#why is making content for your content embarrassing

[p1astr81]

heyy!! could you maybe do something with bsf!oscar x reader where he gets hard because of reader in an unfortunate situation and she tries to help him out through his jeans like a lil dry humping situation. i don’t really know how to explain and don’t have a real plot idea but im so down bad for him😔🙏🏼

I’m crying why are all my anons freaky😭

anyways he’s not exactly in jeans but wtv, warnings as stated above: smut (I’m not responsible for the content you consume), dry humping

All you did was brush by him in the garage. The smallest of touches. But it was your ass brushing against his dick.

And then he had to rush off to his driver’s room, embarrassed because it got him so hard and then he was showing through his suit. He couldn’t let anyone know.

But of course, because you were you, you’d followed him to make sure he was okay. You didn’t knock. You just walked right in.

He was sat on the small sofa, legs spread and his head thrown back, his hands in fists beside him. He hadn’t noticed you quick enough, hadn’t thrown his shirt over his lap quick enough, and you saw it. The tent in his overalls.

“That looks painful.” You quipped, amused and slightly teasing.

Horror was the kind of response he expected, so his brain stuttered when you stepped into the room and shut the door. “Uh, yeah.” He confessed, finding it difficult to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t think it’ll be fun driving like that.” You joked again.

You were easing the tension, he appreciated that but he would’ve also appreciated it if you’d never seen him like this in the first place.

“Yeah, probably.” He muttered, still embarrassed.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I can help you with that.” You offered, grinning, sultry steps approaching him.

He nodded before his brain even registered the question.

He was expecting you to undress him a bit, not for you to sit on his lap and start grinding your hips on him. Nonetheless, he was still letting out small moans each time you ground extra hard against him.

His hands shot to your hips—yours on his shoulders to support yourself. And he couldn’t help himself, gripping you tightly and controlling the movement of your hips. Fast, pulling you down as hard as he could against him.

Surely, if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the groans and moans echoing around the room. Or maybe the sounds of the engines firing up would save you guys. Your attempts at muting your sounds were futile.

It was too much for him, felt too good to keep his sounds in. Whispers of your name fell off his lips like it was the only syllables he knew how to string together.

He got needier, thrusting his hips to meet yours. A loud shout of his name was punched from your lungs.

“Hmm! Oh, Oscar,” You moaned into his mouth, biting his lip as you came in your panties.

He wasn’t far behind, calling you all sorts of pet names—baby, love, honey—while he shot his release in his racing suit.

You slumped against him, dead weight as he held you to keep you from falling over. “Was that because of me?” Your laugh was breathless.

He could’ve lied. But he didn’t. “Yeah,” he admitted in his rough voice, burying his head in the curve of your neck.

[psformybss]

if it wasn’t real, why did it hurt?

rafe cameron x female!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexual content, emotional manipulation, casual hookup, unrequited feelings, emotional detachment, miscommunication, self-doubt, toxic behavior, situationship

════════════════

You met Rafe Cameron at a frat party you hadn’t even planned on going to.

Your roommate had practically dragged you there. “Just for an hour,” she insisted, tugging at your wrist as you stood in front of your closet in an oversized hoodie and cotton shorts. “You’ve been cooped up all week. You need to go out, drink a little, maybe make out with someone hot and emotionally unavailable.”

You’d laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “You really know how to sell it.”

But somehow, thirty minutes later, you were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers in a house that smelled like beer, weed, and someone’s shitty attempt at cologne. Bass pounded through the floor, sticky heat rising with the press of bodies. You immediately regretted it.

Until you saw him.

He was leaned against the kitchen counter like it was second nature—head tilted, backwards cap, lazy smirk. T-shirt hugging lean muscle. Tan forearms crossed, one hand holding a red solo cup like it wasn’t worth the effort. He looked like trouble in all the ways you weren’t supposed to want.

And he was already watching you.

Your eyes met.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

You drifted toward the kitchen more out of instinct than intention, holding your half-empty White Claw like a shield. You didn’t even get a step in before he nodded toward it.

“That yours?”

You raised a brow. “Why? You worried I’m gonna roofie you?”

He laughed, and it was warm, low, like a secret. “Just checking you’re not stealing mine.”

You tilted your can toward him. “If it was yours, I’m judging your taste.”

“That’s bold,” he said, eyes flicking over you—playful, assessing. “Mango slander this early?”

“I’m just saying,” you replied, shrugging, “if I’m gonna drink something embarrassing, I’m gonna own it.”

His smirk grew. “I’m Rafe.”

He held out his hand like he already knew you’d take it. You did.

When you gave him your name, he said it like he was trying it out. Like he liked how it felt in his mouth.

The conversation was easy—teasing, then flirtatious. You stood too close in a way that wasn’t accidental, trading barbs and stolen glances until the crowd closed in and the air got too tight.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You didn’t ask where he meant. You just followed.

Outside, the cool air wrapped around your legs like a relief you didn’t realize you needed. The house was buzzing behind you, laughter and music spilling from the porch lights, but out here, everything felt still.

You sat on the steps beside him, knees brushing. He looked over, eyes lingering on your mouth.

“You’re not like the girls in there,” he said.

You huffed a laugh. “Because I insulted your drink choice?”

“No,” he said, his voice dipping, “because you’re not trying.”

You turned toward him. “And that’s… good?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in a little, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

The moment hung heavy, thick with tension.

You swallowed.

“Is this where you kiss me?” you asked.

His mouth tilted up. “Only if you want me to.”

You didn’t answer.

You just closed the space.

He kissed you slow at first, like he wanted to savor it—like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance. His lips were soft, confident, coaxing yours open with ease. One hand found your cheek, then slid into your hair, and you tilted your head, sighing into his mouth as the pressure deepened.

He tasted like whiskey and warmth, and when he licked into your mouth, something low in your stomach curled tight.

You shifted closer without thinking, your thighs brushing, his fingers tightening in your hair. The kiss turned hotter, hungrier—his tongue teasing, your breaths getting shorter, your hands gripping the front of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I want more of this,” he murmured. “Somewhere not on a frat porch.”

Your pulse jumped.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours.

“My place’s not far. You wanna come with me?”

Your heart thudded.

But you were already nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He grinned, stood, and reached for your hand again.

You barely made it through the front door before he was kissing you again.

It was darker in his house, quieter. The only light came from a lamp left on in the corner of the living room, casting soft gold over his jaw as he reached for you—palms sliding over your waist, your back, pressing you into him like he’d been waiting all night to do it properly.

You kissed him back like you felt the same. Like it had been building from the moment your eyes met across that kitchen.

His hands were firm. Greedy. He walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the couch, and then you were sinking down together, your body straddling his thighs, his mouth moving along your throat.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “You don’t even try.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t need to.

Because then he was kissing you again—deep, slow, dirty. One hand tangled in your hair, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dragging along bare skin until you gasped into his mouth.

Clothes came off in pieces, fast and impatient. His shirt. Your shorts. The stretch of skin against skin.

He gripped your hips and pulled you against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

You made a sound in your throat—half groan, half challenge.

“You gonna be good for me?” he murmured, eyes burning.

“You gonna earn it?”

That earned you a growl.

He flipped you onto your back with too much ease, dragging his mouth down your body like he already knew every inch. You arched beneath him, fingers fisting in the cushions as he kissed and bit his way down your stomach, teasing you until you were panting his name like it was the only thing you knew.

And when he finally gave you what you wanted—what you needed—it was all heat and pressure and slow, torturous rhythm. He didn’t rush. He watched, holding your gaze while he fucked you like he wanted to memorize every sound you made.

You came with your nails in his shoulders and your legs locked around him, gasping his name like a promise you didn’t mean to make.

He kissed you softer afterward, slower, like something changed and he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

You stayed the night. Fell asleep on his chest with the TV flickering in the background, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

In the morning, you found your shirt halfway under the couch and your underwear tangled in a throw blanket.

Rafe was already up, stretching in a pair of sweats and yawning like he hadn’t wrecked you six hours ago.

You pulled your shirt over your head and sat on the edge of the couch to put your shoes back on.

He stood there for a beat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You leaving?” he asked.

You nodded. “Didn’t want to be that girl.”

He smirked. “What girl?”

“The one who lingers.”

He stepped closer.

“You could linger a little,” he said, quieter.

You looked up.

He rubbed a thumb over the hinge of his jaw, like he was debating something. Then:

“Give me your number.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I wanna see you again,” he said simply. “Not just at some party. You good with that?”

Your stomach flipped.

But your voice was steady when you said, “Yeah. I’m good with that.”

You handed him your phone.

And he smiled like it was the start of something neither of you could name yet.

The first text came hours later:

Rafe (9:47 AM): made it home okay?

You were curled up in your bed, still wrapped in the warmth of his scent, wondering if he’d just forget about everything like it never happened.

You (9;50 AM): yeah

Rafe (9:52 AM): wish you would have stayed longer

Rafe (9:53 AM): my bed still smells like you.

Your stomach fluttered as you stared at the message longer than you meant to.

You (9:55 AM): maybe you should’ve asked me to stay

Rafe (9:57 AM): didn’t think i had to

You felt something shift in that simple text. That was the beginning.

The next few days felt like waiting.

You weren’t texting constantly, but it was enough—small bursts of conversation between classes, little exchanges that felt like inside jokes, your connection growing in the spaces between.

Rafe (2:01 PM): girl in my chem class has your exact laugh. freaked me out.

You (2:04 PM): she better not be stealing it. trademark pending.

Rafe (2:06 PM): not even close. yours hits harder.

That Friday night, the text came late.

Rafe (12:13 AM): you up?

The second you read it, your phone buzzed again.

Rafe (12:14 AM): come outside.

You hadn’t even heard his Jeep pull up, but your heart was already racing as you grabbed a hoodie and stepped outside. The cool night air hit you, and the second you slid into the passenger seat, Rafe was already leaning across the console, pressing his lips to yours. Slow, like a hello he couldn’t say aloud.

“You taste like candy,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

“And you taste like bad decisions.”

He grinned, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Funny. Thought you liked those.”

He drove aimlessly for a while, one hand on the wheel and the other skimming the hem of your shorts. His touch was light, almost casual, but everything between you felt loaded—like every brush of his fingers against your skin was an unspoken promise.

Eventually, he parked near the lookout, a quiet spot high above the water. Stars scattered across the night sky, and the lights of the city blinked in the distance. You both climbed into the backseat, a movement that felt like second nature now.

At first, neither of you spoke. You just lay side by side, shoulders brushing, talking about random things—classes, hometowns, the strange scar above his eyebrow from a dare in high school.

“Bet you looked hot with blood dripping down your face,” you teased.

He turned toward you, a grin playing on his lips. “Bet you would’ve kissed me anyway.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him first.

That’s when it shifted.

He pulled you onto his lap, his hands slipping under your hoodie and dragging it off over your head. Your bra followed quickly, and his lips traced down your chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You gasped his name, the dark around you only making everything feel more intense.

You rocked your hips against him, the pressure of him building between you. He groaned low, grabbing your hips and pulling you harder against him.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, his breath a mix of heat and hunger.

Everything felt electric—him, the way his body moved against yours, the way he whispered your name as he slid inside you, slow and deep. The connection between you both was raw, relentless.

You came, the release dizzying, like you were unraveling in his arms.

He held you after, skin slick and warm, both of you breathing in the quiet.

It became a routine after that.

Not every night, but often enough.

Late texts. Quiet pick-ups. Kisses in parked cars and whispered words that carried weight. Sometimes he kissed you like he was starving. Sometimes he kissed you like you were fragile.

You never asked what it meant.

You didn’t want to break the spell.

But there was something there. A pull you couldn’t ignore.

And you were starting to hope it was something real.

You started seeing each other in the daylight.

It wasn’t planned. It just happened.

The first time, he texted you on a Sunday morning.

Rafe (10:27 AM): what’re you doing

You (10:29 AM): regretting tequila and trying to convince myself to do laundry

Rafe (10:30 AM): come get breakfast with me instead

You hesitated. Because this wasn’t a backseat or a party or the quiet space between midnight and dawn.

This was eggs and coffee and sunlight.

But you said yes anyway.

You met at a hole-in-the-wall diner just off campus, both of you in hoodies and bed hair. He held the door open, teased you for your order, stole a bite of your pancakes. And when he paid for both of you, he didn’t make a thing of it. He just did it.

Afterward, he walked you to your car. You didn’t kiss. He just looked at you for a long second, like he wanted to.

Another time, he asked if you wanted to go for a drive. No reason. No party. Just the two of you, windows down, music loud, his hand occasionally drifting over to rest on your thigh like it belonged there.

You drove all the way to the beach and walked barefoot in the sand, shoes hanging from your fingers. You talked about stupid things—your first concerts, his worst haircut, the time you accidentally broke your mom’s favorite vase and blamed it on the cat.

He laughed, easy and open, and you found yourself watching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

When you sat on the hood of his Jeep to watch the water, his arm slipped around your waist like it had always been there.

He didn’t try anything.

He just held you.

And you let him.

Then came the Wednesday night you didn’t expect.

You’d just gotten out of a late class and were halfway through changing into pajamas when your phone buzzed.

Rafe (9:18 PM): outside

You didn’t even question it. You threw on jeans and met him at the curb, breath catching when you saw him leaning against the side of his car, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” you said.

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going home.”

You ended up at his place—again. But it wasn’t like the other nights.

He didn’t drag you onto the couch the second you walked in. He handed you a soda, let you pick the movie, and pulled you into his lap like it was instinct. His fingers stayed tangled with yours as the movie played, thumb brushing idle circles into your palm.

You fell asleep like that.

And woke up still curled against his chest.

The next morning, he made you coffee.

Badly.

It was too strong and slightly bitter, but you drank it anyway while he stood there shirtless, pretending he knew how to use the French press.

