t agree more

[backtodecembertv]

i know exactly where this leads but i watch us go round and round each time!!!

[seresinhangmanjake]

Late Date

Summary: It’s your birthday and Tyler’s going to do some wrangling to make sure no tornado can ruin your day. Unfortunately, that also makes him and the Wranglers a bit late to your party. 

Notes/Warnings: Fluff. It’s not angsty at all, despite how the summary may sound. Inaccurate meteorology/tornado stuff. Slight jealousy. This is based on a lyrics request: “you’ve got long hair slicked back white t shirt and I’ve got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” It’s just meant to be kinda cute, and I did my best, so hopefully you guys like it. Comments make my entire world, so if you do like it, let me know :)

Words: 1650

Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

It happens often. You and Tyler are enjoying your time together when Disaster suddenly puts you in her path. A picnic in the park, a late-evening rodeo, a dinner date for him to meet your mother—all ruined. And yes, you believe Disaster does this intentionally. Disaster, in the form of a funnel of warm air and moisture, is as much in love with your boyfriend as you are, and she’s a jealous bitch, always calling him away when he’s in the throes of life with you. 

Luckily for Tyler, you’re not as jealous as his tornado. You’re not as greedy. When he leaves you to meet her, you let him go because he’s the town hero, and you don’t let your emotions get in the way of his job. After all, he does what he does to save the things he loves—this town, his family, you. And regardless of the time he spends with her, you know you’re his number one. 

Today, however, you could do without his job. The jealousy that you have rarely felt up to this point seeps through as he throws your favorite white t-shirt of his over his sculpted chest before buckling the belt wrapped around his jean-clad hips. He stomps one foot down into his boot and then the other before rifling through the dresser chest at the base of the bed.

“You have to do this on my birthday?” you ask, trying not to pout from your seated position on the mattress. The silk sleeve of your robe falls down your shoulder, exposing bare skin, and despite the chill, you don’t pull the garment back up your arm. Anything to keep him in this bed, you think, and for a moment, you you’re satisfied that it might be working. Tyler pauses on his hunt for a clean flannel as his eyes glue to your chest, your pebbled nipples just barely hidden by the rest of the smooth, thin material. 

You sit up on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, but it’s from your touch that Tyler finally blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Darlin’, wouldn’t you rather feel reassured that your evening tonight will go tornado-free? I’m just going to go with the guys, disrupt anything that’s already formed, and observe the conditions as best I can so we don’t get any coming our way when we’re supposed to be celebrating another year of your life.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he hits you with logic, but it’s made harder by the pout on his face. That is supposed to be your pout. He’s the one leaving you on your birthday—decent reason or not—not the other way around. 

“Fine,” you say.

Tyler grins from ear to ear. He leans in and captures your lips in a long kiss before pulling back and brushing your unkempt hair out of your face. “We’ll meet you at the bar, ok?”

Nodding, you say, “Yea,” and untangle your arms from his neck. He gives you one last kiss. 

“Happy Birthday, darlin’” glides to your ear in his smooth, low voice, and then he’s out the door. 

—

“He’ll be here,” your cousin tells you. You’ve been staring at the bar door for a half-hour, disappointed with each new blond cowboy who walks into the crowded space. “When has he ever let you down?”

You sigh. “I know. But why did the bitchy tornadoes have to run wild today of all days? He said they chased four between here and the next town over, and two of them put up a real fight,” you say, relaying the information of Tyler’s earlier texts. “Plus, it’s raining now. That’ll only make it more difficult for them to get back.”

The bartender offers you and your cousin the drinks she ordered. She winks at him and downs the entire glass in one gulp—which he seems to find very impressive—before nudging your glass closer to your folded hands atop the counter. 

“Well, the only thing to do is drink up,” she orders. “Might as well have fun while we wait.”

—

You’re two drinks in. Your cousin has knocked back four, and while she’s no lightweight, the effects show in the uptick of her flirtiness with the bartender. She’s agreed to wait around until his shift is over, which was quickly retracted when she remembered that it’s your birthday and the fun she is meant to be having is with you, not the hot guy who stopped charging her for drinks an hour ago. But you assuage her guilt, knowing you have no intention of hanging around a crowded bar until two in the morning unless your boyfriend is going to be with you, birthday or not. 

With the acceptance of your third drink, you hope to easier ignore the appreciative glances from the blond cowboys on the other side of the mass of dancers in the center of the room. You must be a sunny-haired, country boy’s type, but they aren’t your man, and to be honest, you’re surprised they’re daring enough to look so long. The town is small enough that you figured by now everyone knows you’re Tyler’s girl, but clearly, that’s not the case. Either that or they just don’t care. 

When you start to feel it—the slight high, the looser inhibitions—you decide the best course of action is to simply ignore them, and so you hop down from the stool and make your way to the dance floor to do exactly that, planting yourself in the middle of a group of like-minded women swaying their hips to the tune. Like that, you let yourself go, alcohol allowing you to surrender to the flow of the feminine voice coming through the speakers. Your mind drifts, your eyes close, and when you feel a hand on your waist, you think of Tyler. When hips grind against yours, you think of Tyler. When lips touch your neck, you think of Tyler. And when your eyes open, you see Tyler.

He steps into the bar with the Wranglers in tow, his soaked white t-shirt clinging to his torso that every woman—even those invested in men of their own—notices, his hands slicking back his damp locks. With a grin on his handsome face, he glances around the space in search of you, but when he finds you, that grin drops faster than a rock can hit the ground. 

It’s then that you realize the paws on your body are not his. The breath hitting behind your ear is that of a stranger. Tyler’s stomping his way over to you, but you don’t need him to release his building rage because you have plenty of your own. 

Flipping around, your palm meets the cheek of one of the knock-off Tylers. He yelps and rubs his face. His irises turn red, and he looks ready to give you a scolding or call you some sort of vile name, but his eyes widen at the shadow that suddenly looms over you and he shrinks where he stands. 

“Y-Your girlfriend?” he eeks out. 

It’s fascinating to see the demeanor shift. Tyler must have more of a reputation than you realized. You haven’t lived in town long—you moved in with him three weeks ago after a year of long-distance dating—but you’ve known for a while that he is well-loved and anyone who crosses him crosses the town. What you didn’t know was that the people’s devotion to their tornado-wrangling hero could incite such fear. And honestly, you’re a little impressed; a little turned on. 

Tilting your chin up, the back of your head lands against your boyfriend’s chest. His arm comes around your waist, hand flattening over your stomach. “You think?” he spits. 

When knock-off Tyler skitters back to the gaggle of knock-off Tylers, your Tyler turns you around to face him. With a cocked brow, he says, “Now, darlin’, what was that?”

You shrug. “Thought he was you.”

Tyler looks over your shoulder to the group of blonds. His eyes narrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve had a bit to drink,” you chuckle.

His mouth parts, an ahh sound leaving his throat as if to say, ‘That explains it.’ “Where’s your cousin?” His gaze follows yours to the familiar woman whose body is half thrown over the countertop, her lips connected to the guy whose neglect of other patrons is about to cause a riot. But you don’t care about a likely-to-be-fired bartender; you care that your boyfriend was absent for so much of your birthday.

“What took you so long?”

You’ve started to gently sway with the music again, this time taking the correct Tyler with you. Your hands clasp behind his neck as his link around your waist, pulling you in close. 

“Sorry, darlin’. It was rougher than we anticipated,” he says, and though you expected to be much more put out, you feel settled with that explanation. You’re just happy he’s with you now and not standing you up for a date with his unpredictable weather. “You look pretty,” he tells you as his palms slide down over the skirt that’s snuggly fitted around your hips. “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Bought it today.”

“For me?”

“For me.” You roll your eyes. “But I might have guessed you’d like it.”

He hums, gaze raking appreciate up your body to your mouth. “I do,” he says, then he presses his lips to yours. However, remembering the scarlet hue coating your lips, you quickly pull back. 

“Your whole mouth is going to be red if you keep kissing me.”

Tyler’s brow pinches. One hand’s fingers glide up your body and slip between the strands of your hair. “Good,” he says. “Then people will know we’re a matching set.”

[manjjiros]

TRICKED YOU!

ran haitani / rindou haitani / sanzu haruchiyo x gn!reader (separate)

cws: suggestive but fluffy, like actually kind of tooth rotting, little white lies, established relationship (ran), situationships (rindou, sanzu), discussions of drug usage (sanzu), bonten timeline, ask to tag

from the ASM: tricking the trio into getting some rest isn’t exactly easy. but the probability of getting it to work is not exactly zero, either.

over the loudspeaker: @sin-and-punishment

— RAN HAITANI.

“raaaan,” you whined into the receiver, rolling over in your sheets and letting them rustle against your phone.

you heard your poor boyfriend let out a breath on the other end of the line. “what’s the matter, angel? i’m a little tied up at the moment.”

you knew he was, obviously, or you wouldn’t be calling. you knew his schedule inside and out by now, when he had meetings, when he ran off on sudden jobs to handle important business you had no interest in knowing about.

it was always a little more fun to be able to pull him from some boring, dreadful meeting than when he was free to join you.

“come home,” you breathed, and you heard the way he hummed in the back of his throat.

“i can’t, come on. you know this. don’t make me feel bad.”

“but the bed’s cold, ran. aren’t you gonna come make it warm again?”

there was a brief pause and some speaking in the background. clearly he was in a meeting, which you had expected.

“warm up yourself, angel-“

“no, come home. i just want you.”

ran grunted into the phone, and you heard him pull the device from his ear and shout towards the voices in the background. it was muffled and broke up a bit; the reception in abandoned warehouses typically wasn’t the best.

“ran?”

“i’m here. just- stay put. ‘m coming. you gonna be good f’ me?”

“yeah.”

“fine. see you soon.” he hung up, and you smiled to yourself, successful in your endeavor.

you’d left the door open for him and left a set of sleep clothes at the edge of the bed for him. he hadn’t been sleeping, you knew that; the circles under his eyes and the way he forced himself out of bed in the mornings gave it away. something must have happened, or maybe something resurfaced — he hadn’t told you yet, but you could make an educated guess.

ran arrived at your place within the half hour, the heels of his slick shoes clicking along the floorboards as he made his way towards your room where you waited for him, cuddled up in your duvet with the lamp light casting everything in a warm yellow.

he nudged the door open with a huff, smiling briefly before pausing. “i have to admit, this isn’t what i was expecting.”