“You always make it this bad?” you asked, eyeing the mug.

He grinned. “Only for girls I like.”

You looked up, heart skipping.

He didn’t correct himself.

Rafe (1:26 PM): you left your hoodie

You (1:27 PM): guess that means you’ll have to see me again

Rafe (1:28 PM): yeah

Rafe (1:28 PM): think i want to

The lines blurred slowly.

Not with labels. Not with big talks or definitions.

But in the way he started walking you to your car after class. The way he’d call instead of text just to hear your voice. The way he’d ask if you’d eaten, if you were okay, if you wanted to come over just to sleep.

It wasn’t just lust anymore.

Not when his hand found yours under the table at brunch with your friends.

Not when he started remembering how you liked your coffee, how you took your notes, how you always tugged your sleeves over your hands when you were nervous.

Not when he looked at you like that.

Like you were becoming the thing he didn’t know how to stop wanting.

Until he started pulling away.

Slow at first. Subtle.

You blamed it on life—midterms, late nights, whatever excuse made it easier to ignore the shift.

Rafe (2:44 PM): can’t hang today, got shit to do

You (2:46 PM): all good. another time?

He didn’t respond.

That wasn’t new. Sometimes he got distracted. But this time, he didn’t make it up to you the next day.

Or the day after.

The texts changed first.

They used to feel like something—like a conversation, a heartbeat. Now, they came in short bursts. Delayed replies. One-word answers that didn’t ask for more.

You (9:12 AM): hope your exam went okay

Rafe (11:51 AM): yeah

You (11:52 AM): cool. proud of you

Rafe (12:00 PM): thanks

And that was it.

No late-night “you up?” texts. No random “wanna drive?” No stupid jokes in the middle of the day that made you grin in the back of class.

Just silence.

You still saw him around.

Passing glances on campus. A quick nod at a party. He looked the same—same backward cap, same lazy smirk—but he didn’t look at you the same.

He didn’t stop and talk.

Didn’t reach for your hand.

Didn’t say your name like it meant something anymore.

You told yourself not to care. That you weren’t together. That this was always casual.

But the pit in your stomach didn’t care about logic.

It just knew he was gone.

Your hoodie was still at his place.

You almost texted him for it.

But what would be the point?

You knew what that silence meant.

You told yourself not to care.

But every time your phone buzzed, your chest still tightened.

And every time it wasn’t him, it eased.

A little.

Until one day, it didn’t tighten at all.

Your roommate found you staring at your phone one night and asked, “Have you heard from Rafe?”

You shook your head. “Not in a while.”

She gave you that look.

The one that says I’m sorry without the words.

And you hated it.

Because you let yourself hope.

You let yourself feel something real.

And he just… didn’t.

Then, two weeks later, your phone lit up.

Rafe (12:03 AM): wyd

You stared at it for a long time.

Not because you were excited.

But because you finally didn’t feel anything at all.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Because you weren’t waiting anymore.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

an: i fear i blacked out once i started writing this and based it a little too much on my life rn

[talon-the-hawk]

Yandere! Batfam x Neglected Streamer! Reader

Previous

Chapter 2: Entertainment

TW: I mean...kinda yandere behaviour...but it's a yandere fic so like if you're not into that why are you reading this far into the post? 🥲

It started off small.

A hushed giggle from Garfield as he watched something on his phone just out of Dick's line of sight.

An amused snort as Roy scrolled his phone in boredom when chilling at one of Jason's safehouses.

Konner and Jon commenting on "a new stream they saw" while over at the manor, leaving Damian and Tim confused and oblivious.

Your popularity in the content creation community was growing rapidly by the day, with your range of viewers extending out of Gotham and moving world wide. You gained a steady community of fans, with some even sending you gifts and letters. Of course, you made sure to use a P.O box to conceal your address in case someone somehow linked you to your past life as Bruce Wayne's child. Through maintaining a semi-regular streaming schedule mixed with uploading to youtube every month left you with quite a chunk of cash in your pocket. So much infact, that you soon decided to drop the couple of college courses you were taking to pursue your content creation career full time.

With the added fame came opportunities to collab. Soon enough you were streaming with the people you used to idolize. It was almost a power trip, the way you ended up being a figure that was adored so commonly.

Adored. Shown affection, unlike when you were with them.

Surprisingly enough, Damian was the first to find out. Damain: the little brother who had taunted you endlessly, mocked you in front of everyone, and showed little remorse for any of it.

Jon was giggling on his phone, eyes stuck to his screen as he watched a youtube video of some sort during one of their many hangouts.

" Tch, can't you put that device down for one moment?" Damian huffed, looking over at the boy.

"Aw, lighten up. Come watch with me." Jon chirped, motioning for Damian to sit down next to him. He reluctantly agreed, posture still slightly too stiff as he sat down on the couch next to Jon. The youngest Kent propped his phone up in his hands, eager to show his friend the newest content creator he had found. His finger hit the play button, and it only took a couple seconds for Damian's eyes to narrow in recognition.

Surely not.

It sounded like you. There was no mistaking it, the same soft timbre that he would make choke up with tears now rang out confidently in an enrapturing way. Each word seemed to catch the complete attention of everyone who watched, bringing a sort of comfort that settled itself in his ribs.

When did they get so popular? Does Bruce know his child is building a reputation anonymously?

It was clear to Damian when he looked over at Jon that the youngest super had no idea it was you, and he supposed that made sense. Often times when Jon came over Damian made a bigger show of ostracizing you from the rest of the family. Now that he really thought about it, he realized that Jon had never really heard you speak in person. You had always tried to get out of Damian's vicinity whenever you spotted him, especially when he was with Jon.

Jon clearly saw he was lost in thought, snapping his fingers in front of Damian's face.

"Hello? Earth to Damian?"

Damian's gaze just slowly returned to the small device.

"I need to go find someone, I'll be back."

For Dick, he was doom scrolling on instagram one night after patrols when a certain reel made him pause. It was a clip one of your viewers had taken from a stream a while back, one where a fan of yours had made a huge donation. The donation requested you to share some sort of talent you had, and as per your usual antics you focused your camera on your new bedroom (still wearing a mask and sunglasses to keep yourself as unidentifiable as you could) and prepared.

"God, this is embarrassing. I actually learned how to do this a while back in order to try and impress some of my family, but that's a story for another time-" You snorted, before flipping over to walk on your hands. You did a little lap around your space before eventually standing back up, pushing the glasses back up the bridge of your nose to make sure they didn't fall.

There was no mistaking it was you, he'd recognize his baby bird anywhere. But what he wasn't prepared for was your small show of talent. He tried to recall any previous instances of you showing an interest in any sort of acrobatics, but his mind came up blank. Matter of fact, he was struggling to come up with a recollection of any of your hobbies.

Surely you've talked to him about something you were interested in before, no? He was your older brother, he should know about your hobbies.

Dick racked his brain, trying to come up with any memory of even holding a proper conversation with you, and his guilt seemed to increase every time he came up empty. He vaguely recalled a time you had asked to show him "something you thought he would like", but he had brushed it off as it was close to the time he was set to patrol.

He bit down on his bottom lip in guilt, clicking on the caption of the reel and trying to see if the person had tagged your official account. They hadn't (which honestly he found insulting, the clip was your hard work and this pathetic internet leech couldn't even be bothered to give you credit-) but in the hashtags he found what he assumed to be the same you went by on most platforms. He quickly typed it into his search bar, letting out a gasp at just how popular you seemed to be.

His baby bird was really taking after him in the entertainment industry. Although it wasn't really the same thing, Dick couldn't help but feel like he was part of your inspiration to become a famous personality.

He spent the next couple of hours carefully combing through your content, memorizing every reoccurring joke you held with your audience and how you acted as a safe space for your community.

God, he really needed to go find you and tell you how proud he was of your success.

Author's note:

Hey y'all! Dw, dw...Jason and Tim's reactions are coming soon lol :p hope you guys enjoy the chapter and please lemme know what you think! Ooh, also if you have any title recommendations for this fic, that would be baller because I've been really struggling to find one hehe!

Taglist: @vanessa-boo @jjsmeowthie @cxcilla @itsberrydreemurstuff @trashlanternfish360 @starsswaggy @legolas-the-homeschooled-elf @nickithearticorn @hallahella @lettucel0ver @kittzu @cssammyyarts @ryuushou @welpthisisboring @neverdead2 @mallowryblog @lingxio @the-dumber-scaramouche @oxionsworld @raini-sanchez @jellyedkazoo @alishii @bellethesleepypotato

[birdofwildness]

୨୧✧˚Dating Spencer Reid as an autistic person

୨୧✧˚Spencer Reid

warnings:: Reader has A level autism,so she may not be accurate for everyone. She has a special interest in psychology <33. Yes,I'm autistic.

❁ Joining the team is nuts. You're scared,it feels like highschool. But you try your best.

❁ Spencer initially doesn’t clock that you're autistic because you seem incredibly articulate and socially competent (or you're just good at masking)

❁ You first bond over a shared interest in psychology—you quoted a study during a casual conversation and he lights up immediately.

❁ He later learns that you also studied psychology and worked as a therapist.

❁ He loves how passionate you are about the subject and assumes that's just because you enjoy talking.

❁ After you become friends you don't want to break the illusion of the extrovert friend, but you're so tired after every meeting up where you go out and you have to act energetic the whole time.

❁ So you start suggesting more quiet, controlled environments: museums, bookshops, Spencer’s apartment.

❁ He's thrilled, thinking, “She’s just like me!” but still doesn’t quite get why.

❁ Eventually, you admit you're autistic too, expecting it to be a Big Deal.

❁ Spencer just blinks at her and goes, “Wait… that actually makes so much sense,” then starts listing little things he noticed in hindsight

❁ Then he notes his own autistic qualities.

❁ He’s a little embarrassed that he didn’t pick up on it earlier, but you reassure him—“That’s kind of the point of masking, Spence.”

❁ You end up having a long, info-dumpy convo about the spectrum, masking, misdiagnosis in women, and how special interests can serve as a coping mechanism.

❁ He declares that your interest in human behaviour and psychology is the most interesting case of special interests.

❁ Now that the truth’s out, you stop trying so hard to mask around him. And have “silent hangouts....or dates” where you just read or stim together.

❁ He tries making up for all the times he made you go into public. He starts picking up on your subtle cues—when you're overwhelmed, when you need to be alone, or when you need to infodump about the psychology of serial killers.

❁ And he does the same.He’ll pause mid-ramble and say, “Too much?” and you’ll either shake your head or gently redirect him.

❁ You come up with nonverbal check-ins: tapping fingers, soft pressure, even specific emojis you text when one of you needs support.

❁ You share case studies.Spencer once gave you a copy of his dissertation annotated with “you’d like this part” sticky notes.

❁ You'll psychoanalyze TV characters for fun.

❁ Your dates sometimes look like co-working sessions—silent, hyperfocused, deeply content.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. Mature content.

A Voice in the Dark

Before he met Sherlock, John had no special opinions about voices. Not entirely true. Some voices could make his brain explode; if they were shrieking, and he hated whining with a vengeance.

When John first laid his eyes on Sherlock, he looked so young. Hence the shock of that deep baritone. In John’s (stupid) opinion, young people, people looking like Sherlock, shouldn’t have a voice best described as dark, melting chocolate. But that was Sherlock Holmes for you, a contradiction in every sense of the word.

***

Much sooner than John expected, he dared to make a move. If he’d been brave enough, he’d done it that first night at Angelo’s, because by God Sherlock looked so beautiful in the candlelight. Somehow though, John sensed it wasn’t the right time. Sherlock wasn’t ready. And he was working. He’d made it quite clear how important The Work, was to him. 

So, John waited patiently, until the opportunity arose.

Sherlock told him he sometimes did not talk for days on end. That was a blatant lie. The man never knew how to shut up. Which suited John just fine. Mostly. Listening to Sherlock’s voice was John’s favourite thing. It didn’t matter what he was saying. Mostly, he didn’t want an answer from John anyway. The great detective needed a sounding board, and apparently John was a considerable upgrade from the skull Sherlock had used in the past.

***

A week after John shot the bad cabbie, he started to drop the occasional remark about Sherlock’s appearance, touched him briefly when he passed him; everything transpired securely inside the flat. Sherlock got flustered enough as it were, and John didn’t want to spook or embarrass him when others were around.

The evening Sherlock addressed the matter, he’d been supine on the sofa for hours, not speaking a word. John missed his voice like a lost limb. He sighed relieved when the dark voice weaved its way to John’s mind and heart.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“Why do you…”

It was clear Sherlock had lost his nerve, but John didn’t want to wait any longer. The tension between them was a tangible thing at this stage, and the good doctor needed release, lest he combust.

“Touch you and – “

“Yes. I don’t understand. Do you…like me…that way?”

The man’s insecurity almost broke John’s heart, so he stood and walked over to the sofa where he crouched down.

“Haven’t you observed how I can’t take my eyes off you? That I close my eyes when you speak. How my steady hands tremble when you’re near me.”

“I have, but I didn’t trust my observations. No one has ever…”

“You can absolutely trust them. The question is, do you want me to continue, or do you want to take it further?”

“Further,” Sherlock whispered.

“I was hoping you would say that,” John replied in a hushed voice.

He lifted his hand to cradle Sherlock’s face, tilting it just so. Sherlock looked transfixed, his eyes roaming John’s face, resting on his lips. John leaned in, Sherlock closed his eyes, and parted his lips slightly. The sight made John’s inner organs sing with joy and arousal.

The kiss was soft and as tender as John could manage. He wanted to put every feeling he had for Sherlock into it. A moan woke him from his reverie, and then large hands pulled him closer. John deepened the kiss, teasing a bit with the tip of his tongue. The grip around his shoulder tightened, and John threw caution to the wind and devoured those plush lips as if his life depended on it.