“what, don’t wanna just nap?”

“i thought you were calling for a hookup.”

“dirty mind! i never said that,” you giggled at his exasperated face before pulling back the covers to give him space. “come on, baby. you look exhausted. you’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“don’t say that shit, my eyes are fine.”

“because you steal my eye cream!” you pouted then, folding your arms at his pushback.

he grumbled at you but ultimately eyed up the empty space next to you in the bed, letting out a loud sigh.

“cant believe i left the meeting to come take a nap. what is this, high school? i used to do this shit as a kid. play hooky and sleep in weird places.” he yawned as he spoke, undressing his three-piece suit in exchange for the t-shirt and shorts you left out for him. you just nodded along and patted the space next to you for him to climb into.

he joined you, eventually, long limbs grabbing onto you to pull you in close and bury his face in your chest. you smiled as the scent of his cologne floated up around you, the smell of his hair gel right under your nose.

it felt like it was barely two minutes before your talkative boyfriend was knocked out against your chest, your fingers combing through his hair.

— RINDOU HAITANI.

to: annoying prick

me: come over.

annoying prick: how about a please?

me: come over Now. miss you.

annoying prick: i screenshotted that for evidence.

me: i hope you crash on your way here.

annoying prick: i didn’t say i was coming? smfh.

you rolled your eyes at your phone as you fussed with the string of his hoodie around your finger. rindou never listened when you invited him over, always giving you a hard time despite expecting you to bend to his will whenever he wanted to see you.

oftentimes things happened on his terms, not yours. which normally isn’t a problem, except for this one time when you wanted to fuck with him.

your finger hovered over the call button before you opted for another direction, opening up your camera and taking a quick photo of his hoodie string between your teeth, cute and suggestive and alluring. you made sure to get most of your upper body in the shot, laid back against your pillows.

me: [1 image]

me: come over? now?

annoying prick: is that my

annoying prick: cheap shot. stay there. don’t even think about touching.

you laughed at how quickly his tone changed, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. he was a grown man, sure, but he was rude and mean and often thought with his dick rather than his head.

you heard the revv of his bike engine before you saw it through his window, clicking your tongue when you spotted him without a helmet. you understood that he was some sort of criminal, but you kind of liked him, sort of, and didn’t actually want him to crash and die.

you watched him park the bike illegally in front of your place and hop off of it quickly, straightening out the front of his suit jacket as he walked up towards the door.

you heard him grumble when the door was locked, fucking around for the spare key before finally getting inside your home and beelining towards your room.

you broke into giggles as he shoved your door open and undid the front two buttons of his suit jacket, trying to clamber over your body on the bed. “tease, calling me home from bein’ busy just to fuck around, what are you-“

“aht,” you stopped him with a finger to his chest, shaking your head, “not what i invited you here for.”

he stared back at you, hesitating and hovering over your form. “excuse me?”

you chose that exact moment to whip out the puppy eyes, jutting out your bottom lip and laying back on your pillows, “my bed was cold, rin! just wanted you to come over and take a nap with me.”

he gawked at you before sitting up on his knees and running a hand through his hair. “are you being fucking serious?”

“yes.”

“you invited me over. to nap?”

“mhm. and now you’re here. so let’s take one.”

“what the-“

“please?” you cocked your head and tried the puppy eyes again, to which he made a face, but didn’t necessarily move away.

“i don’t have-“

“you leave clothes here all the time. i have some set out in the bathroom.”

“fuck you.”

“maybe next time.” you broke into laughter as he succumbed to his fate, getting out of your bed to disappear down the hall into your bathroom. he returned within five minutes, having changed into a pair of pajama pants and forgetting his shirt, standing at the side of your bed awkwardly.

“well? come in, i’m exhausted.”

“this is weird.”

“no it’s not. just lay down, asshole.” you huffed and pulled back the covers for him. he squinted at you, having taken his contacts out, before reluctantly crawling into the bed next to you. you snuggled up against his side, to which he tensed, but ultimately ended up wrapping an arm around you anyway.

he fell asleep before you did, mouth open and drooling all over your pillow. you took a photo, not because you liked him or anything… well…

— SANZU HARUCHIYO.

convincing sanzu to listen to you at all was like trying to train a poodle. it was very, very difficult because he was very, very defiant.

you knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. you knew it well, unfortunately; his work was catching up to him and drugs weren’t your favorite solution to the problem.

you told him time and time again that he needed rest, that it was because you cared that you were nagging at him, and yet he always bit right back at you like a dog nipping its owner’s hand.

you had had enough. so you decided to play the game.

you sat in his car waiting for him to finish some job in some remote part of the red light district, in a back alley with no prying eyes or lights, really.

you sat in wait until finally sanzu reappeared in the faded yellow light of the nearest street lamp, wiping his hands on a handkerchief and kicking a lead pipe against the wall. you chose not to question his line of work.

he grinned when he saw you in the passenger’s seat, as if he had forgotten you were there, and hurried around to the driver’s seat to get in and lean into your space.

“all done now, baby.” he pressed kisses to the corners of your lips, making you giggle before he caught your mouth with his own.

you hummed against his lips, lifting a hand to curl your fingers around his tie. “haru,” you breathed, tugging lightly on the fabric, “can we please get home? wanna get into bed with you…”

he pulled back slightly to meet your gaze with his own crazed one, eyes studying you almost clinically as a grin spread across his face. “oh yeah? baby wants to get home?”

“mhm.”

“hell yeah, i’ll get you fuckin’ home.” he pulled back from you to start the car, and you gripped the oh-shit handle because you knew he was just going to peel out of the alleyway.

and that he did, whipping down side streets and revving the engine, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping your thigh.

you giggled to yourself as you watched the veins in his arm, shaking your head. he just had no idea how easy he was to fool.

it took far shorter of a time than it should have to get back to your place, and he parked before hurrying out of the car and getting the passenger door for you.

you got out and led him to the door, feeling him stalk your every movement, only ever one step behind you. you unlocked your door and kicked your shoes off with a laugh as he tried to pin you against the nearest wall, freeing yourself from his grasp and making your way towards your room.

he grunted as he followed you, muttering something about you being a tease.

you turned on your heel once you got to your room and took a seat on the bed. “much better. i’m so tired, haru.”

“huh?”

“let’s just go to bed, how about it?” you started to get undressed as he stood in your doorway, scarred lips twitching with confusion.

“what are you talking about?”

“haru, let’s go to bed. i know you’re tired too.”

“no, this is-“

“no buts.” you stood to shimmy out of the rest of your clothing and tug your pajamas on. “strip and cuddle with me.”

haru wasn’t a cuddler, not by a long shot. but, with you…

he felt like he blinked, and suddenly he was on his back in your bed with you at his side in the dark. you snuggled up closer to him and ran your fingers through his hair.

soon enough, his breathing evened out, and you smiled to yourself as his grip on you grew tighter in his sleep.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Butterfly Fantasies (Older!Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been teasing Rafe for months and when he sees you flirting with another man, it’s his final straw. Wk: 3.4k

This is a prompt from me & @babygorewhore’s writing game!! Feel free to click the link and come play with us✨

Warnings: Rafe is your dad’s best friend, age gap (Rafe is late 30s Reader is early 20s), daddy kink, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, breeding kink, hair pulling, degradation 18+MDNI!!

You know it’s wrong, parading yourself around like this for your dad’s best friend. You had just finished your final year of college so you were home staying with your dad for the summer. But every single time you saw Rafe it was like your body was on fire. Him and your dad have been friends and business partners for years now. But you had only ever met Rafe once before, a few years ago at your dad’s wedding. You thought he was sexy then and somehow he’s even sexier now. He’s always coming over for drinks, or to go out on the boat, sometimes he and your dad talk business in his office.

But it felt like he was just always around. Wearing those expensive business suits with his hair slicked back perfectly. On days when he and your dad went out on the boat he would come over in shorts that were just a tad bit too short and those tight t-shirts or button ups, his thick biceps on display. When you’d run into him at the country club he always looked so fucking delicious in his golf outfit. That tight polo taunt against his shoulders, the way his large hands dwarfed the handles of the clubs. His hair was messier on those days, the ends of it sticking out from the cap on his head. You wanted to tear it off, lace your fingers through his hair and tug on it when it was void of its usual product.

It didn’t help that he was always looking at you. His eyes roaming your figure with a smug smirk on his face for just a little too long. The way he would send you little winks when your dad wasn’t looking. Resting his hand on the small of your back when he walks past you in the kitchen or in the hall. He was always calling you little nicknames like “doll” and “sweetheart. He even called you “princess” once and you thought you were going to cum untouched. You wanted to be his little princess so bad. So you started playing dirty.

Whenever you saw him you made sure to walk around in your skimpiest outfits. You’d lounge by the pool in your tiniest little micro bikinis, rubbing sunscreen on your skin causing it to glisten. You would wear your shortest dresses with thongs so small they might as well not even be there, bending over under the guise of “grabbing something out of the fridge” when he was standing behind you in the kitchen. Once you learned that he went to the country club every Sunday for brunch and golf, you signed up for Sunday tennis lessons.

Those days just might be your favorite. Your tennis outfit consisted of a tiny little white tennis skirt that barely covered your ass and an even tinier white sports bra that showed off your cleavage perfectly. It was just a bonus that your tennis instructor was hot and your age. It also didn’t hurt that Rafe could see the tennis court perfectly from the brunch table he always sat at. You’d make eye contact with him over your instructor's shoulder from afar while you grasped onto his bicep and giggled. If you weren’t mistaken you could just make out a slight switch in his jaw. He might be nineteen years older than you but you aren’t stupid, you can tell when a man wants you.

Rafe wants you bad. He’s been trying really fucking hard to restrain himself but it’s almost impossible when you’re constantly walking around in those little fucking outfits. Giving him that little smirk with that glint in your eye like you know you’re torturing him. He can’t stop thinking about you. When he’s working, when he’s golfing, when his hand is wrapped around his thick cock at night. Even when he’s buried balls deep in some bored housewife. All he can think about is you.

The way those little bikinis hardly cover anything but your nipples, and bottoms sitting so high on your ass they’re practically being swallowed. Those tiny little sun dresses that you seemed to always be bending over in, flashing him those pretty barely there panties that show the outline of your pussy. That fucking tennis outfit and that little douche bag tennis instructor whose hands he wants to cut off each time he has to watch him touch you.

But there’s one specific instance that won’t leave his mind, playing like a movie on repeat in his head. You were wearing these tiny little jean shorts with a little tiny crop top. You were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, eating a fucking banana of all things. But the way you were bent over to rest your elbows on the counter made your shorts ride down just enough to show off your thong and the little butterfly tramp stamp you had right above your ass. He stood there with his mouth agape for what could’ve been minutes or hours, he doesn’t know. He was stuck, completely enthralled by the sight of you. He felt himself starting to get hard when you looked over your shoulder at him, a smug smile painted across your glossed lips.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” You held eye contact with him while you finished off the last of your banana before standing up, winking at him, and walking away without another word. Leaving him so fucking hard and incredibly frustrated.

His final straw though? Your dad was throwing a celebration party for the company because they closed a huge deal and you were parading around in yet another barely there dress with all his coworkers and their sons ogling you. Currently Rafe was watching you with his jaw clenched so hard he feels like his teeth might break and he’s surprised the thin glass in his hand is still intact with the grip he has on it. You’re standing across the yard from him, that little white backless dress hugging every inch of your body so perfectly, showing off the expanse of your back and ending right at the top of your ass, flashing that little tiny tattoo to every single person here. When he’s the only one that should know about it.

The son of one of his employees rests his hands on your hips, leaning in to whisper something in your ear all while you maintain eye contact with him from across the yard, he has to physically stop himself from going over there and slamming the guy’s head into the bar. When you smirk at him, sending him a little wink before dragging the guy inside the house? He’s absolutely had it.

You had Rafe right where you wanted him, there was no doubting it now. The way he was staring daggers at every man that even glanced your way and the way his eyes hungrily drank you in as they followed your every move said it all. You wanted to know how far you could push him, if he would really snap and finally make a move. So you took it upon yourself to flirt with the cutest guy your age there. You really laid it on thick, giggling at all his jokes, running your hands down his chest, letting him grip your hips and whisper in your ear. All while Rafe watched with a death glare. You didn’t have to keep your eyes on him to know he was looking, but sending him little smirks and glances over the guy's shoulder was just too good to resist. Especially when you decided to drag the guy into the house with you, making sure Rafe watched you walk away.

“Do you want a drink? My dad keeps all the best shit in here.” You smile at him, you don’t even remember his name, it doesn’t matter anyways, he’s nothing but a means to an end.

“Yeah, I’ll take a drink, but I think I’d like to taste you more.” You internally gag at his cheesy line but still offer him a suggestive smile as you jump up on the counter with your legs spread just enough for him to get a glance at your panties.

“Come here then.” You beckon him with your finger and he comes to stand between your legs, resting his hands on your hips again.

“You’re really hot, you know that?” You snort, thanking him for his base level fuck boy compliment as he leans in for a kiss. Before his lips can even graze yours he’s being pulled backwards back the collar of his dress shirt. An extremely pissed looking Rafe glaring down at the smaller man.

“Get lost.” He practically growls, shoving the guy backwards by the grip he had on his collar.

“Hey man, what’s your fucking problem?”

“I said to get fuckin’ lost, fuck off before I break your fuckin’ legs.” The dude scoffs and rolls his eyes as he walks off. The minute you and Rafe are alone his hands are resting on the counter on either side of your hips, his face inches from yours. “You think this is funny, little girl? You wanna play games? I suggest you don’t start something you can’t fuckin’ finish.”

“Games? What games? I’m not play any games. I think I was being pretty straight forward with that guy.” Rafe exhales through his nose, grabbing onto your jaw with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together.

“That guy?” He scoffs, shaking your head back and forth. “You know I’m not fuckin’ talking about him, doll. Don’t play dumb with me. Get up.”

“I’m not a dog, I don’t bark on command.” He laughs at that, actually laughs.

“Oh, baby, we’ll fuckin’ see about that. Up.” He releases his grip on your jaw and backs up as he looks at you expectantly. You mull over your options for about two seconds before sliding off the counter. The minute the heels of your boots hit the expensive linoleum, Rafe's large ringed hand grasps onto your forearm, pulling you into the nearest room. He shuts the door behind you, pushing you up against it and trapping you between him and the wood. “You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah? That’s exactly what I was hoping for…” You smirk at him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You really think this is a fuckin’ joke, huh?” Rafe chuckles darkly, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He grabs onto your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off your airflow. “You trying to get me in trouble? You know how fucking pissed your dad would be if he found out about this?”

“Mmm… I figure if he disowns me you could just be my daddy instead.” He groans, using his grip on your throat to manhandle you over to the desk. Your dad’s desk to be exact. You were so worked up you didn’t even process that he pulled you into his office.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat. Looks like someone needs to teach you some manners, little girl.” Rafe presses your face against the desk, using his other hand to pull your hips up so your ass is in the air. The same hand hikes your dress above your ass before landing a harsh smack on it. The sound echoes through the room, accompanied by the loud moan that rips through you. “Bet your spoiled ass has never been spanked a day in your life. Bet you get whatever you want, whenever you want. But not with me, daddy’s gonna make you beg for it.”

He lands another smack on your bare ass, your tiny thong covering absolutely nothing. Then another. And another. He keeps you in place by his hand pressing onto the side of your head causing your cheek to press against the cold wood of the desk. Little whimpers and moans fall from your lips as

your writhe underneath him.

“Gonna leave this ass covered in my hand prints, then when you walk around in those tiny little bikinis you’ll either think twice about teasing me or you’ll have to explain it to anyone who sees.” Both of his large hands come down on your cheeks at once before one comes from below, landing a harsh smack on your cunt.

“Oh fuck, daddy.” Your eyes roll back and drool starts to drip down your chin when he smacks your pussy again before pulling your panties to the side, the cool air of the room hitting your wet folds.

“Yeah, that’s right, slut, I’m your fucking daddy. Look at this pussy, you’re so wet. Just from this? You like getting treated like a whore?” Rafe smacks your bare pussy, the metal of his rings adding a delicious sting. “You sure as hell like acting like one. Parading around in those skimpy little outfits, trying to seduce a man twice your age.”

“I fucking love it daddy, want you so bad, just wanted your attention.” You whine, wiggling your hips. “Please touch me.”

“Please touch me.” He mocks you as he smacks your clit three times in succession. “I am touching you, doll. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.”

“Please daddy, please, I’ll do anything you want. You can fuck my pussy till it’s sore, fuck my ass, cum inside me, breed me, anything. Just please.”

The next thing you feel is two thick fingers being inserted knuckle deep in your pussy. Rafe curls them against your sweet spot before thrusting them in and out of you at a quick pace.

“Fuckin’ listen to that shit, you’re so wet for me. You’re dirty. You want me to fuck your ass and breed you? That what you sit around thinking about all day?” You’re about to respond but the feeling of his thumb on your clit has you moaning and pushing back against his hand. He grabs onto your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean over you with his lips pressed to your ear. “Answer the fuckin’ question, princess. Know you can’t be fucked dumb from just my fingers.”

“Yes! Yes, I think about you fucking me on every inch of this house. I think about you filling me with your cum until I’m knocked up. About being your little barefoot and pregnant wife. Want to shove the fact that I’m the one that gets you in all those old country club bitches faces.” Well he wasn’t expecting all of that, but he’s not complaining. Now that he’s thinking about it, it doesn’t sound so bad. He picks up the speed of his fingers, applying harder pressure to your clit just as he yanks on your hair, exposing your neck so he can lick across the expanse of it, sending you over the edge.

“That’s it, baby girl, cum for me, cum for daddy.” He pulls his fingers out and you can’t see but you hear the sound of him sucking them clean, accompanied by a groan. “Look at you, you don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?”

He runs his large hand down your back, stopping just above your ass to trace his fingertips across your tattoo.

“What do I do to you daddy? Tell me.” He spanks your ass again, earning a little yelp from you.

“Don’t start getting sassy on me again. I’m calling the shots. But you drive me insane. Prancing around in those little bikinis, flashing me your slutty panties, this god damn tattoo.”

Rafe leans down, placing a kiss on it before licking across it. He hooks his fingers in the bands of your thong, pushing it down your legs. You try to kick your boots off to get it off your ankles but Rafe stops you, pulling them off himself.

“Keep the boots on.” Rafe grabs onto your ass, spreading you open for him before leaning down to spit on your asshole, watching it drip down onto your already soaked cunt. You feel his thumb rub down your slit right before he shoves his tongue as deep as it can go inside your pussy.

“Oh fuuuuuck, daddy that’s so good, thank you thank you.” Rafe eats you out like a man starved, nearly drunk off the sound of your moans and the taste of your sweet cunt. He leans down to suck your clit between his plump lips and you feel yourself getting close, clenching around nothing. And it’s like he reads your mind because seconds later he’s thrusting his fingers inside you, rubbing them up against your g-spot and sending you into an orgasm that makes your entire body shake. “Shit daddy, yesyesyes, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”

He leans up, grips onto your hips, and flips you over with ease, propping you up on the desk. He grabs onto your face and connects your lips in a filthy kiss. His tongue intangles with yours, flooding your mouth with the taste of yourself mixed with him and it makes your head spin.

“Take this fuckin’ dress off.” He grabs onto the straps, pushing them off your shoulders so he can yank it down your legs. “No bra? God damn, princess, look at these perfect tits, shit.” He yanks off his shirt before undoing his pants, pushing them down his hips. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the sight of his cock. “Yeah baby, this isn’t some twenty something loser cock, this is what a real man’s dick looks like. Beg for it.”

“Daddy, please fuck me, please, I want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me so everyone on the island knows you I belong to.” You push your hips forward, spreading your legs further. Rafe decides that’s enough for him, roughly grabbing onto your hip with one hand and using the other to line his cock up with your entrance. He pushes inside you with one thrust, your tight wet pussy practically sucking him in.

“Ah, shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Rafe grabs onto your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders so he can fuck you even deeper. “Been dreaming about this pussy for months. Been dreaming about this sexy little body. Look at these perfect tits. Perfect legs. So fucking soft. Such a good little slut for daddy.”

He grabs onto your throat as he continues to split you open on his cock, his other hand finds your clit and it has you clenching around him. The desk is slamming against the ground and you’re both moaning so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if the entire party heard you outside through the music and all the walls. But you didn’t care, especially not as you gushed around Rafe’s cock.