“Take me to bed,” Sherlock murmured when they parted for air.

“God, your voice. Do you know how much I love your voice?”

Sherlock, having momentarily composed himself, smirked and nodded. A lovely blush graced his neck and John was desperate to taste it.

“Bed,” he commanded like the captain he was, and Sherlock was more than willing to abide by it.

***

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

John’s eyes took in the naked consulting detective, adorned with several hickeys and love bites. The flush was back, and John chased it down, licking and kissing, while his hands teased the peaked nipples until Sherlock all but sobbed.

“John, please. I need…”

“Talk to me, love. What to you need? Don’t be shy, sweetheart.”

The endearments, John realised, made Sherlock squirm and a shy smile formed on his lips.

“I need you. I’m so hard, it hurts. Whatever you want, John. Just…please.”

“Oh, love. Where’s your lube?”

Sherlock just waved a hand, the other hand moving towards his throbbing erection. John caught it easily, sucking two of his fingers, while simultaneously searching the bedside table for the preferred bottle. With a slurp, John released the long digits, and drizzled a generous amount of lube into his hand. He was just as aroused as Sherlock, but he had more experience and his iron will was legendary.

A relieved sigh escaped them both when John wrapped his hand around both their cocks.

“Oh, John!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“Goody, yeah?” John inquired.

“An understatement,” Sherlock panted. “Harder. I need more.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” John cooed and quickened the pace and tightened the grip.

Moments later, Sherlock erupted like a volcano, and the sounds he made, pulled John over the edge as well.

Later, John learned that Sherlock was the clingiest cuddler he’d ever come across, which pleased him immensely.

“I like it when you call me…those names,” the detective murmured into John’s neck.

“Mm, I could tell. You blushed adorably every time,” John told him. “Now, will you talk to me until I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, John. What do you want me to say? Do you want a story, or shall I just prattle on about inane things like – “

A tiny snore from the lovely doctor, shut him up.

“Rude,” Sherlock huffed, but his besotted smile fooled no one.

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

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack

@221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@peanitbear @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982 @johnlock-and-tea @a-victorian-girl

@missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch

@acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020 @mydogwatson @redmondcollege

@thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood @xmengal03 @riversong912

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @couldbecannibal @2old2b-fangirl @dw91165 @jonkwatson

@binx72 @macgyvershe @raina-at @dragoonthegreatest @kholkate

@fookincarrotsandpotatoes28 @talkativeanxiousturtle @aloeverawrites @twoandahalfdimes @desi-yearning

(Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[loveharlow]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ ANGST ALPHABET

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader [ more rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC ‧₊˚[idk] Angst Alphabet for Rafe. I removed some letters because they were repetitive questions😭

WARNING(S) & A/N ‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of slut shaming, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of physical abuse

A— Anger (what makes them angry? How do they deal with the anger?)

It’s Rafe…anything makes him angry. Pogues make him angry. His family makes him angry. His drug dealer makes him angry. He makes himself angry. And he doesn’t really have a way of dealing with it, not a healthy way at least. His solution is coke and that honestly never helps, it just amps his anger up to 100.

B— Bad Habits (what bad habits do they have?)

Too many to list. Between his mild coke addiction and extreme anger issues, Rafe is just a walking time bomb.

C— Can’t (what can’t they do? Is it a moral thing or some skill they just never learned?)

It’s like he can’t apologize with blaming you, even in the slightest. He’ll take responsibility for the main portion of whatever the issue was, saying he’s sorry and he shouldn’t have done but then he’ll turn it around on you at the very end, always with “But you have to admit that you…”, “I’m not the only one of us at fault here…”, “Let’s not act like you didn’t…”

“I’m actually so fucking sick of you.”

“I said I was sorry. He was looking at you the entire night!”

“So, you punch the waiter? While we’re out at dinner with your father and Rose who, by the way, already think that I’m using you for money?? You don’t even see the way your father looks at me-

“You're...being dramatic-”

“-like I’m the bottom of his shoe and you? you just made that worse-”

“Look, I didn’t mean to, okay? I-I’ll talk to my dad, I’ll even go back and apologize to the waiter. Will that make you happy?”

“...Yes, actually, it would. So, you go do that.”

“...But I’m not gonna pretend you weren’t looking at him, too.”

“*scoff*...You’re such an ass, honestly. You turn everything around on me-”

“I’m just saying!-”

“Well, just don’t!”

D— Death (How do they die? With family or alone? How does their partner find out?)

The only way I see Rafe dying is if all the trouble he got into finally caught up to him. I don’t know what, exactly, but I say either the pogues either snap and accidentally kill him or he kills himself, by overdose or some dumb shit he does.

E— Embarrassed (what embarrasses them?)

Ward. 100%. The way Ward treats his son is the only thing that truly embarrasses Rafe. Especially because Rafe tries to act like as soon as Ward hits the ground, everything is going to him — the inheritance, the company, the mansion. So, whenever you would stay over and wake up after him to a cold bed just to hear Ward digging into him downstairs, deep voice echoing off the walls of the mansion, Rafe knew you could hear. He just knew that Ward’s booming voice had probably woken you up and you could hear his father yelling at him about money and drugs and his sister.

"You fucked up everything, Rafe! Again!"

"I know, dad, okay? I was just trying to help-"

"This is your way of helping?!"

"Dad, please, my girlfriend, she's upstairs. Can we please not-"

"You think I care about some run of the mill south side chick in your bed? She will take everything you have and run. And you're so doped up half the time that you don't even see it."

F— Fake (what do they fake? An emotion? A lack of emotions?)

He fakes every. Single. Apology. Ever. He yelled at you for something you didn’t do? He’s on his knees spewing apologies while tears run down your face even though he’s going to do it tomorrow. He “accidentally” hit you because he got jealous? He’s burying your head in his chest while you stare off at nothing knowing it’s probably going to happen again. Called you a slut for wearing something you thought was cute? He didn’t mean it. But he’s never really sorry. And you both know it.

G— Guilty (what do they feel guilty about? why?)

He rarely ever feels guilt, but during the brief moments where he’s sober — no alcohol or drugs, he can’t help but feel guilty that he can’t let you go. Those moments in the morning, where he hasn’t touched a single substance yet and his mind is clear of any negative thought, he’ll just stare at your sleeping figure and think how much better off you’d be without him but he knows he’d never let that happen. Even as he looks at the bruises on you, sexual and violent, he knows he should free you of him but he never will.

H— Heartbreak (how did they deal with heartbreak? which time effected them the most?)

Heartbreak turns to anger for Rafe. You? Breaking up with him? Had you lost your mind? Were you drunk? Had you gotten in his coke stash? Because surely you weren’t trying to leave him. 

"I don't want to do this anymore. I am miserable, Rafe. Can't you see that?"

"That's because you keep trying to fight it, fight us. So what if your friends hate me? Screw them."

"It's not my friends, it's you. You're not nice to me, you try to control me, you use me as your punching bag. Verbally and physically-"

"You know I never mean it. I just... lose it sometimes, you know that."

"And that's supposed to make it okay?"

"No, I just-...you can't leave me."

"Well, tough shit because that's what's happening right now."

"No, I'm telling you. You try and walk out that door and I will hurt you. Please, don't make me hurt you."

I— Insecure (what are their insecurities?)

Sometimes, he just thinks that he'll never be good enough in the eyes of anyone. He's spent his whole life just trying to be good enough in the eyes of his father, someone who should feel obligated to uplift and be proud of him. So, when he's constantly berated and embarrassed by the man who's supposed to treat him with gentleness and care, it really messes with his head and his overall perception of how people view him.

J— Jealous (what makes them feel jealous of others?)

Jealous? No, Rafe Cameron doesn't get jealous. He gets possessive. He knows that no one can really take you from him as long as he's still alive and breathing. He doesn't like when people get too close or touchy with you. He actually hates it with everything in him.

K— Kill (what have they killed? any people? dreams? an animal?)

Rafe has only killed one person — Peterkin. And you didn’t even know when you’d gotten with him, only finding out when it came up during a fight with the Pogues. You freaked and he spun some story about he did it for Sarah which you weren’t even sure you believed after putting some pieces of the story together for yourself. 

"They're saying you killed somebody, Rafe! They're saying you killed the Sheriff! Why would they lie about that-"

"They're fucking pogues! They lie about everything. I didn't fucking kill anyone-"

"...You're lying. Oh my god, you're lying-"

"I-...I did it for Sarah, okay?"

"I'm gonna be sick..."

L— Lost (what have they lost?)

His damn mind. Rafe is unhinged. On top of that, he’s definitely lost all self-respect and human-decency. The only real "loss" he's suffered was the absence of his mother.

M— Memory (what’s their best and worst memories?)

His best memories are when he was younger and more innocent. Rafe was still a kid that was considered "reckless" and sometimes even "mean" but he still held that child-like innocence where nothing was that serious. His red flags were just brushed off onto his parents as them not disciplining him properly. Just a "spoiled little rich kid".

His worst memories are obviously in his more recent years of life. Any moment with his father, any interactions between him and Sarah, etc.

N— Nightmare (do they have them? what are they about? Reactions?)

Surprisingly, he has nightmares about some of the things he's done. He has no remorse for them in his conscious state, at all, really. But something about his dreams seem to want to haunt him with the memories of Peterkin's Murder, Shooting & Drowning Sarah, etc.

O— Obsolete (do they feel like they’ve been replace or could/should be? Do they feel like they aren’t useful?)

Ward makes him feel replaceable at every given moment, which eventually translates to him thinking whoever you give attention to has the potential to replace him.

P— Past (how has their past change them, has it made them better or worse?)

Definitely worse.

Q— Question (do they question themselves a lot? do other question them? Do they question others?)

He questions himself when he gets overwhelmed or has one of those fleeting moments of clarity where he realizes that he's done a lot of fucked up shit.

T— Tears (what makes them cry?)

He makes himself cry for pity and it took you so long to truly realize it. To realize that he would shed crocodile tears behind empty apologies just to keep you right where he wanted you.

V— Vicious (what makes them vicious, do they try to hide it or overcome it?)

When you argue. At the start of your relationship, before he started snapping on you for real, you'd argue back and he hated it. He hated that it felt like you were against him just like everyone else. And when the arguments got too frequent, when all of his actions started getting revealed to you, his true colors started show.

X— X-Ray (what’s going on inside? Both health wise and mentally, are they okay? Do they need some help?)

This is self-explanatory. No, he isn't. Yes, he does.

Rafe Cameron Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[cybsoo2]

tease me too much

╰┈➤ synopsis — Arousal and embarrassment are the only two things that make Jimin blush.

╰┈➤ pairing — jimin x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 650+

╰┈➤ content warning — mature themes, kissing, thigh riding, cumming too soon, hair pulling

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; this felt like a writing exercise

You share careless kisses. Swollen tongues leave strings of saliva that follow your breath. Rising chests rush to take in air before diving back down. 

Jimin bites your bottom lip, bleeding out under the pressure that’s building in his pants. Sore swelling strains his movements. His inflamed body feeling overloaded by your tender taunts.

You keep teasing him into temptation. Toying with the hem of his shirt and running your knuckles along his taut abdomen. His stomach all tied up in knots that leave him sensitive. 

You love the way you can get him so worked up so easily. Only a few dirty words and wandering touches leave him falling apart in front of you. Watching the way he blushes and begs for more; Why would you ever give in so quickly. You'd much rather savour his suffering.

Overwhelmed, weak hands fist at the sheets and your shirt. Jimin feels his pulse at the pit of his stomach. His muscles twitch under your insistent smile. He stays soft and pliable for you to puppet, but a tension rises inside his thighs. Jimin finds himself growing restless. So, he ruts himself faster against you to rid himself of the tightness. 

You grab fistfuls of hair at the back of his head; giving short tugs when you grind into him. Your groans linger in the air while you force his into the collar of your shirt.

Jimin’s pink lips leave needy kisses on your neck. Burn marks are embedded into your rosy skin. He mumbles lustful ‘I love you’s through trembling pants. A red-hot heat spreads through your sighs. Deep desire drives itself from his heart to his hips. His lips latch themselves onto yours desperately.

He grabs one of your hands and guides it down to the bulge in his pants. It's straining against the tight fabric. The uncomfortable feeling blurs between pain and pleasure. He needs more, and he's begging you through hushed whines of 'please. please I need it'.

But you don't give into his begging so easily. You take to teasing him a bit. Pulling back your hand and holding his hips still; stopping the friction that he so desperately craves.

The consequences of this is a whine stuffed into your mouth and his own selfish hands reaching down to rub himself raw. You're kisses are not enough, he needs more to satisfy himself. You seem to notice his selfishness and it grows on your nerves. He wants to reach the end so badly that he's willing to act like a brat.

A sharp tug to the back of his head makes his arms buckle and collapse into your embrace. The feeling of your hands in his hair, pulling at the strands that send a tremble down his spine. His head dizzy with pain. A type of pain that he hates to admit he likes. And before he can stop himself, muffled moans are sounded out into the crevice of your collarbone. Eyes rolled back into his head and lips left open in pretty pleasure.

His whispered whimpers drive you insane. A pale red passion keeps you moving to continue. You turn his head up to carry on but small gasps tumble off his tongue.

“Stop…stop,” Shy pleas prompt you to sit still.

“You okay?” You question quietly while tying your hands up in his hair. You wonder if you went too far, teased him a little too much. A nod rubbed into your neck and a mumbled ‘Mm-hmm’ answer your question. 

Jimin gives out tired gasps as he rests against you. His whole body is shaking and he has to give himself a minute to settle down. Tummy tied tight in embarrassment and his eyes avoiding your own. A shameful sin soaks his body.