“Yeah that’s right, fuckin’ give it to me, cum all over my cock. Gonna fill you up, gonna give you a baby just like you want, don’t even give a fuck what anybody thinks. I’m not ever quitting this pussy.” Rafe lets go of your throat to so he can wrap your legs around his hips, grabbing onto your ass as he fucks into you at a brutal pace, chasing his own high.

“Yeah daddy, fucking give it to me, fill me up, want it so bad.” You run your perfectly manicured nails down his back and it does him in. He presses his hips flush against yours as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you with ropes of his cum. The moans leaving him are your never favorite song that you want to listen to on repeat for the rest of your life. When he comes down from his high he lets his cock slip out of you before gathering the bit of cum that leaked out on his fingers, shoving it back inside.

“Can’t waste any, can we?” He brings his slick fingers to your lips and you happily suck them clean. He pulls them from your mouth before leaning in to place a much gentler kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry about all that stuff I said I totally understand if you wanna forget this ever happened I-“ he shushes you, kissing you again.

“I’m not forgetting shit, princess. You’re mine now. Gonna fuck you full until it takes and then make you my pretty little housewife. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”

Your dad was going to be so fucking pissed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you finally got exactly what you wanted.

Taglist: @voyeurmunson @oceandriveab @munson-mjstan @rafesthroatbaby 🖤

[starreo]

multi-character x fem! drabble.

includes MAJOR self indulgent work, situationship, strict parents raise sneaky kids, and adult themes so, mdni.

he was always punctual. never tard, always there at 11pm sharp, outside the black gates of your home. headlights off, so as to not alert any meddlesome neighbours. but you'd look down each time, from your window, to find the front bumper of his silver mercedes benz, always peeking through the end of the white walls.

so you'd slip on your tight skirt, and slip out of your window, placing that science textbook between the sill and the frame, so you could go back in later.

tip-toeing almost professionally on the edge of the roof, you'd then step onto your mom's car, and then carefully get down by stepping on the hood, and finally on the pavement.

excitement always bubbling in the pit of your stomach, as your bare feet padded across the pavement, slipping through the black gates you'd left open before dinner.

heat spreading across your cheeks as you saw his face again. this happened every week, every saturday, every midnight.

but some things, you just can't get used to.

so, shyly, you'd lock eyes with his, and notice his fitted white shirt, his slicked back hair, and his daydream look. soft footsteps into his car, it was routine by that point.

he'd reach out his hand, cupping your jaw and gently placing his lips on yours, murmuring between the kiss about how it's been a while. and you'd hum, pulling him back in for another.

smiling as he'd start the engine then, and drive down the lane. the view of your home, where your parents slept under the assumption that you were studying for a test. strict parents raised sneaky kids, didn't they?

and then the long drives, the jokes, the flirty smiles, the feet on his dashboard, the slow slide of your foot from his dashboard to his shoulder, then the slide down his abs to his groin area, the faux-complaints made by him, about how he might crash the car.

but he never did.

he'd take long laps across the beach, simultaneously watching you as you watched the water in amazement. a smile would creep up on his face and he'd place a hand on your thigh. you'd look back, and lean in towards him, and he'd stop the car on the side, and pull his seat back, watching with wild eyes as you'd crawl onto his lap.

one kiss. another kiss. and another one. and then you'd come back up to face him, eyes quivering as you'd ask, "so, is there anyone interesting at the university yet?" hoping there isn't, your fist would bunch up his white t-shirt. and his callous hand, would so softly rest under your chin, thumb grazing your lips, with a fondness he held only for you. and you wouldn't ask again. because you knew.

EREN EREN EREN EREN EREN EREN EREN EREN EREN OH MY GODJVRIURUJWI also major uni! satoru-sukuna vibes...im getting bakugo and nagi vibes too ngl....SUNA RINTAROU (i love u taylor btw!!)

© starreo 2024. do not copy, translate or repost .

[soulfullives]

What Remus hadn’t expected when he arrived at the garage with a faulty fuel hose was this.

Obviously, he had trusted James, because he knew his collection of vintage cars needed a hand of paint or some minor changes from time to time. So, when he had recommended that place, he was sure to trust his friend when he said that the man who worked in that garage knew what he was doing.

He might have expected a stout man with a beard and moustache to welcome him warmly and offer him a cuppa. He hadn’t expected, however, the man who was tinkering with a Renault Clio.

When he had finally come out from under the car, Remus watched him stand up.

His long, black hair was haphazardly thrown up, a strand of hair falling into his face carelessly, that he then tucked behind his pierced ears. His arms were covered with tattoos, and his hands were dark with dirt. A smear of oil coated his high cheekbones, and his straight nose was scrunched as he ran the back of his darkened palm over his nose, wiping away what had stained his nose. He rubbed his hands over his white t-shirt, slicked with sweat, adjusted his tool belt, and looked down at Remus.

“Alright, mate?”

Shit.

[hyunsvngs]

hyunsvngbinimas!

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

warnings: chastity belt, dom!jeongin, innie is mean, degradation, oral (m rec), like one face slap, spit, maybe edging?, one use of ‘sir’, praise, squirting, unprotected sex

“Too tight, or is it okay?” Jeongin muses, ever the careful boyfriend. You shift from foot to foot in front of the mirror, rubbing your thighs together as much as you can despite your newly locked restraint. His fingers dip into the belt around your hips, pleasantly surprised to see that he can fit two fingers past the band. “Mm, it feels okay.”

“It’s- it’s fine, Jeongin,” You huff, a flush spreading from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. Can’t he just try and push his fingers a little lower? He pulls your dress down then, rubbing a hand over where the red material of your Mrs. Claus themed dress stretches across your ass. The chastity belt is hidden underneath, the key sitting pretty on a chain around Jeongin’s neck.

It’s inconspicuous - it’s like you could pretend it’s not even there, if not for the dildo attached to the damn thing. Jeongin had spent days - no, weeks, picking out the perfect chastity belt for you. Tight enough that you couldn’t forget it was there, but loose enough for comfort, and with a ribbed dildo attached to rest inside of you and plug your pussy up all day. You were able to pee with it on, but not quite rub your clit on anything and reach orgasm - and Jeongin knew you couldn’t cum without that.

He comes up behind you as you fiddle with your hair in the mirror. All you see is a mop of unruly blonde and brown hair, and then you feel the press of lips at your neck. It would be reassuring if not for your current situation. “Twelve hours, jagi. You’ve got this.”

Right. Twelve hours. You had to wear this and feel the incessant pressing of the dildo inside you for twelve hours, and then he’ll let you cum when the clock strikes midnight and it’s officially Christmas Day.

You’re not sure you’re surviving it, in all honesty.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You managed to make it two hours before saying anything, which felt like an achievement. You and Jeongin went to a Christmas dinner with the boys, and it’s in the car that you feel your resolve withering. The dildo sits inside of you, wet and promising against your walls, but everytime you try to grind down on the sensation you’re met with metal preventing you from moving anywhere. You whine, knuckles going white where you’re gripping onto the passenger seat on your way home, and Jeongin only raises an eyebrow.

“It’s been two hours,” He hums, side eyeing your panting, heaving figure. Your cheeks are burning crimson, a bead of sweat pearling on your hairline. You wish he’d lick it off. “You have to keep it together. You still have ten hours to go.”

“Don’t remind me!” You wail, head lolling back against the headrest. The car ride is bumpy, and all you can imagine is Jeongin pulling over and taking you into the backseat, unlocking the stupid fucking belt and finally, finally pushing his cock into your slick hole. The thought has you whimpering, feet thrashing against the floor of the car in your tantrum. Jeongin huffs out a laugh.

“Be good,” He warns, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. You let yourself look at him, only a brief, fleeting glance, but it has your clit throbbing painfully. His Christmas jumper makes him look domestic, festive and sweet, and his jeans are tight on his long legs and thighs. You feel like you’re going to cry. You need him so bad. At a red light, he turns to you, tone soft, eyes anything but. “Jagiya. Be good, I believe in you.”

You blink back tears, shifting a little in your seat as if it’s going to provide you any form of relief. Jeongin swipes a thumb over your cheekbone with a soft grin, eyes forming crescent moons. It’s comforting. You nod hesitantly. “I can be good.”

“You can, and you will.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Six hours. Six hours and you’re sitting on the living room floor, now in your joggers and loose t-shirt wrapping some last minute presents. Jeongin’s mother’s gift from you both had only arrived today, so you sit fiddling with the wrapping paper and expensive perfume box, trying desperately not to think about how unbearably full you are. It’s not enough. It could never be enough. Your boyfriend’s so damn sadistic, so dirty, but you’re even worse for enjoying it so much.

You hear the sound of socked feet padding into the living room, and then a huff as Jeongin drops to the floor. He scoots forward, arms wrapped around your middle and head in the nape of your neck.

“Thanks for wrapping them,” He murmurs, fingernails dragging over your exposed arms. It makes you shiver, not going unnoticed by him. “I’m useless with wrapping gifts, jagi, you’re much better than me.”

“Yeah,” You muse, sticking another strip of tape over the golden paper. “You are useless with wrapping gifts. Remember our first year we were together, you wrapped my gift and forgot tape, and-”

“Shut up,” He whines, hiding his blushing face in your neck. It makes you giggle, and it’s so easy to be domestic and comfortable like this with your boyfriend, so easy to forget the fact that your pussy is still plugged up. A beat passes, and Jeongin inches forward, large hands moving up to underneath your breasts. Oh, no.

“Jeongin,” You warn, shifting on the floor. It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t help.

“Ssh,” Jeongin mutters, and then his hands encompass your breasts. He grips so tightly that the flesh spills out between his fingers, pebbled nipples rubbing against the fabric of your shirt. You’re too sensitive. “You’re not even wearing a bra. You make it so easy for me. So willing for me to touch you even though you know you can’t cum.”

“Please-”

“Carry on wrapping, you’ve got more to do,” He cuts you off. You sigh, fiddling with the present to make it look like you’re actually doing something. His hands move to massage your breasts, thumbs swiping over your nipples. “I bet you’re feeling extra slutty for me right now. I bet that dildo is filling you up, but it’s not enough, is it? It’s not as big as me.”

Oh, fuck. Did he have to remind you? No, it’s not as big as him, it’s not as thick as him and it sure as hell can’t make you cum like he does, not when it’s just resting there.