You pet down his hair from where it sticks up in sweaty strands. As Jimin climbs down from his climax, you decide that'll spare him the humiliation and pretend not to notice the wetness that soaks through the thigh he straddles.

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved

[coochieannihilator]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Synopsis: "Fake" affection evolves into real chemistry, forcing Hiromi and you to confront hidden feelings.

Content: Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader, Fake Dating, A bit ooc?

Word Count: 3,806k

The wine bar is the kind of place that people think is moodier than it is: low lights, deep booths, and overpriced charcuterie boards. You’re halfway through your glass of wine, fiddling with the rim of your glass, when your friend leans over the table with a giddy little smirk that instantly puts you on edge.

You sigh, tipping your head back. “This is either going to be a brilliant idea or a slow, painful descent into secondhand embarrassment.”

She grins. “You’ve met Hiromi before. It won’t be that awkward.”

You arch an eyebrow. “We’ve met like… three times. All at your birthday parties. He barely speaks. I’m not even sure he likes me.”

“You terrify him,” she says, not even trying to deny it. “Which is exactly why this’ll work.”

You’re about to respond when the door opens. You don’t need to be told it’s him—you just know.

“There he is,” she whispers.

You follow her gaze toward the door—and stop short.

Hiromi Higuruma walks in like he’s stepping into a courtroom. Smooth. Controlled. He wears that charcoal-gray suit like its armor, that fits like it was tailored for him this morning. His tie slightly loosened, just enough to suggest he’s been fighting deadlines and depositions all day. His hair’s a little messy in a way that almost feels intentional, and his eyes—sharp, thoughtful, with a tired kind of elegance behind them—scan the room like he’s doing a threat assessment.

Your friend sips her wine, looking pleased with herself. “You’re welcome.”

Hiromi spots your table, makes his way over with that quiet, deliberate stride of someone used to commanding rooms with silence alone. When he reaches you, he offers his hand, firm and steady.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is smooth, low, and polite—like velvet over a blade.

You shake his hand. “So formal. Are we closing a business deal or fake-dating?”

A small pause. His expression barely shifts, but you catch it—an almost-smile. “I like clarity in arrangements.”

You grin. “Great. Here’s mine: you pretend to be completely in love with me for one evening, and I’ll stop calling you ‘lawyer boy.’”

His eyes flick down to your hand before you let go, then back up to your face. “And what do I get if I’m too convincing?”

You blink. “What, like convincing people we’re actually together?”

“No.” His gaze is steady, unreadable. “Convincing you.”

Your friend coughs—chokes, really—into her drink, already sliding out of the booth with a hasty “I’m just gonna give you two a minute” before you can say anything, though you barely notice.

Because Hiromi Higuruma is still looking at you like this is a negotiation he intends to win.

You lean back, arms crossing loosely. “Do all your dates start like a cross-examination?”

His lips twitch. Just barely. “Do all your fake boyfriends come with legally binding clauses?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “Clause one: must be photogenic. Clause two: must make my ex question his life choices. Clause three: must not fall in love with me. It’s bad for the brand.”

Hiromi hums thoughtfully. “Clause three might be hard.”

There’s that silence again—comfortable and electric at once. You hate how interesting he is already. You hate it more that you want to see what happens if you keep pushing.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t even flirted properly yet.”

He leans forward just slightly, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t even seen me try.”

Your pulse flutters and somewhere in the background, jazz hums through the speakers like it knows exactly what’s happening.

You narrow your eyes. “So are you now flirting with me, or are you just incredibly good at playing pretend?”

“I’m incredibly good at reading people,” he replies. “And you’re enjoying this.”

You are. Way more than you should be.

“So,” he says, with a calmness that feels like mischief. “When’s the wedding?”

You swirl the last of your wine, pretending not to notice how Hiromi watches you over the rim of his glass like he’s studying your tells. His drink of choice is whiskey—of course it is. Neat. No garnish, no ice. The man is a walking contradiction: polished but understated, intimidating but—annoyingly—kind of charming when he wants to be.

“It’s next Saturday,” you say finally, setting your glass down. “A lovely garden wedding where I get to sit across from my ex, his perfect new girlfriend, and pretend my heart isn’t shriveled like a week-old grape.”

Hiromi doesn’t flinch. “And you think bringing a stranger with a law degree will help.”

“I think showing up with a man who looks like you will help,” you correct. “If we’re being honest.”

That almost-smile flickers again, fleeting but real. “So I’m set dressing.”

“You’re stagecraft,” you say smoothly. “Very convincing stagecraft.”

He leans back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the movement natural and confident in a way that makes you way too aware of how long his legs are. “And what’s my character, then? The doting boyfriend? The emotionally distant but devastatingly loyal one? The reformed bad boy?”

“Please don’t be emotionally distant,” you groan. “I’ve dated enough of those to start a support group.”

His gaze sharpens just a little. “Then what do you want me to be?”

The question lands heavier than it should. You don’t answer right away, eyes drifting to the condensation on your glass. He’s quiet, giving you space, but not looking away. He’s watching the way you think. Another lawyer habit, probably.

“I want someone who looks at me like I’m the best part of the room,” you say after a beat. “Even if it’s just pretend.”

Hiromi’s brow twitches. “That’s a very specific request.”

You smile, slow and sure. “I’m a very specific person.”

“I can work with that.”

And it’s the way he says it—so steady, so certain—that you actually feel a little warmth creep up your neck. You look down, trying to hide it, but he notices. Of course he notices.

“So what about you?” you ask, redirecting. “Why say yes to something this stupid?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Your friend said you needed help, and I don’t mind being useful.”

You blink. ‘That’s… surprisingly earnest.’ “That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s not,” he says, and his voice dips a little—lower, more careful. “I like helping people when I know how. And pretending? That’s just acting, and acting is easy.”

You tilt your head. “Relationships aren’t.”

“No,” he agrees. “But lying is.”

There’s a pause. Something about the way he says it makes you wonder what kind of lies he’s had to live with. What truths he’s buried under all that careful composure, though you don’t ask.

Instead, you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Alright then, counselor. Let’s get our story straight.”

“Hmm?”

“If we’re going to fool a bunch of emotionally stunted wedding guests, we need a backstory. How’d we meet?”

Hiromi thinks for a moment, then gives you a dry, straight-faced answer: “You sued me.”

You snort into your drink. “Okay, that’s too believable.”

“And yet you still fell for me,” he says, unblinking.

‘Damn, he’s good at this.’

“Oh? Confident, are we?”

“No,” Hiromi says, and this time when he smiles—really smiles—it’s slow and surprising and just the tiniest bit shy. “I just think I’ll have an easier time faking it than I expected.”

And suddenly, the whole fake-dating idea doesn’t feel quite so fake.

The reception was golden in a way that made everything look softer than it really was. Lights strung across the ceiling cast a gentle haze over the room, catching on sequins and champagne flutes, blurring out imperfections. It was the kind of beauty designed to be photographed—curated, polished, perfect.

You belonged to it like it was your element.

Hiromi watched you from a distance, half-hidden near the bar, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held a drink he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. His tie was slightly loose, collar unbuttoned, and he looked every bit like someone who didn’t quite belong here, but you did. Damn, you did.

You were standing near the flower arch with your friends, laughing as someone tried to get the perfect group shot. Your dress shimmered with the movement—light catching on delicate fabric in a way that made you glow. You threw your head back laughing at something one of them said, and Hiromi felt it somewhere deep in his ribs, like a tug.

You weren’t even trying to be beautiful. That’s what made it worse, or better, or impossible.

Someone told you to look over your shoulder for the next shot. You did—smiling just slightly, lips parted, eyes narrow—and Hiromi’s grip tightened around his glass. The kind of smile that didn’t belong in photographs. The kind meant to be seen in private, from close up. The kind you remembered even after you’d sworn to forget.

He didn’t even realize you caught him staring until the photo snapped and you turned, holding his gaze for a second too long. Something passed between you two—acknowledgement, maybe, or an invitation.

Minutes later, you wandered over to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Barefoot now, heels dangling from your fingers. You were a little breathless, a little hot on the cheeks, and your hair had started to come undone.

“You look miserable over here,” You said, reaching past him to set your shoes down. “Had to come rescue you from your brooding.” There was something playful in your tone, but it didn’t land fully. Too much unsaid, too many what-ifs lingering just out of reach.

Hiromi raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I needed rescuing.”

There’s soft music, clusters of clinking glasses, and enough flower arrangements to trigger a seasonal allergy. Long tables lined with white linens stretch across the lawn, while servers weave between guests carrying hors d’oeuvres on delicate ceramic trays, and you don’t notice most of it, not really.

Because Hiromi is doing this thing—this infuriating thing—where he plays the role so well you forget it is a role.

His presence is steady, commanding—like he’s spent his whole life moving through rooms like that. He always kept one hand at your back as you navigated through tables and flower-draped walkways, always just a touch away, always aware of your pace. Every time someone greeted you, he offered a polite nod or a handshake, never overdoing it, but always enough to make them remember him.

His hand always rested gently at your waist as he guided you through the crowd. Not possessive, not showy, just there. Present. Steady. The kind of touch that says ‘I’m here, you’re safe, let’s do this together’, and somehow doesn’t come off as an act at all.

He leaned in when you spoke, his breath grazing your cheek. He laughed in low, knowing tones like every comment you make is a shared secret. Every move he made was smooth and natural, like he’s done this a thousand times before—but never with anyone else.

It’s the stillness that makes it work. The way his touch lingers just enough to anchor you. The way his eyes drift to your face more often than to the room around him.

He glanced at you again, not just a glance, though. His eyes lingered—just for a second too long—on your mouth, your collarbone, the way your shoulders tensed when you caught him looking. You didn’t pull away.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” he murmured.

“Maybe I don’t want to be read.”

“But you still want to be looked at.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You saying you’ve been looking?”

“Would it be a problem if I have?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted closer, slow and smooth, like it meant nothing—but it did. Your shoulder brushed against his arm. Your hair fell forward a little, loose hair pieces brushing his shoulder when you turned your head. He could smell you—something soft and clean and faintly floral, and he swore the air between them changed, grew heavier somehow.

You tilted your face toward his, eyes searching his like you might find something you left there.

“You ever get the feeling,” you said, low and steady, “that you’re one bad idea away from something really good?”

Hiromi’s mouth twitched. “Every time you look at me like that.”

You didn’t smile and neither did he. You looked at him then, really looked, and the kind of silence that followed was sharp at the edges. He leaned toward you, like it had weight, like if he leaned in just a little more, gravity would take care of the rest.

You were close now. Closer than made sense for two people who weren’t something. Close enough that he could feel your breath ghost against his lips when you spoke. His eyes dropped to your mouth again—just a flicker—and yours did the same.

Neither of you moved. Just… leaned. A millimeter more. Then another.

Your hand was resting on the bar now, his just beside it, fingers almost touching. The music from the dance floor swelled, but it felt far away. Like you guys were suspended in something quieter, something just yours.

“Say it,” You whispered, barely audible. “Whatever it is you’re not saying.” Your breath fanned across his lips, warm and soft and heavy with the sweet tang of champagne. His heart knocked against his ribs, slow and loud and stupid.

Hiromi opened his mouth.

And then—

Someone called your name.

Not loud, not urgent. Just enough to slice through the moment like a letter opener through ribbon.

You turned your head, reluctantly, heart still suspended somewhere behind your ribs. A cousin, maybe. Or one of your friends, already tipsy and flushed from dancing, waving you over for a photo, for a toast, for something.

Hiromi’s breath eased out slow as you stepped back, like a camera lens refocusing. He looked down at his hand still on the bar, like he wasn’t sure when it had tightened into a fist.

You hesitated, eyes flicking back to him with something close to apology. “I should—”

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

But there was something in his tone that had shifted. Not cold, just… neutral. Controlled. Like a courtroom door swinging closed.

You didn’t want to leave. Not really. But you also didn’t know how to stay—not after what almost happened. Not with your pulse still stuttering and your skin still lit up in the shape of him.

So you went.

Hiromi watched you fade back into the golden blur of the reception. Watched you laugh and pose and dance barefoot with your friends beneath the fairy lights.

And for the first time that night, he wished he wasn’t pretending.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

The wedding had wound down. Laughter faded into the hush of music playing for no one, and sparklers had long burned down to silver sticks, discarded on the edge of the patio.

You didn’t remember grabbing his hand. Or maybe he offered it first—you couldn’t tell anymore, but you were walking now. Past the dance floor, past the tents and tables, through a narrow path lit only by string lights overhead and the soft glow of garden lanterns tucked among the hedges. The gravel crunched beneath your bare feet. You didn’t care. Your shoes were somewhere behind you, and so was the noise.

Hiromi walked beside you in silence, his jacket draped over your shoulders. He didn’t offer it with words, just settled it there when you shivered once, the fabric still warm from his body. His sleeves were rolled up now, forearms bare and hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight,” you said eventually, your voice low and quiet in the hush of midnight. “But you’re… kind of annoyingly good at this.”

“At pretending?” he asked, without looking at you.

“At making it feel real,” you corrected.

He stopped walking. You did too, almost out of reflex.

The garden opened up a little ahead—just a small clearing with a bench, some flowers you couldn’t name, and the distant sound of water from a hidden fountain. You turned to look at him, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself.

“It’s easier with you,” he said after a beat. His eyes met yours in the dark—soft, unreadable, and so full of quiet longing it almost hurt to look at.

“Why?” you asked.

Hiromi’s gaze dropped to your mouth, flicked back up. His voice was soft. “Because I like the way you look at me… even when you’re trying not to.”

That did something to you. A warm crack down your spine, a flutter in your ribs.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” you said, and the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how true they were.

Hiromi took a step closer, and your breath hitched—just slightly. He raised a hand, slow and careful, like he was testing gravity again, brushing your hair back from your face. His fingers were warm, gentle, grazing your jaw before dropping away.