“You’re doing so well,” He kisses your neck, flicks his tongue over your earlobe. You let yourself whine, head lolling back on his shoulder. “My pretty little slut. I can’t wait to have you squirting on my cock later, making a mess all over me.”

“Jeongin, please, I can’t-”

“Six hours, jagi. You’re halfway there,” Jeongin pecks the nape of your neck, and then he hops up, padding out of the room. You’re left with a heaving chest and extremely hard nipples, and a pussy so wet that you think the dildo would’ve slipped out if not for the chastity belt holding it in place. You hear him humming a song in the kitchen, and then he’s shouting for your attention. “Do you want a snack? I’m making one for myself.”

You’re gonna die.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s hard to lose yourself in the film Jeongin’s requested to watch with you. The throw blanket from the sofa is soft on your legs, now only clad in your underwear and your t-shirt. Jeongin’s broad chest is pressed against your back, chin hooked over the top of your head as you attempt to focus on the television. Jeongin’s ‘ooh’ing and ‘aah’ing at the appropriate times, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he can’t pay attention either.

Ten hours. Two to go. It’s late now, the only lights in the room being from the Christmas tree and the television. It’s cozy. You hum in approval. If you really try to relax your walls around the dildo, it’s like it’s not there at all.

“He bought her a necklace!” Jeongin squeaks, distraught at the scene playing in front of you. What film is it again? Ah, Love Actually? He did indeed buy her that necklace, and it normally breaks your heart every time, but your vision is hazy. Two hours.

Jeongin shifts, pulling the blanket further over his back until his hips are pressed against your ass. You blink in surprise. He’s hard, but he seems to be ignoring it in favour of watching the film.

You can’t have that. You wiggle your hips under the guise of getting comfortable, and Jeongin’s breath halts.

“Watch the film, jagi,” His voice is stern, but you don’t miss how it’s slightly shaky. “I don’t want to leave that belt on you any longer than necessary.”

That stops you moving. You bite your lip, a shiver wracking through your whole body.

“Mm, actually… It sounds quite good, doesn’t it?” He sighs, his hand moving to your waist. One arm slinks under your head as a makeshift pillow, keeping you in place, and the other grips the flesh on your middle. With a soft noise, he’s grinding against your ass, thick and hard and making you wish he’d just fuck that hole instead. “Keeping you in this longer. You’re already so desperate. Maybe I could play around with you a bit more, try and push that wand vibrator you love so much against the belt to see if you can still cum. Would you?”

You huff in response, eyes watering, and Jeongin’s hand moves from your waist to your chin. He turns you to face him in a quick, tight movement, squishing your cheeks, and his foxlike eyes have never looked more intimidating.

“Would you? Would you cum for me, soak that metal with your cum and still beg for me to take it off after?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow in question, and you nod, trying not to buck your hips backwards into his. It’s a slow, sinuous grind, and you pray internally that he isn’t going to make himself cum like this. He taps your face teasingly, a light smack, and it makes you keen. He snickers, dropping your chin. “I knew you would. Slut.”

“I’m- I’m not a-“

“Oh, but you fucking are,” You let him manhandle you, pushing you down so you’re laying on your front. He humps into you quicker, cock slotting into your asscheeks even through the fabric. The movement has the dildo moving inside of you just a tad, and your hands grip the sofa, eyes rolling back with a desperate sound. “Two hours. It took you two hours to whine and throw a tantrum, and now you’ve got two hours left and you’re still whining. God, do you know how fucking hard that makes me?”

The dildo’s moving. It’s moving inside of you, just an inch, but you think you might cry. “Hnnnmfg, oh, oh, Jeongin-“

“No,” He flips off of you, ushers you onto your side once more and back into your spooning position. He’s kept his hips back, cock no longer pressing into you. It must be throbbing, aching with release, and the thought has you gushing even more around the dildo. “Watch the film. It gets even better.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Please! Please, please, Jeongin, Innie, baby, please-“

Jeongin’s got you fully naked on the bed, bare skin apart from the belt still locked around your hips. It hurts at this point with how much he’s been teasing you just from his mere existence, but you’ve got fifteen minutes left. It’s 11:45. Just another fifteen minutes.

His tongue swirls around your nipple, long fingers tracing over your thighs. He’s naked too, cock hanging heavy between his own lithe thighs and abs bared to the light from your bedside lamp. He looks downright erotic, blonde and black waves of hair obscuring his face but not able to hide the wet noises of his mouth on your tits. The key still sits securely on a chain around his neck, teasing, staring you dead in the eyes.

“Ssh,” He coos, blowing cold air over the pebbled bud. “Fifteen minutes, jagi. Let me play, yeah?”

You want to scream, thrash your legs and cry that you’ve been letting him play all damn day and it hurts now, but you know Jeongin. He’ll make good on his promise to leave you locked up for longer without even blinking an eye. He’s mean.

“Okay. Okay, okay, please, suck me harder. Innie, please,” You pant, chest heaving. Jeongin hums with a grin, satisfied, and he leans down to suckle on you once again. His mouth is so wet, so warm, and you think fleetingly that you could probably cum from this if he told you to. Your nipples are red and abused by now, but you still clutch the pillows beneath your head for dear life and hope that he’ll give your clit the same treatment.

He pops off the bud once again, and then he’s crawling up your body, firm biceps caging your head. His cock rests on the cursed chastity belt, and the coolness of the metal on his cockhead has him hissing.

“Baby,” Jeongin blinks down at the belt, a crooked smile on his lips. Oh, no. “You know, I could probably cum from humping against this. Spill my cum all over the belt and leave you there, crying, so all you can do is dip your fingers in and swallow my cum in the hopes that I’ll come back and give you more.”

“Please don’t,” You whine, shaking your head. Your eyes water with unshed tears, glassy, and you let out an incoherent noise when he humps against you once, twice, three times. Jeongin shushes you, thumb dipping over your wet bottom lip. You still continue, desperate. “Innie, Innie, no! I’ve been good, don’t do that, please, I couldn’t-“

“Okay, okay,” He chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. His digit pushes past your lips, and you suck on it diligently, blinking up at him with pure unadulterated need. “I won’t. Besides, you’ve got ten minutes now. I think I want you to suck my cock.”

You want that. Nothing’s ever sounded so good to your ears, and you nod eagerly, making him smile again. He flips you over, splaying back against the sheets and guiding you on top of him. It’s only after a chaste kiss to the lips does he push your head down, your mouth kissing down his milky skin obediently.

He’s wet, you realise, leaking precum on the trimmed hair at his base. You can’t even stare at his cock and just appreciate it, partially due to knowing that your pussy will just ache more and partially due to the fact that you have to have it in your mouth before you die from need.

“Deepthroat it for me,” Jeongin breathes, one arm behind his head. He’s the epitome of relaxation as you try to force your mouth down on him, tasting the leaking pearlescent cum on his cockhead and spreading it around. He sighs, letting his eyes flutter shut as his spare hand goes to your hair. “That’s it. Wetter, get it wetter.”

You try. You truly do try, but the only wetness right now is coming from your eyes as you cry. You want to spit on his cock, to get it wet and to make him approve of your actions, but your mouth is dry from pure want. You can’t wait to see how he’s going to fuck you after he unlocks your belt. It’s all you can think about.

His long fingers envelop in your hair, yanking your head off, and he sits up. You watch in awe as he spits on his own cock, pulling your head back and using his thumb to open your lips again. His cock is already slick with his spit, but he spits in your mouth anyway, before he’s pulling your mouth back to his cock.

“Ah, that’s better,” Jeongin hums, relaxing back against the sheets again. “Nice and wet. Will your pussy be wetter than this? I bet it will be, gushing on that tiny dildo all day. God, you’re such a whore for letting me do this.”

You whine around his shaft, bobbing your head as much as you can with the tight grip on your locks. He doesn’t let you breathe, hips starting to fuck sinuously into the tight heat you’ve provided him, and you feel jealous. How come he gets this, and you get nothing? You blink. It has to be five more minutes by now. Five minutes, and you can-

“Not long, baby,” He murmurs, licking his lips over and over. “Keep taking it for me. I’ll keep my cum for your little cunt, don’t worry.”

You’re squirming against the sheets, trying to create a semblance of what Jeongin did to you earlier for some friction on your core. He seems to let it slide despite looking down at you, balls slapping against your chin with every thrust into your throat. You’re gagging, drooling even more down his thick cock, and you let your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of being used like your boyfriend’s own personal fucktoy. It’s all you’d ever want for Christmas.

“Fucking hell,” He grunts, pulling your head off of him. You let him throw you back to the bed by your hair, and then he’s ripping the chain directly off of his neck and shoving the key in the padlock of your belt.

“Yes, yes, yes, please! Off, off, I need you,” Your voice is hoarse, gravelly from the rough treatment, and Jeongin nods with agreement. He knows. He’s not going to punish you for being desperate, and you don’t even know if it’s midnight, but he yanks the offending pleasure cage down your legs and throws it to the floor with a clatter. You can’t even mourn the loss of the dildo when you know you’re getting so much better.

You wail as he pumps his cock a few times, spreading the remaining slick up his length. His chest is heaving, eyes dark. “Legs up. Get those fucking legs up, show me your pussy, I need to be inside of you.”

You obey, hands sinking into the pits of your knees to bend yourself in half, and Jeongin surges forward. He positions his cockhead inbetween your folds, finding your drippy, needy hole. With a sigh, his cock slides inside of you, your walls wet and gummy and so easy to accept the intrusion. You moan so loud that you’re convinced that the world shakes.

“Ah, there we go,” Jeongin groans, and his hips are snapping into yours immediately. It feels so good that you begin to cry again, hands gripping onto your knees for dear life. “There’s that slutty little cunt. F-fuck, was it worth the wait? Does my cock feel good? Tell me, jagiya, tell me.”

“So good, ‘s good, so big, so thick, I’ll- hnnnfg, Jeongin, I need to cum, please!”

“You’re so good, baby,” He coos, cock punching against your g-spot. Touching your clit just once would have you cumming around him but something tells you Jeongin hasn’t got a lot left in him either. Sweat beads above his eyebrow, dripping down his temple. “Touch yourself. C’mon, s-show me how you touch that clit, fuck.”

You let one hand slide from your knee and Jeongin’s quick to press his chest against you firmer, keeping you bent in half. You take two fingers and press them between his lips, and he sucks on them, maintaining eye contact during it. It’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you have to reach down and blindly find your clit, swollen and aching and peeking through your pliant folds.

The first pressing of your fingers makes you near-scream, toes curling, and Jeongin grips your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are hazy, unfocused and glassy, and you rub and rub and rub until you think you’re going to ascend.

“There she is, look at you,” Jeongin grunts, voice shaking. He fucks into your pussy over and over, wet slapping noises overtaking your senses. “Cum for me. Good fucking girl, my perfect slut, cum for me.”

You whine, legs shaking, and then you’re cumming. Your pussy gushes so hard Jeongin has to pull out, and he instantly hooks two long fingers inside of your hole with a loud groan of his own to crook them up against your g-spot. Your pussy only gushes more, your ears ringing with the force of your orgasm, drool dribbling out of your lips. You continue to rub your clit, spraying cum over your lover, and as soon as the last dribble leaves your messy cunt Jeongin’s sinking right back into home.

“Gonna make me cum,” He warns, shaking his head in disbelief. His hair sticks to his forehead, damp from sweat. “Squirted so fucking much, baby, dirty little slut, so horny from me locking that clit up, I’ll- god, I’m gonna cum inside of you.”

“Please,” You slur, hand resting on your clit with no movement. “Fill me up, sir, please.”

Jeongin groans, loud and steady into the expanse of your room, and then his hips stall. They shake with the intensity of his orgasm, his cock pulsing hot white into your pussy until it’s gushing out around his cock. You feel drunk with it, eyes rolling back into your head as he continues to make noise, riding out the pleasure.

You do really feel like you’ve ascended. You barely notice when Jeongin gets up and wipes you with a warm towel, humming the tune to another Christmas song, and you barely notice when he slides back onto the dirty sheets and pulls you into his chest. It’s only when you realise he’s talking do you blink back into reality.

“The necklace, jagi,” He huffs, and you furrow your eyebrows. He’s still thinking about that film. “Not even for his own wife. Like-“

“Jeongin, you just fucked my brains out and you’re still on about Love Actually.”

Jeongin goes quiet, and then he laughs, kissing your forehead. “Sorry. I doubt you paid attention though, so we’ll watch it again tomorrow. Merry Christmas. I love you more than anything.”

“Merry Christmas, I love you more than anything,” You slur back, eyes already heavy with sleep. Jeongin’s laughing again, you note, but you’re already curling up and falling asleep.

He’ll have to deal with the two of you not changing the sheets later, but you’ll have presents to open first.

[fanficlolsblog]

WE NEVER GO OUT OF STYLE

back to my main masterlist

pairing: fem!reader x sabrina carpenter

summary: y/n is caught in a complicated relationship with singer sabrina carpenter, who picks her up for a late-night drive. despite knowing their connection often leads to heartbreak, y/n can’t resist sabrina's allure. they share a passionate encounter, but y/n realizes they're stuck in a cycle of returning to each other. after their intense moment, y/n chooses to leave, aware that they will likely reunite again despite the pain.

warnings: toxic relationship dynamic, emotional manipulation, jealousy and heartbreak, light suggestive themes, intense romantic situations, mature themes.

w/c: 1.5k+

The clock on my phone reads midnight when I see her car pull up. No headlights, just like always. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from her, but the second I see that familiar car in front of my house, it’s like no time has passed at all. The low hum of the engine fills the quiet street, and I feel that familiar pull in my chest.

Sabrina Carpenter.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I know exactly where it leads. It’s like we’re caught in this endless loop, spinning around each other with no clear destination in sight. But I can’t help it. Every time she shows up, I’m right back there—right back to her.

I grab my jacket, throw on some shoes, and slip out the door as quietly as I can, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands are shaking as I climb into the passenger seat, and the second I’m in, she looks at me with that James Dean daydream look in her eyes.

"Sabrina," I whisper, her name falling off my lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She doesn’t say anything. Just smirks, her lips curling up at the corners as she pushes her foot on the gas. The car lurches forward, and we’re off into the night, the wind whipping past the open windows. There’s something intoxicating about the way she drives—reckless, dangerous, like she’s tempting fate. And I can’t help but feel the same.

It’s always like this with her. This wild, untamed energy that pulls me in no matter how much I try to resist. I should tell her to leave, to stop showing up like this, to stop playing with my heart. But I can’t. Because deep down, I know I’ll always say yes.

She glances over at me, her long hair slicked back, her white T-shirt glowing in the faint moonlight. "You’ve been quiet," she says, her voice low, barely audible over the sound of the engine.

"It’s been a while," I murmur, my hands clutching my lap. I’ve missed her more than I’d ever admit, and I can feel that weight in my chest growing heavier with every second we’re together.

"Yeah," she replies, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Like she hasn’t spent the last few months drifting in and out of my life, pulling me close only to push me away when things get too real.

We don’t talk much as she drives. The silence between us is thick with unsaid things, with all the questions I’m too scared to ask. And then, suddenly, she takes a sharp turn, and I feel my stomach lurch as the car veers down a narrow road.

The road stretches on, twisting and turning through the darkness, and I can feel the tension building between us with every mile. It’s like we’re heading toward something—something inevitable. And I know that when we get there, it’ll either be paradise or it’ll burn us both to the ground.

The car comes to a stop in front of her place, and she doesn’t waste any time. She gets out, tossing her keys into her bag before disappearing inside, leaving the door open for me. I hesitate for a moment, my mind racing. I shouldn’t go in. I should just turn around, walk away, and let this be the end.

But I don’t.

I follow her inside, the warmth of her place wrapping around me like a blanket. She tosses her coat aside and turns to face me, her eyes dark, intense.

"I heard you’ve been out with someone else," I blurt out, the words spilling from my mouth before I can stop them.

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she smirks, shrugging like it’s nothing. "What you heard is true."

My chest tightens at her words, the sting of jealousy cutting deep. I knew it. I always knew she wasn’t mine. Not really. But hearing it out loud, it still hurts.

"But I can’t stop thinking about you," she continues, her voice soft, almost apologetic. "You and I… we’re different."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "I’ve been there too, Sabrina. A few times."

She steps closer, her fingers brushing against my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. "So why are we still here?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Why do we keep doing this? Why do we keep coming back to each other, even when we know it’s bound to crash and burn?

Because it’s like a drug. She’s like a drug. And no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many times we tear each other apart, I can’t quit her.

She kisses me, and suddenly, all the questions, all the doubts—they disappear. It’s like everything that’s been building between us finally explodes, and all I can feel is her. Her hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer, her lips moving against mine with an urgency that makes my heart race.

She leads me to the couch, and before I know it, I’m beneath her, her body pressed against mine as her hands slide under my shirt. My breath hitches as her lips move down my neck, and I feel that familiar rush of adrenaline, the one that always comes with her.

It’s wild. It’s reckless. It’s exactly what I knew it would be.

And yet, I can’t get enough.

Her touch is electric, igniting every nerve in my body as she whispers my name against my skin, her voice low, filled with that familiar mix of desire and danger. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she knows exactly how much I want it.

But this is how it always goes. We crash into each other, all heat and fire, and then we pull away, leaving nothing but ash in our wake.

When it’s over, we’re both breathing hard, tangled in each other, and I can feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. I know what comes next. She’ll pull away. She always does.

And yet, as I lie there, my head resting on her chest, I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

"I don’t know why I keep doing this," I whisper, more to myself than to her.

She’s silent for a moment, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on my arm. "Because you know we never go out of style," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

I laugh, even though I don’t really feel like laughing. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

She shrugs, her smile fading as she looks at me, her expression suddenly serious. "You’re not like the others."

I raise an eyebrow, not sure if I believe her. "Really? Because it sure feels like I am."

"You’re not," she insists, sitting up and looking me in the eye. "It’s different with you. It always has been."

I don’t know if I believe her. I want to. God, I want to so badly. But every time we do this, it feels like it’s just another round of the same game.

"You don’t have to say that," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

She reaches out, cupping my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. "I’m not saying it because I have to. I’m saying it because it’s true."

I close my eyes, leaning into her touch, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as I can. Because I know, deep down, that it won’t last. It never does.

But for now, I’ll take what I can get.

We sit there in silence for a while, the weight of everything hanging between us. Eventually, she pulls away, standing up and walking over to the window, staring out into the night.

"I wish I could give you more," she says softly, her voice filled with regret.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. Me too."

She turns to face me, her eyes filled with something I can’t quite place. "But you know… we always come back."

I nod, because she’s right. We do. No matter how many times we crash, no matter how many times we burn, we always come back to each other.

And maybe that’s just how it’s meant to be.

"I should go," I say, standing up and grabbing my jacket.

She watches me, her expression unreadable. "You don’t have to."

I pause, my hand on the door handle, debating whether or not to stay. But I know how this ends. It always ends the same way.

"I do," I reply softly, giving her a small, sad smile.

She doesn’t try to stop me, and I don’t expect her to. As I step out into the cool night air, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

It’s over. For now, at least.

But as I walk down the street, her words echo in my mind.

We always come back.

And I know, deep down, that it’s only a matter of time before we crash again.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort (emotional & physical), tending wounds, drinking, apologies, protective!Toji // wc: 2717 // [ao3] // Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

You’re jolted awake, nearly falling off the couch where you had passed out a few glasses of wine ago. Bleary eyes squint at the oven clock. 2am. There’s another knock on the door, hard and fast. Desperate. You think tiredly to yourself that nothing good ever happens after 2am, and prepare to be proven right as you slouch to the door and press agains the peephole.

The sight you’re met with sobers you like a slap to the face. You haven’t seen the man on your doorstep in six months, and tonight he looks like the most pathetic kind of stray cat, spiky black hair plastered to his forehead with lashes of rain. His strong form is bundled into a jacket, and his hands are pressed to his abdomen like he’s holding himself together. Toji Fushiguro.

You crack open the door and he straightens up quickly, teeth catching on his bottom lip as he bites back a groan. “Hey, doll. Sorry to bother ya so late.”

“Toji, what the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Mind if we talk inside? I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you since…” since he disappeared. You had had an argument one night, the same one you always had about his line of work, but when you woke up the next morning he was gone. Toji doesn’t finish your thought, just smiles weakly.