“You can still walk away,” he said, low and honest. “Tell me it was just for show. We go back to being strangers tomorrow.”

You looked at him, and he looked back, and whatever tension had lived between you all night thickened, slow and certain, like molasses in warm air.

His words hung between you like smoke—heavy, suffocating. You didn’t step back. Couldn’t. Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid, everything felt too deeply for something that was supposed to be pretend.

You stared at him, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat. “Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice raw.

Hiromi’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching near his temple. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” you snapped, and suddenly you were close, closer than either of you realized. Your hand had found his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched, yours did too.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up, dark and unreadable. “Say it,” he said. “Say it wasn’t real.”

“I can’t.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but shaking with emotion. It came out like a confession, like a wound.

He moved then—not forward, not away. Just leaned in, so close your noses brushed, so close the heat from his mouth ghosted over yours with every breath.

“I wanted to stay scared of you,” he murmured, and you swore your heart stopped. “But you kept looking at me like I meant something… and now I can’t stop needing that.”

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers clutching at his collar. “Then don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding it in for too long. His forehead touched yours, eyes closing just for a second. But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

“This feels like a bad idea,” he whispered.

“It is,” you breathed. “But I still want it.”

There was a beat of silence. One beat. Two.

Then his hand slid around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you against him—not tender, not hesitant, but like he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to. Like if he didn’t touch you now, he’d lose his mind.

Your mouths hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hands gripping fabric like anchors, like you’d both fall if you let go.

Still no kiss. Just the unbearable closeness of it.

His breath was warm against your mouth, uneven. Like he was fighting it, like kissing you would mean losing something he couldn’t get back, but you were done pretending too.

So you tilted your chin up—just enough to close that impossible gap—and your lips brushed.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Hiromi’s mouth crashed into yours like it was the only language he had left. His hand slid up your spine, rough palm splaying between your shoulder blades, holding you like he didn’t trust you to stay otherwise.

You gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound with a low noise from deep in his throat. Not quite a growl—no, something more human than that. Like pain and hunger and relief all tangled together.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, dragging him closer even though there was no space left. He tasted like heat, like fury held back too long, like he was finally letting himself feel and it was too much.

He broke the kiss with a curse, resting his forehead against yours again, chest heaving. “Shit,” he said, voice ruined. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You kissed him again.

Faster this time. Needier.

His hands found your hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. One of them slid up, tracing your jaw, brushing your cheek, like he didn’t know whether to hold you or memorize you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes glassy. “Do we still go back to being strangers tomorrow?”

Hiromi’s eyes searched yours—wild, flickering. And then he shook his head. Just once.

“No,” he said, hoarse. “Not after this.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

His hand was still at your jaw, rough and trembling, and your breath was uneven against his. Every inch between you charged, heated, collapsing.

You leaned into him, and he met you halfway—mouths clashing again, nothing sweet or soft about it. It was a kiss that bruised. A kiss that breathed. His mouth was hot, demanding, like he was trying to consume the moment, like he didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be without you.

Fingers curled in his shirt. His grip tightened at your waist. Each touch dragged you closer, a slow burn spilling through your chest and twisting in your stomach.

You kissed him like you wanted to stay lost in him. He kissed you like he never planned to stop.

There was no space left between your bodies. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help it, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end, and your hands slid into his hair, holding, grounding, needing.

The world around you was silent, but everything between you—every breath, every brush of skin, every beat of your heart—was impossibly loud.

And still, you didn’t let go. Not yet.

His hand found yours, warm and certain, and for a moment, the night felt like it belonged to only the two of you.

[lily-fics-11]

Teenage Dirtbag//Natalie Scatorccio (Yellowjackets)

🖤 Inspired by Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

🖤Gender neutral reader (no specific pronouns used), not described as masculine or feminine (no description of clothing or hairstyle)

🖤CW: minor profanities, marijuana usage, mention of cigarette and alcohol usage, brief mention of past toxic relationship/cheating ex

Prom night.

It’s supposed to be perfect, right?

You’ve got the perfect outfit, it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

Date? That’s where things went awry.

Your ex is shitty, shitty to the point of being undefendable.

But did they have to break up with you two days before prom? For the person you now know they had been cheating on you with?

It’s the shit cherry on top of the shit cake.

That’s when you notice Natalie Scatorccio, resident teenage dirtbag, checking you out like she always does.

Dirtbag in the sense that she comes to school drunk or stoned, cuts class, and listens to heavy metal. But not dirtbag as in a bad person, no one has ever known her to do wrong by others.

Natalie has on a deep red dress, with a sheer black overlay that has intricate black floral embroidery. She has on a choker and sheer black gloves. Her hair is in an updo, her makeup is dark and grungy.

You’ve seen her wearing Iron Maiden t-shirts at least once a week, and you have tickets to see them next Friday night, because you’re secretly a teenage dirtbag too.

Anyone who doesn’t know you would have no idea, but you listen to metal and punk all the time, they’re your favorite music genres.

If no one is looking, a cigarette is probably between your lips. Your favorite scent to wear is always on hand in case you need to cover up the scent of those cigarettes, or in some instances weed.

It’s more than a little obvious that Natalie has a thing for you, despite the fact that you’ve hardly spoken to each other. She checks you out all the time.

Scratch that, ‘checking you out’ is an insult to Natalie’s dedication to you. She admires you as if you're the most attractive person she’s ever seen in her life.

If you had been single you wouldn’t hesitate to make a move.

That’s when you remember that you are, in fact, single.

In light of that, you quickly excuse yourself from your friends.

After taking a deep breath you start making your way towards Natalie, dodging people dancing.

Her eyes go panic stricken and her jaw drops, it seems she doesn’t believe this is real. It's almost like she’s in a dream like trance, and definitely a deer caught in headlights.

When face to face with Natalie you take a deep breath.

“I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby. Come with me Friday, don’t say maybe.”

Natalie is still in awe, totally speechless. Her lips move to speak, though nothing but a gasp comes out.

“I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you,” the admission is paired with a smirk.

“I…” she starts, but her words fail her, but that’s actually the closest she’s gotten to talking to you. Ever.

“Just say yes, baby.”

“How… how do you… how do you know who I am?” It’s a little surprising to hear her speak.

The smirk on your face widens even more. “We’re in a few classes together, and baby, you’re always staring at me.”

As embarrassed as Natalie is to have been caught staring, she’s far more curious and eager.

“Why do you give a damn about me?”

“Because you’re cute and have great taste in music. That makes me want to get to know you better. So just say yes baby, and come to the Iron Maiden concert with me?”

Natalie smiles. “Yeah, I’ll come with you”.

You smile back at her, “You won’t regret it.”

Leaning in close, you whisper in her ear, “and just so you know… I’m here alone.”

“I noticed…” of course she did, she’s probably spent half the night staring at you like she always does. Not that it’s a point of contention.

“I’m single now, so the concert…. It’s a date. That's okay with you, right baby?”

Light fills Natalie’s blue-grey eyes, “more than okay.”

“Do you want to dance?” The question isn’t too firm, not wanting to pressure her when she seems so nervous. Nonetheless it's filled with your desire to be close to her.

She nods and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor.

Her hands on your waist, your hands on her shoulders.

I’ll Stand By You by The Pretenders is playing.

Everyone and everything melts away but you, Natalie, and the music.

It’s not clear how much time passed but the dance floor starts to get more and more crowded, and you are getting bumped around left and right.

Natalie leans in and whispers “you wanna get out of here?” You smile and nod, so she takes your hand once again, more confidently this time. Giving it a squeeze, and pulling you through the crowd, then outside.

After sneaking down by the water Natalie finds a spot where no one will be able to see you from the venue, neither of you caring about the expensive prom outfits making contact with the dirt and grass.

Natalie opens her purse, and pulls out a makeup compact. When she unfolds it there is no makeup inside, just a joint and a few cigarettes.

“Pick your poison,” she smirks.

“The weed obviously,” you chuckle with a teasing eye roll.

She holds the joint out to you and when you part your lips she gently places it between them. Her fingers brush against your lips and it sends shivers down your spine.

Natalie looks beautiful, illuminated only by the full moon. Her staring made her crush obvious, but right now she looks as if being here with you is the best night of her life. Her usual stoic expression is lit up in a way you’ve never seen before, she’s got this endearingly cute, goofy grin on her face.

The hand painted lighter, black and red stripes, is brought up to the joint, and Natalie lights it for you. Holding it between your fingers you inhale deeply.

After the joint is properly lit Natalie holds your jaw with one hand and accepts the joint with the other after you are done with it. Her hand stays put as she takes a drag, her eyes on you. She is mesmerized, admiring every millimeter of your face.

Natalie slides her hand down over your neck, shoulder, and arm, to lace her fingers with yours. She’s holding the hand you would smoke with so she brings the joint right to you so you don’t have to do any of the work yourself.

“Excited for the concert baby?” You ask with a bit of a dazed smile, the weed starting to kick in.

The way Natalie squeezes your hand makes you smile even more.

“Very, I wanted to go so bad, but couldn’t get tickets. You’re a lifesaver. And the fact that it’s a date with you… I… well… I’m still waiting for my alarm clock to go off.”

“I’m happy you’re the one coming with me,” you assure her with excitement.

“Just let me know how much I owe you,” she requests, taking on a more serious tone.

“Nothing,” the answer is given in a way that makes it seem as if it should have been obvious.

Natalie raises an eyebrow and looks like she is waiting for some catch. “Nothing?”

That makes you giggle a little, though the weed is probably a contributing factor. “Nope, I’m paying for our first date. I’m driving too.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Her face is lit up from when you called it your first date, picking up on the implication of you wanting there to be more.

“I want to!” It’s given to her as a promise. “Besides, I owe you for taking so long to come around when you’ve liked me for so long,” you giggle.

“I…” she trails off, not sure how to explain herself. When Natalie is unable to find the right words “you knew about that?” comes out as an embarrassed question.

“I’ve caught you staring. More than a few times. Not that I’ve ever been mad about it,” you smirk.

“You’re not mad?” It’s endearing how she is both unsure and hopeful at the same time.

“Of course not baby, why would I be mad about a hot checking me out?” You give her a wink you hope is as cute as you intended despite the joint being well at work in your system now.

Even when the moonlight is the only thing illuminating Natalie’s face you can see that bright blush. And damn does it make her look cuter than ever. Her eyes are wide with embarrassment from being caught checking you out, but her jaw dropped when you called her hot.

Teasingly, you question her, “what?”

“It’s just… you're so…” Natalie anxiously bites her lip, struggling to find the right words but also fearing that she appears just as eager as she is.

Leaning in close, lips mere centimeters apart, you tuck a piece of her bottle blonde hair behind her ear. “Thank you baby.”

Natalie’s eyes are as big as the full moon above, she’s now more speechless than before.

Knowing she’s at a loss for words you take her face in your hands and gently brush your lips over hers to see how she reacts. Natalie doesn’t pull away so eagerly press your lips to her.

All of a sudden prom did turn out perfect.

[bannock-freak]

"shipping saiki is aphobic because he's aroace!"

stares at you with my demiromantic asexual in a committed relationship eyes then looks at the camera like im in the office

[the-way-astray]

i think my problem with the point five books thing is not the books themselves, so much as it is the marketing and way they're presented.

for those that aren't aware: point five books have a generally understood meaning/connotation that authors and fans both sort of know. it's basically code for "book that is not mandatory to understand the story, but it's there for fans that want extra content". usually this comes in the form of short story collections or whatever else the author may want to do. sometimes it's just a single short story. for example, a proper way for kotlc to utilize point five books would be to for instance, make a book 7.5, which has keefe and fitz's flashback short stories in it. extra bonus content from flashback (book seven), but you don't have to read it to understand the main story itself. you'll be okay without it. that is what a point five book actually means, as far as the wider literary world is concerned.

but books 8.5 and 9.5 in this series are not extra bonus content. you very much do have to read them to understand the main story. if you read it book eight, then nine, then ten, you will be lost or miss important stuff that's crucial to understanding the story.

just call it book nine. just call it book eleven. all this will do is label the books properly and not confuse people. and people will be confused. we aren't seeing the effects yet, because books are still coming out and everyone in the fandom keeps up with shannon's updates, so we all know what's up. but trust me, in a few years, after the series is over and new people get into it, they will be confused. they will skip straight over book 8.5 or 9.5 unknowingly, and it won't be good.

my theory is that someone on shannon's team wants to make this series seem shorter than it really is. because that is the only logical explanation here. you could describe this series as having "nine and a half books" now, instead of ten, and by the way the series is officially marked, that's not incorrect. but it is. this series has ten books. because there are ten mandatory books that you have to read that are out right now. stop calling books that aren't supposed to be called point five books as point five books!!!! this isn't quirky, it's just going to throw people off.

this is super, super confusing for people that aren't "in the know" with this series, so to speak, and there will be people that read this series incorrectly because of this. i have been a casual fantasy series reader for pretty much my entire existence on this planet, and let me just tell you, this is not how this works. at all. if i didn't know books 8.5 and 9.5 were mandatory, i would skip over them completely, going on my understood knowledge of how these epic fantasies are generally structured.

just market them correctly. praying to the heavens for shannon's team to stop. this is actively hurting your readers!!!!

*i assume it isn't shannon herself who is coming up with this strategy

[unnonexistence]

new year, new WIP post! at the end of 2024 i had 8672 words edited and marked as Done on the Big WIP. now i'm up to 8865

[skitskatdacat63]

.

[justblaterando]

How any convo about aemond loosing an eye goes with the crazy people of this fandom

A “he was going to murder him, he deserves it”

B “no he didn’t”

A “he was being rude, he deserve it”

B “being rude doesn’t justify making someone disable”

A “he was going to murder him, he deserves it”

And the cycle continues

[tonycries]

Like a Dog!