“That’s fair. Thing is, I got into a lil’ trouble and this was the only place I could think of to go. Just need a minute to clean myself up, and then-“ he sways on his feet, suddenly unstable.

“Toji?”

His next words are slurred and lost. He takes an unsteady step forward and his leg gives out, left knee hitting the concrete floor with a nasty crunch.

You leap forward on instinct, catching his broad shoulders with an impact that knocks the breath out of you. His head lolls onto your shoulder, and you see the whites of his eyes.

“Fucking hell.” You drag him inside with a litany of curses, just managing to prop him up on the floor against your couch. He’s out cold, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and you slump against the wall opposite him. Nothing to do but wait for him to wake up.

A few too many minutes have passed with just your thoughts for company, and you risk leaving him long enough to pour yourself a drink in the kitchen. The liquor burns your throat but steadies your hands, and it dulls the adrenaline in your veins.

You walk back to the living room and wave the bottle under Toji’s nose, figuring the piercing fumes might snap him out of it. Nothing. You stare into the neck of the bottle, wondering dimly if this could be the mother of all nightmares. Your deadbeat ex-boyfriend passing out on your doorstep in the middle of the night. It would certainly fit the bill.

The part of you that isn’t wallowing in liquor-soaked bitterness thinks that he must have come here, of all places, for a reason. Something out there scared him more than the thought of facing you. With a heavy sigh, you scoot closer to him and push open his jacket, examining his body for wounds. Even in unconsciousness, his scarred hands were wrapped protectively around his stomach. You gingerly pull them away, and fall back on your ass with a gasp.

Fushiguro is bleeding badly. The palms of his hands are stained with what’s already dried, fresh blood slicking your fingers where you’d touched his. His t-shirt is transparent where it’s stuck to his skin, the ragged edges of a puncture wound framing a raw, red hole.

Your body reacts faster than your mind, and before you process what you’re seeing you’ve pressed your hands back over the wound with as much pressure as you can muster. You need a dressing, need to make sure there’s nothing else in there, need to disinfect…

“Why the fuck would you pull it out, dumbass?” You’re mumbling, to yourself. It’s one of the first rules you learn if you’re going to run the risk of getting stabbed with something, come on…

“Wasn’t me, doll. Bastard took his knife back when he ran.” The gravelly voice startles you, and you shove down harder on the wound in surprise.

Toji moans in pain, sucking air in through gritted teeth that somehow still form a cocky smile. “Easy, doc. Don’t need you squeezin’ out the blood I got left.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” You switch your hands with his, waiting to let go until you feel him put the same amount of pressure on. “Now can you tell me why you’re bleeding out in my living room?” You try to sound detached, even angry, but your voice wobbles and you know he catches it.

“Thanks for bringing me inside.” His voice is softer, almost embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to faint on ya.” You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He twists his neck until it cracks, and stares at the floor.

“Wasn’t really thinkin’ straight after I killed the guy that put the knife in me. Realized you were the closest place I knew, wasn’t sure I could go any further. I didn’t wanna bother you, doll. Honest.”

You don’t react to the confession of murder. The more shocking thing was that someone got close enough to Toji to stab him in the gut. It’s a plausible enough excuse, you suppose. And it’s hard to hold a grudge for a man who is currently dying on your carpet.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it,” you say gruffly, standing to retrieve a first aid kit. “Let me find something to patch that hole.”

When you return with an armful of gauze you find Toji finishing off the rest of your liquor. He flashes a stupid grin at you, and you start to remember why you hate him.

“That was my last bottle, asshole.”

“Aw c’mon mama, it’s my last meal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the old pet name. “In my dreams, Fushiguro. You’re gonna be fine.” You’re still not confident in that, but don’t bother letting him know. It’s not like it’ll matter if you’re wrong. Your assurance seems to loosen something in him though, and the show of bravado cracks with his voice.

“Yeah?” His broad shoulders slump. “That’s good.” He smiles up at you, eyes bright with the drink, his scar bunching at the corner of his lips. “Knew you’d fix me up.”

You hum as you start to cut away his bloody shirt. “Where the fuck is Shiu, huh? Isn’t your handler supposed to do the handling?”

Toji scoffs. “Don’t need him. He’s not happy with my attempt at an early retirement.”

“Not that early, is it old man?” You tease him mostly to distract him from what you’re doing, half-listening to his words, and thankfully he takes the bait.

“Hmm, you didn’t seem to think I was too old, babydoll. I thought you appreciated my experience.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you gotta tell yourself, pops.” You finish cutting the shirt open and slide it down his arms along with the jacket. “Can you get this off?”

He grunts and slips it off slowly, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. It must hurt like hell, but he doesn’t complain. He sees you watching him and smirks. “Like what ya see?”

“Yeah, Fushiguro. I love a man with a good stab wound.” You won’t give him the satisfaction, but he does look good. His muscles are as defined as you remember them, unexpected hardness on the soft expanse of his body when he moves. He’s tense now, as one is after a near-death experience, and your mouth waters despite yourself at the familiar sight of him. Even injured like this, rain- and liquor-soaked, he’s beautiful.

He’s laughing softly, a pink smudge across his cheeks that isn’t just from drinking. “Did I leave ya speechless?” He relaxes a bit against the back of the couch now that he doesn’t have to move anymore, just the muscles of his forearms standing out as he holds his stomach together.

“Something like that. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?” You take the inch of alcohol left in the bottle and pour it over his wound, biting your lip at his surprised cry.

“What the hell!” He pants, wide-eyed.

“Need to disinfect the wound,” you offer, without apology.

“Know damn well you could’ve been nicer about it,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t have to disappear on me.” The words are out of your mouth before you know it, before you can think of anything else to say, something that doesn’t make you sound like a vindictive, pathetic ex.

He blows out a breath. “Jeez, doll. I guess I deserved that.”

“I did need to disinfect it…”

He holds up one bloody hand to placate you, quickly returning it to his abdomen. “I know. You could have left me outside in the rain. Wouldn’t have been surprised, even.”

“I wouldn’t kill you over it Toji, damn.” You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting the conversation get here. “But why me? Seriously, you’re that mad at Shiu that you couldn’t have him take you to a fuckin’ hospital?”

Toji is quiet for a while before he responds, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “Shiu didn’t know about this job. I’ve been…freelancing. Something like that.”

You frown at him, trying to put the pieces together. “Freelancing how, exactly? You put an ad in the paper? Sexy hitman for hire?”

His mouth twists. “You think I’m sexy, mama?”

Fuck. Did you say that out loud? “Not the point, Fushiguro. What do you mean freelancing?”

He smirks, but lets it go. “I’m tryin’ to get out of the game. Turn over a new leaf. Go straight.”

He’s got to be joking. What he’s saying is unbelievable, but. When you look into his eyes, they’re serious. And you know he wouldn’t give enough of a shit to let himself get hurt this bad on a regular job.

“Why?” You’ve kept working on him as he talks, and finish applying the pressure dressing to his stomach. You wipe a wet cloth over his hands, smearing away the worst of the blood.

He’s quiet again, his pulse ticking in his clenched jaw as he watches you treat him. When you move your hands away from his, his fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back.

“Someone…informed me of the error of my ways.” His sharp canines flash as he smiles at you in the dim light. “Introduced me to an, alternative lifestyle. But I wasn’t too good at following the rules.”

“Toji…”

“Hush, doll. This confession’s been a long time coming. Don’t think I can keep goin’ if ya stop me now.” He looks longingly at the empty liquor bottle. “I understand why you were afraid for me, why my line of work was hurting you. It was selfish of me to want you, selfish to stay, when it was putting you in danger…” his breath hitches and he presses a hand to his stomach again with a pained smile. “Don’t think the blood loss makes this any easier.”

You move closer to him and cup his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over his rough skin. “I’m listening.” Your anger is ebbing away, replaced with something tender and fragile. You’ve never heard Fushiguro be this vulnerable, and you don’t want him to stop.

Toji’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into your touch. “Are ya gonna make me say it, doll?”

“Yeah, I am,” you murmur.

“I know I’m not what you deserve. But I’d give it all up to get just a little bit closer. Be a little bit better for you. I left because…” Toji trails off, and you feel the man tremble under your hand. “You were sleepin’ next to me, all innocent and beautiful, and I couldn’t…” he tries again. “I couldn’t let you tie yourself to a broken down old man like me.”

Toji opens his eyes and looks into yours. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But since then, I’ve done everything I could to be better, be someone worthy of you.” He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But it seems my colleagues don’t take kindly to someone gettin’ out of our line of work.”

Something like pity shows on your face, and Toji talks faster. “I wasn’t planning to come back so soon, I swear. I was gonna take you out someplace nice when I was clean, show you that I could live this life, that I’d changed and that I’d done it for you.”

He reaches up to hold your face, and his calloused palm is softer than you’ve ever felt it. You’re looking at his lips, remembering the heat of them on yours. “Toji, I…”

He pulls his hand away as you lean toward him, the narrowing space between you electrified. The shadows shift across your face as you come closer. Toji suddenly jerks away from you, a look of horror in his eyes as they fix on your cheek.

“Toji? Toji, what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out too high, frantic and defensive. The wine and liquor roil in your gut as nausea climbs up your throat.

He presses himself against the couch, and his voice sounds very far away. “Your face, doll.” He’s shrinking, making himself as small as possible, as if his touch would contaminate you.

You press shaking fingers to your cheek, staring dumbly at the blood that smears them when you pull away. “Toji?” You’ve said nothing but his name for the last minute, each iteration smaller and more confused.

His smile is icy, the soft warmth he had shown you doused completely. “You’ve got my blood on your face. S’like I said. I’ll ruin you.”

You wipe hard at your cheek, leaving it red and stinging. “It’s nothing, Toji. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be! Fuck!” He tries to stand and you cry out, rushing to steady him, but he pushes you away. “This is what I mean!” You can’t tell if the shine in his eyes is from blood loss, liquor, or tears. Toji’s throat burns as he tries to keep you from guessing the latter.

“It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re holding my guts in while I bleed on your carpet. You let me in, hell you carried me in here after I collapsed on your doorstep like a pathetic little stray.”

He’s wobbling on his feet, but manages to keep you at arm’s length. “Someone could’ve followed me here. I could get you killed.” A strained laugh. “I’m a fucking curse, doll. I need to stay the hell away from you.”

A red stain is blossoming on his clean bandages, but he hasn’t noticed yet. “You don’t get to decide for me!” You cry, furious at his arrogance, desperate to keep him here until you know he’ll survive the night.

“What would you decide then, hm?” He points at himself. “This the prize you want? A beat-up old man who kills people for a living? Who comes home with blood on his hands? It’s not always mine, sweetheart.” He’s being mean and you both know it, the venom in his words meant only for himself.

“Maybe it is. So what if it is?” He lets you come closer, leans into your space, drinking in your look of defiance.

“That’s why I get to decide.” He’s pushing past you, heading for the front door, limping with every step. You don’t move to follow him. You press your lips together and curl your hands into fists, fighting to stay still as you watch him stumble, clutching at the wall. He staggers two more steps before he falls hard onto his knees.

You step up beside him, looking down with a sad smile. “I don’t think you’re leaving tonight, Fushiguro.”

He swears at you with his last breath before he loses consciousness.

[captain-hawks]

Hello hello! I've recently discovered your writing and am going absolutely WILD over it, especially your kn8 fics!!

But I would love to request Kenma Kozume(timeskip) and bathroom/shower with the reader as his roommate and helps him destress after a long day of working for his company and youtubing !!

collaboration

kenma kozume x f!reader

Kenma's nearly content to ignore his accidental discovery of your late night activities...until the sight of you wearing one of his shirts snaps the last remaining fragile threads of his willpower.

wc: 1.1k

c: 18+ only, and they were roommates, streamer!kenma, camgirl!reader, (guilty) masturbation, handjob

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

It’s a miracle, Kenma thinks to himself as he lays one palm flat against the smooth tiles of the shower wall, that he’s lasted this long.

His cock hangs erect and flushed between his legs, precum leaking from the tip, and a satisfying flood of pleasure surges through him when the fingers of his other hand close around its girth.

Eight months he’s lived with you in this two-bedroom apartment, eight months of soft, mumbled ‘good morning’s over coffee and late nights spent watching bad movies and playing video games on the couch. 

You’re his roommate.

You’re his friend.

And he’s spent the last two months trying to forget about his accidental discovery of what exactly you’d fucking meant when you grinned at his streaming set up the first day you moved in, idly commenting that you “stream on occasion, too.” The answer to his question, though incredibly belated, came in the form of your tits on his computer screen late one night as he fervently searched for material to quell the aching need tented in his sweatpants. 

He didn’t realize it was you, not at first. Not until you moved over just enough as you began to finger yourself to reveal a familiar, brightly-colored collage of posters behind your bed. 

Kenma likes to think he’s been a decent roommate—he’s gone to whatever lengths necessary to think of anything but the swell of your perky tits and the sight of the slick arousal staining the inside of your thighs while he’s jerked off in the days since. He even blocked his own access to the website you stream on to avoid any future misclicks driven by selfish temptation and curiosity.

(Kuroo laughed so hard he cried when he told him and proceeded to call him a masochistic idiot.)

He might have even been able to move on past the entire thing unscathed…if he hadn’t stumbled out of his room today after streaming a grueling, infuriating six-hour-long raid to the sight of you bent over in front of the fridge wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pale pink cotton panties.

That still was nearly a recoverable offense, if not for the goddamn fact that the black t-shirt in question was his.

Even now, with his eyes firmly screwed shut as hot water pours down his back, the sight of KODZUKEN written in large, white letters across your shoulders is an insistent, hungry echo against the darkness of his eyelids. 

Just this once—

Kenma lets himself remember the way your tits bounced as you scooted back across your mattress, the shape of your pert nipples, the way your hips arched up off of the bed when you slipped two fingers into your cunt. 

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. His head drops against the tiles, water sliding down the damp strands of his hair as steam fills the room. His balls ache.

He’s a fucking terrible roommate.

Kenma strokes his cock and bites his fist and wonders if you’d let him come all over your tits. 

(He wonders if you’d wear that shirt while he fucks you.)

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist wishing he was sinking his cock into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. His chest shouldn’t be heaving at the thought of burying his face between your thighs and lapping at your swollen pussy until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

And suddenly, as disasters often go, a few unfortunate events occur simultaneously—

The bathroom door Kenma left unlocked in the midst of his frustration bursts open.

You loudly announce that you need to brush your teeth quickly.

And Kenma groans your fucking name while he’s pumping his throbbing shaft, the sound easily carrying across the bathroom tiles.

Kenma freezes, and everything goes silent, save for the sound of the running water pouring from the shower head. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He gapes, turning to look at the shadow on the other side of the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Can I help?” you continue when he doesn’t respond.

Kenma knows he’s never quite had a way with words, but now he’s well and truly at a fucking loss in this moment. 

“Why?”

Your soft laugh goes straight to his dick. “Because I want to.”

When the shower door slides open partway, you’re still wearing his shirt, and Kenma allows himself a brief moment to freely take in the sight before him. 

“Hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” you tell him, lips quirking upward in a smile as you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I may have accidentally left something in your drawer to make up for it.”

Kenma blinks, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over what you mean, because a moment later, you’re leaning into the shower just enough to wrap a hand around his shaft. He exhales roughly, taking a step backward, the door of the shower pressing into his shoulder blades as he turns his head to the side to glance at you.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

You run your teeth over your bottom lip as you stroke him, fingers deftly sliding up and down his length, breathy sighs leaving your lips as he gives in to the urge to rock his hips forward into your touch.

“Have you been watching my streams?” you ask him, lips hovering against the shell of his ear.

“Once,” he exhales sharply as your fingers clasp his balls before stroking from his base to his tip, thumb sliding over the precum that continues to steadily leak out.

You smile at him, like you know how fucking hard he’s been trying to maintain some modicum of respect for you as his friend. And then you send all of his good intentions spiraling in to a fucking ditch—

“That’s a shame. Personally, I like watching yours right before I stream.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s never been this hard in his life, not when your fingers are wrapped around his cock in the shower while openly admitting that you livestream yourself masturbating to him playing video games.

And because you clearly know no mercy, you tack on, for good measure:

“We could collaborate…”

Kenma comes so hard he nearly blacks out, his hips sloppily jerking into the grip of your fist as he slams both hands against the wall and groans, hot, sticky ropes of cum spurting from his cock and painting the gray tiles below.

—

Later, after Kenma finds a lacy, red thong nestled amongst the shirts in his dresser, he doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks his fist with it wrapped around his cock.

—

And while he’s not quite ready to run the risk of someone on your streaming site recognizing Kodzuken while you’re whimpering and gasping as you ease yourself down into his length, his viewers are none the wiser when you take his dick into your mouth from beneath his keyboard in the middle of his next raid. 

[devileyesboy]

“Cause you got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt, and I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt and when we go crashing down we come back every time cause we never go out of style”

That's what I was supposed to write in the background but I, as always, forgot. Btw my babies that I miss every day.

And more details bellow bc I always think Tumblr doesn't catch my effort enough.

[ilovecatilinclark]

Style

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Based off of style by taylor swift

you and have been having a situationship with her, finally she confesses.

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I Know exactly where it leads, but I Watch us go 'round and 'round each time

You knew you should've off told her to go home but you just couldn't, you knew what was gonna happen. You guys would end up making out but never actually confirm the relationship. Even as hard as you tried to push her away from you. You couldn't even if you might be a fling you hoped and tried.

Time went by fast first she was on the couch now your on the bottom of her making out passionately. You knew you were just another one of girls she would come to when she was bored. Every time she came she would always end up ranting about a new girl that ghosted her or played her. Then you guys would be making up on the couch helping comfort her.

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

While you were at a party you saw Paige, she made eye contact with you. As you both held the eye contact your friend soon called you over still feeling a lingering eye on you. You knew she was still staring especially since you were wearing her favorite red lipstick you owned.

As she stared you down you tried your hardest to ignore her lingering eyes and not to make eye contact with her. Even with how soft her gaze what you knew you shouldn't look for too long. You didn't want too catch feelings for her just from how her eyes looked at you. Seeming like she longed for you, as you were continuing partying and drinking you felt a pair of hands wrap around you.

"Hey, you look breath taking" Paige said with her adoring eyes looking up and down at you stunned at how good you look. "Thanks" you said blushing trying to avoid her gaze.

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Even with the times she ghosted you or left you on read you knew you guys would always be back together and would always find each other. It was a habit of hers to never really reply or ghost you when she found a new girl or because she lost interest talking to you.

Even when you would cry to your friend's or your close friend Aaliyah Edwards as all she could do was comfort you feeling pity. Even after crying your heart out Paige always went back to you and always came back to fix everything. You guys would always come back and be best friends you knew she didn't feel the same as much as you. But you never gave up even if it was this continuous cycle.

You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

As you were walking around the campus you spotted Paige. She was wearing her white t-shirt and the slick back hair that got you every time. It was clear she just came back from practice. As you planned to ignore her knowing she was probably ignoring you. You walked past her till you felt some arms hug you in the back. "I missed you" she said tucking her head into your neck smelling you.

Oh you were so back you guys soon were gonna meet up at this party. You knew you were knew as a good person, you were kind and never judge mental always giving everyone a chance. Everyone knew you and Paige were on and off and all they felt was pity. Knowing you were such a good person. You soon arrived in the party you met with Paige "cute skirt" she said as you waved at her. "thanks" you said grabbing the drink from her hand.

As you guys were partying you both knew you wouldn't be able to keep your hands away from each other. As Paige was being a bit handsy you couldn't help but get flustered but kept partying. You wanted to ask "What are we" but knew Paige would blow it off.

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Before you could even text Paige the next morning you saw on Instagram you were blocked again. You were so confused you thought you guys were better now. As you soon called Aaliyah to cry to her again about how this always happen. You didn't know on the other side Paige was also in the room with the rest of the team. Listening onto the conversation.

She felt guilt, she knew she was always blowing you off and just really using you as a comfort. But she started to feel genuine feelings, but she didn't want to hurt you. Soon after the call her teammates told her to just confess and to stop hurting you. She knew she had to act, soon she was at your dorm knocking. As you opened the door with red puffy eyes. She quickly said "Will you be my girlfriend" she said as she stared into your eyes. You were stunned you were confused but you couldn't help but feel relieved and happy.

"Yes Paige I will be' your girlfriend while sniffling but smiling, as she came closer and hugged you. Even if it took some time for Paige to like you back. You knew you two would never go out of style always finding each other and staying together forever.