Synopsis. Jealous? How cute. He’s yours - and he’ll fúck you until you won’t forget it.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, jealousy s, marathons, NÉEDY BOYS, dúmbifícation, proposals, creampíes, praise, GOJO’S POWERS, márking, they’re YOURS, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s tattoos, cervíx kíssing, fitting it, talking you through it, p slápping, p talking, ex-husband!Toji, spítting, comfort, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Wedding vows!

“Soooo…” Toji’s sneaking long, languid drags of his fat thumb up and down your sappy folds. And it makes your breath hitch, your thighs quivering just in time for him to sidle two staggering palms underneath and stretch. Wide open. “-still...jealous, doll?”

Ruining you for what seemed like copious hours upon hours non-stop, that very same question left Toji’s scarred lips in cloudy little pants like a smug mantra. 

The bed was recklessly creaky at this point, splinters cracking with every sloppy pound that had your sanity doing much the same. 

And Toji’s crushing you against the clammy mounds of his Herculean pecs, heaving. Gasping. So, so needy that just about all you can do at this point is bumble out an embarrassed little, “Wh-why?”

“Because m’yours, mama.” Whining as his sheeny-lathered lips snicker from right beside your tender ear, and his mushroomy tip grazes right down his favorite target of your treacly slit. Slow. Steady. “And I hafta prove it.”

Nevermind the fact that he was talking like he wasn’t your ex-husband of just a few days. 

Nevermind the fact that you’re sure the pulpy depths of your poor cunt was already utterly bruised and battered with the exact bulky circumference of Toji’s proud crownhead. Because Toji Fushiguro could never dream of being with another.

He’s tugging you even more pliably into this mean full nelson of his, squeezing out a thick few dewdrops of buttery pre that lather your puckered hole. Rotund, curvaceous mound of his fattened head swirling patterned circles at your snug hole around and around-

“Don’ tell me this pretty pussy’s hngh- forgotten about me already?” He’s murking out, planting exactly three simpering swats! to your slick-flooded entrance before sinking in- “Heh- yeahhh that’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

Because your drooling cunt was always so greedy for him - your bloated pussy lips struggling and hungry being opened oh-so-widely agape. It made your slackened maw lather with a fresh wave of saliva at the sheerly raw stretch.

“Good girl- good fuckin’ girl takin’ all of me.” Toji’s huffing out, head tilting sleazily to the side to take in every inch of the heavenly bouquet envisioned right below him. “Bet ya missed me all deep inside, huh? S’that why you’re gettin’ all jealous over some rando?”

But, of course, the silent treatment never worked on Toji - and you’re finding him cooing, “Awww, c’mon my wife-” Such pointed, loving emphasis, “-talk to me. Lemme hear those pretty noises.”

And you hate the way that his rumbling baritone tilts into something mockingly higher. You hate the way that his bludgeoning tip rims around your gooey slick-filled entrance and makes your voice crack.

“T-talking about ah- jealous-” You’re managing out, and Toji’s willowy eyes widen ever-so-slightly at the way you can manage out coherent syllables even through each punctuating drill. “-but I ngh- saw the way you looked at my coworker, you green-eyed m-monster.”

He’s scoffing, spanking your overstuffed pussy once. Twice. Thrice just for good measure. “Feisty, aren’t you, mama?”

And every minute wiggle is dampered helplessly by the way that he’d curled two large forearms - muscular and veiny - around your legs to embrace you tightly. Chin rested over your head, “He was only bein’ nice-”

“And nice isn’t gonna get your hngh- cute cunt sucking like as slut like this.” Toji’s rolling his eyes, “Don’t joke with me now, doll, spread those pretty hngh- legs n’ lemme see her. No need to be shy.”

Massively engulfing hands of his crown the topped curve of your dangling knees and mold you to every one of Toji’s lecherous whims until you almost do feel shy. But there was absolutely nothing shy about the way that he was now leering at you.

Hot breath wafting with the sound of a low whistle, “Shiiiit- pretty lil’ thing, huh? Don’tcha know how much m’weak for ya? Why the fuck would I ever wan’ anyone else? Silly girl…”

“S-stop- staring—” You’re whining out, fingers tangling through the tresses of Toji’s darkly silken bangs and pulling. A blasphemous little action that earns you a heavy-handed thud of his bloated head into your soppy cervix. 

“How can I not stare, mama- she’s mine, isn’t she?” And there was something in his tone, something…edged and rough- and you swear that Toji was the one that sounded somewhat jealous. Sounded gone. “And I’m yours, of course.”

Ruined every time his ruddied tip was skimming past the syrupy adhesive-like maze of your insides and thumping right into the targeted bullseye of your cervix. 

He’s so hot underneath you - feverish. The ridged ladders of his washboard abs slipping and sliding a lewd massage underneath your back. And the feeling is so heavenly that you’re wondering why you ever signed those divorce papers in Higuruma’s office in the first place.

“No needa worry- M’yours, doll-” Grit out. Harsh. Punishing as much as his deep strokes were messing up your poor insides. Making sure that you won’t forget. Voice seeping with something wild, “H-heh. Divorced or not- a d-divorce which won’t last for ngh- long anyway- I got every part of ya ah- fucking memorized, y’know? Think I’d do that for hngh- anyone else?”

“E-every?” Your legs and voice are wobbling like jelly at his words.

“Every.”

As if to prove his point, he’s thumbing gluttonously over the rounded outline of where he was rummaging your sodden walls. Shooting out a few wiry spatters of pre that almost fill you up to the brim - so much of it - once he’s gliding over with a few cocky touches.

“My favorite spot s’always here-” The tremors of his recoiling bounces into your spongy womb rattle your melty mind. You feel the jitters of his thick thigh muscles when he arches into a curve up, up, up. “-knock knock.”

“S-so…” Mumbling, shit- Toji was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough of you. “-filthy.”

He’s rolling his eyes at that little comment - you like it, anyway if that warm geyser streaming from between your mushy folds told him anything. 

“N’ I remember that your hngh- favorite spot was here…” Oh, you knew what he was doing - you knew exactly the way in which Toji’s dark brows would scrunch with rude delight when his strawberry divot slurs right past that magical spot. “Orrrrr…here-” Ramming resoundingly with his left-leaning girth in exactly the opposite way from the spot that only he could reach so well. Toji’s tongue pops out to lap at his sneaky dribble of saliva - he was loving this. “Whoops…maybe-”

“F-fuck-” You’re all but begging, your whimpers going straight to that forevermore bloated shaft of his. Pumping in a few horny ounces that make him grow even thicker, “-fine- fuck! Please-”

“Hm…” Toji’s tutting, bangs sticking to the plane of his prespired forehead as he shakes his head understandingly. Mockingly so. “What’s that?”

“Please-”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

He’s lolling out his tongue to lap at the salty pearls of tears beginning to waterfall from your fluttering eyes, “Say ‘please- husband.’”

The embarrassment and pure irritation curdling in your veins was strong, but your need - your throb from the wet patch between your legs, and that spot was even stronger. Shit, you needed him. “P-please…my husband.”

Ah, the words are barely spilling from your mouth, barely even reaching our own ears before Toji’s making you see white-hot pleasure flickering behind your lids. A drawling keen dragging out from your throat as soon as his curvaceous cockhead nuzzles up in a sweet, sweet hug into your g-spot. 

And your ears can only thunder with your heartbeat, your spine bowing as your husband plaps his fat cock into your most candied spots over and over and over-

“One more thing.” Something cool touches your face, and only seconds later do you recognize it to be a phone. Your phone. “Tell that lil’ loser of a coworker that yer hgh- married. And-” Another deafening pap! “-expecting.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Yours, always.

“I…I’m sorry, my love.” Nanami hisses - he heaves the moment his buttery-topped tip was sinking past your puckered entrance. And there’s a dangerous furrow between his neat, blond brows, “But I can’t have ya sayin’ anything bad about my wife.”

And he was so serious - seriously in love with the way you were gaping up with spit-flooded lips when one of his thick, calloused digits massage over your eagerly peaked clit with the chillingly golden band of his wedding ring. Matching with yours. 

Your fingers dig into the plane of your husband’s unfairly broad shoulders underneath his blue button-up, all rippling muscles and sheer dripping sex appeal. He hadn’t even bothered to take his office clothes before helping you…feel better. “Kento, I-I’m just sayin’ your new c-coworker is so much prettier-”

Thwack!

Only for him to cut you off with a heavy-handed spank to your treacly cunt, and a rumbling growl - rasping from beneath his stern lips once Nanami grants you with a filthy, filthy glissade of a French kiss. And you could taste him - taste yourself from his makeout with your slobbery pussy just before.

Your sticky slick lacquering his gummy lips in a candied glaze, slipping and sliding all the way down the dimpled edges of his grin, his chin, down below between his cushiony pecs- 

It was like a badge of honor, and Nanami Kento gladly and proudly adorned it.

You’re just leaking from that gooey spot between your legs when he’s back to pressing peck after peck on both your lips and your cushy g-spot. Dribbles of translucent slick drenching Nanami’s tawny happy trail - and his ring. 

One that’s pushed between your lecherously parted lips to swirl around that whiny cavern of your mouth, making you just shut up-

“G-gonna-” Clawing at his strong forearms, shocked that you were being halfway choked by your dear, gentle husband. “-gonna get dirty this way, K-Ken-”

“No, don’t mind getting…dirty if it’s you.” You’re hearing Nanami gasp from above you, murky pants of his shooting out in a rasping ah! ah! ah! And his droopily half-lidded eyes just bore into yours with sweet connection, “And I hate disrespectin’ my ngh- wife, this way but…but m’not gonna go easy on you tonight, darlin’.”

Fuck.

The bed sings out splintering creaks with every thud! of Nanami’s fatly bloated tip smooching up against your spongy cervix. Every bouncy bludgeon spurting out the most dewy ribbons of his precum from the very tip of his rounded crownhead. Proud and ruthless.

You can only wring your fingers through Nanami’s golden strands, unsticking stray locks from his prespired forehead. Babbles upon babbles spill from your lips, “I-fuck! Kentoooo- it f-feels so good.”

“Good, hm? Th-tha’s right-” Freely thumbing away a few puddly gumdrops of saliva that’d begun just spilling from the corners of your maw with every hit after hit- 

And every clashing pivot of his toned hipbones sting, heat blossoming up your spine in this sloppy mess of a mating press that Nanami had manhandled you into. But he needed more- more more more-

“S-shoooo good, Ken- right there-” Lewd little strings of hiccups are bubbling from your chest and wafting up between the bustling fingers still toying with your mouth and making you suck. Tongue swirling up the cold engraved metal of his ring as if your favorite honeyed lolly, “Always feels so ngh- good havin’ you inside me-”

Too good.

Unable to help yourself from greedily clasping onto that dangling yellowy tie sticking to your sweat-simmered tits and pulling-

And oh, this makes Nanami gasp- free hand slamming! down onto the timber bedframe. This makes his hips hammer forward with a loudly ringing pap! Plummy, split cockhead probing into your cervix hard. 

Never slowing down, never stopping- hell, he doesn’t think he even could right now. 

“H-heh, my clever girl.” A kiss against your forehead. “My needy girl.” Your cheeks. Each side. “My ngh- beautiful girl- most beautiful girl in this world.”

There’s such utter and true loving in his foggy mahogany eyes that you almost feel shy. “D-don’t look at me like that, Kento.”

“Y’know I only h-have eyes for you, my love…” Accompanied by the digits rummaging deep inside your sultry mouth to reel back with a sodden plap! And dip down to caressingly pinch your plump clit, “C’mon- tighter. Mark me up. Tight.”

And there’s nothing you can do but listen to what he says.

How could you not?

Not when the ever-sensible Nanami Kento was begging - pleading - down at you to choke his velveteen tie even tighter around his attractive throat. Adam’s apple bobbing at your increasing strain, lightning bolts of veins thumping when you squeeze.

“Yeahhh- don’ be shy. Let everyone know- fuuuuck-” Bleary head falling back with every adhesive-like cling of your elastic walls - or, at least, trying to if it wasn’t for your chokehold with his tie. Nanami’s lips curl into an oh-so-feral snarl, head tilting to the side to chafe his own flesh with the ropey bruises of your actions. “-mark me up s-so that the whole office knows m’yours. And I…”

Fuck, you looked so cute fucked dumb and drooling on his fat dick like this. 

Nanami’s thick muscular thighs are shivering at this point, shovelling your own further and further upon the more he could feel himself losing his fucking mind. 

“And I’m gonna m-marry you.” Bumbling out over and over like a mantra now, Nanami was so pussydrunk that his rotund tip wasn’t even kissing up against the bullseye of your g-spot directly anymore. Breath hitching, “Gonna marry- hngh- needa marry. B-be your husband- and-” Just dragging out achy massages of his swollen length to lustre every gooey inch of you with layers on top of voluminous layers of his- cum? “Sh-shit.”

Because Nanami was cumming and he couldn’t stop. 

Heaps of weighty ropes splatter across your elastic channel, it’s swashing around in thick masses every time he’s fucking it back deeply into you. “I love you.”

CRACK! 

At this moment, you’re sure that it’s your mind splintering into a million pieces, and only many, many hours later do you realize that it’s your poor broken bedframe. Because you’re overspilling with drooling dredges of pearlescent seed and bliss when that finally pushes you over the edge, too. “K-Kentoooo-”

“Shhh sh sh- m’here Hold onto me-” he’s rasping out. Airy. Depraved. Like Nanami doesn’t even know that the words are leaving his lips. “So perfect…wanna marry you, darling.”

You can only blurt out a drunken giggle, “Ken- we’re ngh- already married.”

“Oh…then…you already know m’yours…” Nuzzling his face into his favorite hideout at the crook of your neck, Nanami’s words are almost cracking into a whine - a plea for the very first time in his life. “-body and soul.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - XOXO

“Why hello to you, too.” You flinch when Geto snickers once his sneaking fingers massage downwards to pry open your thoroughly puckered and drooling pussy lips. He wasn’t talking to you. “Wanna help me make my girl all happy again?”

And he’s humming along, throwing your pliable legs easily over his sculptured shoulders with an understanding nod. “Mmmm- needy one, aren’tcha?”

“You’re s-such a tease.” You’re huffing out, brows knitting in a way that only made the pretty man above you kiss away. 

“And you’re such a green-eyed lil’ monster.” He’s purring back, a rasping growl leaking its way into Geto’s teasing words. “And as much as I love that ah- jealous pout on ya, gorgeous, better know it only makes me…harder.”

Geto’s snaking a hand to pry your drunkenly lolling head to veer downwards, chuckling at the way your droopy eyes widen when you’re taking note of his staggeringly bloated cock laid right there between your legs. Red and angry. So ready to pump the heated geyser between your legs full of his inches, that he can’t help but bawl out a ribbony string of pre smearing across your tummy. Enough so that you can almost taste it-

“What? What happened to my heh- snappy girl, huh?” Inky bangs mussing up when he’s cocking his head to simply leer. Such a sleazy look of depravity taking over all of his features, “Too big?” 

You’re shaking your head - gasping, “Y-yes but I want it- want you hck! inside me so badly, Suguru—”

“Say m’name like that n’ I’ll cum.” He’s rolling his eyes, truly unabashed and greedy. With a sopping wet plap! Geto’s planting your treacly slit with a spank, only for you to be presented with the big beefy expanse of his pale forearm before you can even make a whiny noise. “Now, bite down and take it.”

You think you could sob when every long, girthy inch of his fills you up to your very brim. Bulky globular tip kissing past your gluey lips and mazing you open so widely around him, until your elastic walls were tautly stretched till you could feel every ridge, every thumping vein, every goopy spurt of warm pre that showered your melty insides. 

“Heh.” Fuck, Geto’s heart just lurches with something warm at that heart-eyed cross of your pupils. Such a pretty picture. “Can ya count how many inches f’me, gorgeous?”

Ah, you couldn’t think much less count with just how battering Geto was with his mindless ruts just to fit inside. Washboard abs flexing with every push, push, push-

You’re letting go of his heated flesh with a soppy pwah! bursting from your lungs. “E-eight?” Only to be hit with a messy thud! of his thick cockhead dragging down your mushy walls, throbbing veins thumping at your tenderized spots in time with your very heartbeat. Oh. “Nine?”

“Atta girl.” The calloused mountains of his palms covet underneath your thighs and manhandle you even closer to lock them around his neck. Tighter. “Got a whole nine inches j-just for you, alllll for this pretty pussy right here.”

You can’t help but feel like a fucking toy at the merciless hands of Geto Suguru - and he’s more than happy to pliantly jerk you around until you were halfway through sobbing at the sheer pounds after pounds.

Your glossed lips can only part open when he’s punctuating each thrust with a tug on the precious hood of your clit, and Geto was always the best with his fingers. Dipping and swirling them around dexterously to make you see flashing stars, “Sugu, it- It feels- so-”

“Louder.”

“S-Sugu-”

“Ah ah- louder.” Mahogany headboard clattering against the walls, about to break. To snap. Just as much as he was right about now. “Don’ hold back any fuck- pretty noises from me. The entire ah- place hasn’t heard ya yet.”

“Mhmm, does it feel hah- good when big bad Sugu is fucking you stupid?” Leaving a sweet little pap! of his blushing red tip particularly hard into your g-spot, you swear you could taste the bliss of his bumpy veins branding into your tenderized orifices. “When ya don’t have to think about ngh- aaaany of those silly things?”

And you couldn’t worry about anything - not that too-flirty new member of the association, not your jealousy - not when Geto was fucking each and every thought out of your poor mind. 

Barely even registering it even once one engulfing hand curls gently at the back of your neck to hide away your prespired face into the clammy crook of his neck. So pretty and supple when he’s guiding you to bite, “C’mon then- heh- mark me. Use me. Show off that m’yours.”

“Y-you’re enjoying this-” you’re whining, though, nosing away to pinprick littering bites that blossom and bloom, and show off even if he had his traditional robes on. 

“And you’re turned on.” He’s finishing off your never-ending mewls, head lolling backwards drunkenly to give you an even bigger canvas to work with. “Feeling me all deep inside-” Splaying out a palm along your tummy to feel for that cylindrical outline of something hard. Aching. Bumping up in wet smooches into your deepest spots. “Such a possessive lil’ thing milkin’ me. I need you to fuck me. Fuh-fuck me.”

Muttering, “Ngh- should- should fuck you in front of the whole cult to l-let them know.” Your murky huffs are laced with something grumbling that makes his fattened tip twitch. 

It’s only then and there that you hear notorious clan leader Geto Suguru whimper. For the first time ever in his life, breaking at the seams when your nails rake pretty red valleys down the mountainous expanse of his Adonis-like back. 

Flexing and rippling and fuck-

Fuck, Geto thinks he could almost cum right then and there at the awe-strucken expression smeared all over your face. The way your lips were curling with trickling rivulets of drool and you barely even realize.

“That’s right-” He’s cooing at your nonsensical babbling like it was his favorite conversation, and you’ve never seen him so fucked. So much like putty underneath your hands as you leave marks for days. Maw slagging open with a smirk, heady lids so heavy and hypnotized that they’re practically closed. “That’s right, that’s riiiight- That can be arranged.”

Your greedy fingerpads tangle with his silken locks and jerk in shock, syrupy sap leaking sobbing between your pursed lips and forming a little ring right at Geto’s hulking base once you’re registering what he said. “Can be- arranged?”

And ah- Geto knows he loves you. He really, really loves you. Marked and yours, he’s whispering, “Anything for my girl. Because m’yours and yours forever and ever.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “I-I’m yours…”

And not even the way that poor Choso was buried vulgarly deep into every syrupy nook and cranny of your pretty pussy would stop him from rambling those whimpering words. In fact, it was the opposite. 

He was so thoroughly pussydrunk that just a few sloppy sucks of our glutinous walls makes Choso’s heaving chest stutter mid-fuck. Drooling maw falling pathetically open at the sheen sprays formulating around his swollen, rose-pink shaft. 

So glossy and pretty that he feels hypnotized.

“Cho…” Only snapping half-awake once your trembly fingers dive into Choso’s slightly dampened chestnut locks. And the flutters of his long lashes are so adorable, “D’you ngh- mean that?”

“Of course! Don’t be silly, my baby–” And he can’t even believe what he’s hearing - you? The light of his life? Fucking jealous over a too-flirty sorcerer? God, if it wasn’t for the way that his breath hitches at the dewy cling of your mushy walls exactly around his sensitive underside, then Choso would’ve thought that he was dreaming. “You know you’re the ah! only one for me.”

And he meant it with every pound after papping pound of his plumpened, ruddy crownhead drawing spattered gashes into your rubbery channel. 

Rubbing over one slender thumb to trailway the peak of your buttony clit, Choso can’t hold back his keening whine at just how much wetter that makes your already-slobbering pussy. Swirling pressurized gyrations over and over, he’s muttering away, “G-gonna prove it- g’na make you cum- ngh- have to- ah fuck-”

“Oh- shit- B-baby, I can’t stop-” You’re whispering at the fountained squirt of your slick flooding the sultry non-existent space between you two - you’re so responsive today, and Choso thinks he could cum just from this. 

“Fuck me-” he’s dribbling through roughly parted lips, nose crinkling with utter bliss. “Fuck me- ngh- Yeah yeah yeah, milk me and make me yours, baby- only ever want you to milk me.”

You’re snickering with such utter loving in your eyes that it makes him shy. “H-heh, so cute when you’re fucking yourself so hah- deep in me like this, baby.”

He could whine, could beg your cute cunt for more. Could feel not even a mere inkling of embarrassment as his tongue lolls out like such a slut to slide glazy digits all the way into the back of his greedy throat. Dewy eyes shuttering at the sugarcoated taste of your sweet, sweet juices-

“Oh, but you sh-shouldn’t ever need to be jealous. I w-wanna…” he’s starting off with a tremoring wobble of his jutted, strawberry-pink lips. Thickly viscous coatings of saliva and your slick hanging off of them like a sticky second skin, “-wanna s-stuff my face between your pretty legs forever and ever, baby–”

And Choso couldn’t fucking believe the words were spilling from his mouth - he was supposed to be making his poor girl feel better. Supposed to be comforting you.

But these are so sinful that it makes your beloved boyfriend burn a bright blossoming red, such a pretty flush eating one the apples of his cheeks. One you can’t help but cup, “S’that all?”

Shit, Choso can feel his buttery pre coil out in a few soppy splotches that puddle at the end of your pulpy cervix, split-ended shaft making such a mess. His hefty breeder balls clench tautly at the teasing tone of your voice- dammit. He can’t cum before you.

“N-no.” Pearly white teeth sinking into his gummy bottom lip, Choso chews away as if it was his favorite candy. Trying so-very-hard to hold himself back. “Wanna fuck her- ngh-” And just one look– just one sneaking spy down at where he was disappearing back and forth always left him stupidly speechless. “-her…p-pretty lips until I…die. Think m’ngh- addicted, baby—”

He was so precious.

Tear-streaked face nuzzling the crook of your neck, dexterous fingers knotting around the bulky base of his length. And the only thing that Choso’s heavy tongue can jumble out is a mixture of your name and please- please please-

“Aww, Cho–” You’re prying his sweaty face away to gaze down ravenously into yours, and just the sweet eye contact is enough to make his skin even more feverishly blushing pink. “Are you close?”

“N-no…”

A lie - and both of you knew it.

Because Choso’s streaks of thumping veins down his sensitive cock always throbbed so much harder when it was building up. His dark lashes lacquering with a salty layer of tears, sculptured abs flexing and pulling tight when his sloppy hips pap! pap! pap! into your fleshy mounds like such an animal.

Choso has never felt more out of control - more and more like his sanity was fraying away with every bumpy nudge of his dewdropping rotund tip into your bouncy sweet spots. With every drag of your raking nails down his scalp in a way that makes him think he would fucking purr if he could-

“I…I lied.” He’s confessing like his greatest sin, one arm wrangling around your waist to smush your naked tits against his cushy pecs. Cozy. “M’gonna cum-”

“Cum f’me, Choso.”

Biting back a shrilling mewl at the lecherous use of his full name, he’s already feeling the white-hot shockwaves of his tightly teetering orgasm swirling around in his thwacking balls. Urgently latching two soft-padded fingertips onto your clit, Choso pinches-

And then you’re both cumming.

You don’t know who was first - but in the depths of your lust-filmed mind, you’re sure you tied for the hardest. Because you’re seeing ivory - or make that was just the thickly viscous globs of seed that verspilled from your knotted cunt. 

“Fuh-fuck me-” he’s gurgling out, reeling you into his glimmering, toned body so tightly. Usually so conscious of crushing you with his weight, but now you’re being pinned to the soaked sheets with every ounce of him. He’s melting into you, abs against your tummy, thighs against your own, head dripping into your throat to bite. “Love you- love you love you love- love being yours. And yours o-only.”

Clingy wads of seed sloshing out of you with every sensitive buck, Choso’s still fucking you through your high. Fucking you like he can’t stop the steaming hot piles of cum being poured out into your cozy pussy until you were flooded to the brim.

And through your black-tinged vision you can make out the hypnotized figure of him dipping down two ravaging fingers to smear the clingfilm of lustrous creamy white. Swabbing a generous helping before popping them into his dribbling mouth-

“Baby, did you know curses mate for life?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Cross my heart

“Hah- what was that again, silly human?” Sukuna’s crossing over his big beefy arms exactly how he knew you liked, and the way you’re ogling the powerful flexes of his biceps is just so darn cute. “Jealous? Repeat that f’me- for your king.”

As if you could. 

As if Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just fucking you stupid right now - for what seemed like hours and hours and hours. The fat globe of his bawling cockhead drawing a few trickles of sap down your battered g-spot each and every time. Every vicious rut arching perfectly off of his luxurious throne to leave wet plap! after plap! after plap! on your poor stinging mounds of flesh.

You were supposed to be riding him - but, of course, the king of curses had to steal your thunder. Had to shut up your shrilling whines by bumping his hips into you mercilessly. 

“Oi oi-” Two dark-nailed digits are slicking in front of your deliciously crossed eyes to snap you out of your cockdrunken little haze, and with a sharp snap! your pulpy cervix is being bludgeoned with three thick drags of one strawberry-ruby tip. He’s fisting his other matchingly swollen length with fat fingers, thumbing down those lightning bolted veins mouth-wateringly. “Don’t tell me yer tappin’ out ngh- already?”

Your mewls come out candied and so, so needy. Bonelessly jittery arms curling around Sukuna’s thick neck, to jerk your hips mere sultry inches down his soppily glazed shafts. “I-I’m- not- I was just…”

“And now yer fuckin’ running away.” He’s drawling out, and oh, you could tell that he was enjoying this. Monstrous mouth on his stomach spilling out a few greedy puddles of saliva at that oh-so-desperate pout on your face. Grinning. “Can’t talk but- ya can ah- run away? Where are ya going, huh? Lemme escort ya, brat.”

Before you can even blink, he’s baring you with such a feral grin. Plumpish lips pulled back to show off those elongated canines, rumbling snickers shooting out from between them the very moment Sukuna’s curling a staggering arm around the small of your back. Hard.

Crushing you against the sweat-simmers mountains of his cushiony pecs, you’re at the perfect deepened angle for his second mouth to just dote on the weep tip of your clit. 

“Sh-shit-” Your head tumbles airily backwards at the roughened smooch of his oversized tastebuds down your neglected clit, so hot and greedy that it makes you see stars. Mumbles slurring with every syllable, “Kuna i-it feels so good-”

“Well, duh.” Sukuna has no qualms rolling those glowingly demon-red eyes, plumpened cock swiping copious syrupy dewdrops around and around your puckered hole. “Dunno why ya think of all this- ngh! fuck- stupid shit…Ya really think I make jus’ anyone ah- feel like this?”

You’re huffing, knowing exactly the stupid conversation that got you here. “Not m-my fault- everyone in your court is always trying to be ngh! fuuuck- a-all over you and I just got a little jeal-”

“No shit, woman.” Fuck- you should’ve expected the punishing little pinch of his plushy fingerpads around your beaded nipples. And Sukuna can only tut, “Gettin’ jealous over low-lives for ngh- what? How m’I gonna get that cute lil’ brain of yours to f-finally understand, hm?”

And it’s like he was trying to drill that idea into you. In many ways.

Sukuna’s letting a third of his massive palms pucker up your swollen pussylips. Lecherously so.

Dancing his heated fingertips up and down up and down those saturatedly puffed-up edges before letting the hefty hilt of his stacked shaft fall in a weighty smack! Once. Just enough to make you sound out a shocked yelp at the messy French snog of his second cock down your treacly slit.

Slow and languid - the complete opposite of how vigorously he was now filling you up with those exact inches. “My jealous girl- ngh- one’s not ‘nough, right? Good thing your Kuna has two.”

Yeah, his size was incredible. 

Your parted lips couldn’t stop quivering, couldn’t stop streaming out geysers of cockdrunk spit at just how close you felt to bursting. 

Because his girths were plugging you mind-numbingly full, thumping veins massaging in sweet little glissades down the most treasured sweet spots of your walls. Two of Sukuna’s fingers dip downwards to spread your bulging lips, using every ounce from years upon years of battle just to buck. Up, up, up-

“Sh-shit—” he’s hissing underneath his headily cloudy breath, jaw clenching at the velvety slide of himself stuffing you doubly full. And if Sukuna thought that he wasn’t handling this well, then he wasn’t ready to gaze with glazed eyes up at you. “So- tight. Look at that bulge. Feelin’ full, brat?”

Yes. You could almost sob, pulling on those bubblegum curls at the base of Sukuna’s neck when he’s only pivoting to sink in even deeper. Yes yes yes yes-

“Good. G-gonna make a biiiig mess- here-” You’re whimpering brokenly at the sharp throb of one index of his probing about halfway down your tummy, where Sukuna’s sweltering hot tips were scouring. “-maybe then ya won’t forget who’s yours.”

“M-mine?” You’re blinking your droopy eyes up at him, and shit- he can feel his regal cheekbones burn at the pretty sight.

Drooly little squelches are wafting off from underneath you after every battering ram of an innocent peck up into your goopy depths. And Sukuna only matches the slurping sounds back up above when he latches his lips onto yours.

“Kiss me- kiss me proper.” Your maw dangles open drunkenly with a prying tug from one of his thumbs, “Lick-” And it’s so fucking filthy that you can feel your slobbering pussy lacquer with another candied wave of slick, flooding between your legs and helping you slip and slide in lewd gyrations of his lap. A mess that his excess mouth gladly laps up. “Spit.”

You do - letting the gleaming thick wad splatter onto Sukuna’s eagerly awaiting tongue and lather his mouth even wetter. And you right along with-

With your orgasm taking you by surprise - fuck. Right at the moment your dripping cunt pecks his twin hilts. 

You hadn’t even noticed the way it was building up and up and up- not until you’re letting your eyes sprint to the sluggish back of your head with a moan. 

“I-I’m-” Barely able to stutter out, stomach piling hotly with the shockwave of your high and the pleasurably liquidly masses of Sukuna’s buttery pre. Even more as he watched you fall apart. “-cumming—!”

“I know I know, nasty girl. Fuckin’ filthy.” He’s planting heavy-duty pound after pound to permanently brand all those spots, your cervix, everywhere and anywhere with the rounded circumference of his bloated cockheads. Swiping off those miniscule splatters of remnants, grumbling - with such a content smile. “Gotta work on your h-heh aim, though. Notice anything, brat?” 

Notice? What was there to notice? You muse you could barely even think - barely even breathe with the way that your mind was still jolted with your orgasm. With the way that Sukuna’s bustling cocks were stretching your gluey walls permanently open and-

Oh.

Oh.

That’s when your lust-filmed eyes see it - the tattoo. Nothing out of the ordinary to see Sukuna with a cursed marking on his tongue, but what came right after was what had you gasping…your name. Inked right on his flesh.

“Next time ya get- tch…jealous, m’ngh- tattooing your name here-” Drifting down his clawed digits from your hips and over to his own. And then up to his heart. He was dead serious. Planting your agape mouth with a sappy kiss, “-and fuckin’ ya in front of the whole court, my silly human.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Casual?!

Sure, this arrangement with you was supposed to be casual but…one simple hangout with friends later and Ino Takuma knows you’re the only one he’d ever want to see walk down that damn aisle. He knows.

Because you’ve got your trembly legs practically padlocked greedily around the slender curve of his toned waist, your slobbery folds greedily drooling down every curvaceous inch of him. And oh, he can’t help but let off a quiet whine at the grumpy furrow in your brows, “W-wan’ more, Taku–!”

More. 

More. 

More more more that made his peachy-pink tip drivel out a few slippery douses of pre down your rubbery walls like your favorite sort of icing. Only adding to the complete and utter mess he’d already made-

“Are ya sure?” Ino’s drawling out, mean hips angling to skim just past the bruised and battered orifice of your g-spot. Slowly puckering up in a French kiss against your cervix, he’s catching a thumb down the eager globs of cum from just before that were now sloshing out of you. Teasing it into his mouth, “Yer already so f-full, pretty- Hmmmm, maybe we should just hngh- rest now-”

Ah, he knew exactly what would happen.

Exactly how it would only take three curls of his fat thumb up and down the lustrous layers of buttery seed that were staining your puffy pussylips for you to snap. To let out a cloudy pant of swears before planting your quivering feet flat on the plush mattress and flip the two of you over. 

Ino’s leaving a stinging spank once the mound of your ass rests right up against the tight curve of his rounded balls, slobbering a glossy snail trail all over his heated skin in a way that make him groan. “Ohhh, love it when yer rough w’me like this.”

“Just one more…” He’s not even sure if you knew just how lethal that pout of yours was, fingers digging into his scalp to pull on his silky chestnut locks. And Ino lets you. Fuck- he lets you. “Want to be s-sure that next time, everyone knows you’re mine.”

Oh. Ino can feel his neat brows raising, hips rummaging upwards into your gluey depths with a mindless slam! “Holy shit. I-is that what this is- you’re ngh- jealous?” Latching onto the pivoting motions of your hips, “That’s so fucking hot.”

Indeed, and who knew that a flirty waitress would leave you fucking the sanity out of him like this. 

Ino’s finding himself keening at the smaller digits of yours staking your nails and your claim all over his pretty tawny hair, his throat, his pecs. Marks upon marks upon marks-

“Hah- fuuuuck- you jus’ feel so ngh- good, baby—” you’re practically purring, jerking your hips to mush his fattened mushroom tip into your sweetest spot with practice. Up and down and Ino can’t look away. “Makes me wanna k-keep ya all to myself.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s quirking up one brow, and you can’t help but find it so rawly sexy the way he does it. “S’that what you hngh- want? Wanna keep me until ya-” Both of you hissing when he’s grazing his soft fingertips across the creamy wads of cum spilling from your soppy slit. Before pushing it back in- “-until ya milk me dry, pretty?”

He was always so mean with his mouth - but the way that Ino was arching his spine the perfect curvature off of the drenched sheets was even meaner. 

Choking out through long, unsteady heaves of his pronounced pecs, “Shit, greedy girl. D-don’t know if I even can cum anymore, y’know?”

“Just one more?”

“Dammit…dammit! Ya know I can’t- ah- resist ya.” He’s tutting, “Just oooone more for m’girl?”

Deep, vulgar strokes plap! plap! plapping! against your own sloppy staccato. Vicious. Hard enough that the excess ribbons of cum smear and sludge all inside your tight entrance. It feels so completely lecherous that you don’t even hesitate before craning one set of fingers behind your back to graze over his puckered ballsack.

Tender touch making Ino’s jaw drop with a whine -  a whine. 

“Y-you vixen–” Soft hair splaying out across the pillowcase like a halo when he’s throwing his head alllll the way back, matching the way his eyes slide behind until all you can see are those ivory whites. “Fucking take it then, always ruinin’ me with this p-pretty pussy o’ yours.”

“S’that so?” You’re musing, teeth sinking into the tender spot right at his left earlobe. And Ino’s face is so sweaty and flushed nuzzling into yours, streaked with a cherry-red blush that looks oh-so-cute. “No need to be shy about it, Taku–” 

“F-fuuuck- don’ say my ngh- name like that.” And there’s something in the way he giggles all pussydrunkenly, “Gonna make me- cum again- Fuuuck, only you could m-make me like this.”

Oh?

So very drunk off of you and the clingy smooches your sloppy cunt was leaving on his rock-hard length that he just couldn’t stop babbling. Faster. Couldn’t stop running his kiss-bruised mouth with every thwacking thrash! against your magical spots, dotting gumdrops of dangerous pre with every single jackhammer. Sloppier. 

And that smile on your face is heavenly. “Say that again, baby?” But your words are devilish.

As if to whisper his deepest darkest secrets in hoarse, breaking whimpers into your ear, Ino’s curling his dextrous inches of fingers around your throat. Hauling you greedy centimeters closer until his heady breath was bouncing in warm puffs off of your features, in awe taking you in. Drooling. Blushing. Syllables drowning in embarrassment, “Only you can ah- fuck me stupid like this- o-only you…m’yours.”

“Gonna hafta let hngh- everyone know then-” you’re humming, voice so silky smooth but Ino’s ruddied cock could feel the sweltering hot gushes as you only got wetter. “-I’ll be ah- showing you off then-”

“Mhmm– yeah- yeah, whatever you say, sweetness.” He’s sighing underneath his breath when your bounces only grow more vicious. “Proper name, place name…backtory stuff.” Face drooping into the strained crook of his neck and- oh.

And then you bite him and Ino thinks he sees the gates of heaven.

With you, straddling him right then and there like the angel you are. Your needy pussy swallowing up torrential ounces and ounces and ounces of his ribbony cum. The sappy masses mixing and meshing with the already-filthy puddle that he’d made before.

There’s just so much spilling from that strawberry pink divot peaking at his crownhead, that Ino’s entire body hunches over. Sweat-dampened forehead sticking to yours, shivers sprinting down his spine to where he was maintaining a vice-like grip plugging you full of his swirling cum.

Bleeding into his words when he’s muttering up at you through long, fluttering lashes, “C-can we hold hands when we go out now?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - WEAK

“M’not weak.” He’s spitting out, long snowy lashes fluttering with every sheeny glissade of your puckered pussy lips rovering up and down his achy, overused cock. Up and down up and down up and- “So ngh- m-mark me up.”

And it was just about the only thing that Gojo Satoru wanted - the only thing he yearned for - right after proving to you and everyone else that he was yours. 

He’d just finished smearing your prettily puckered lips with a thick lipstain of sappy cum, before manhandling you on top of him to ride him for hours and hours and hours. You’re so gorgeous milking his fucking soul, with Gojo’s own velvety blindfold dangling off of your neck.

Planting a long, exaggerated snog of his plump rosy lips on your sodden mouth, Gojo’s pulling away with a dramatic pout. “Wan’ to show them how the ah- strongest fucks. For everyone t-to know how well you- hngh!”

You’re proving exactly his point with a clingy clench of your glutinous walls hugging his rummaging cockhead. Slipping and sliding between his leaky mushroom tip between your saturated lips oh-so-easily with just how soaked you were.

With a stinging smack! of his slender, six-inch fingers onto the arched curve of yours ass, Gojo’s helping your bulging lips swallow up every one of his fucking inches. Greedily. 

“Why?” You’re huffing out a clouded pant, hitting Gojo’s playfully loving features. Words taking on a whiny tone that you only ever saw used by your boyfriend himself, “S-so that even more girls could flirt with you when m’right ngh- there-”

Swat!

Once. Twice. Thrice until Gojo was sure that your sharp mouth was reduced to flooding with nothing but needy whines at his punishing little thwacks. 

Reminding you of how he’d turned down anyone and everyone else that flocked to him.

You can only watch when he’s curling one big, beefy forearm around the pivoting small of your back. Sapphire eyes rolling up at you, “Girl, as much as I hah- looove that feisty hngh- mouth o’ yours. You think just anyone s’gonna make the st-strongest theirs?”

Before you can answer, he’s swabbing out a caramelized wad of translucent saliva, dipping down to your neglected clit and leaving off a pressurized spank.

“Silly lil’ thing. The answer is- no-” He’s humming away, like he wasn’t just driving your body oh-so-feral right about now. Prattles of praises dripping with every dousing dab of his globular tip opening up your gooey depths, “-so no complainin’ now, my girl.”

And it was so true.

With a few copious more kisses lingering on your tongue, Gojo’s blessing your tastebuds with a wet thwack! of his drooly saliva. Pecking away the overspilling spatters beading at the corners of your lips, “See how well ya take it? So no need ta get ngh- jealous, sweetheart.”

And maybe it was high time that you’re asking for a break, high time that you’re breathing in heaving gulps of air to try and organize your dazed mind. 

But the only thing you find yourself doing is carressing your palms to give Gojo’s bulging pecs a good firm squeeze. Digging your nails into the plush muscle in a way that makes his nose crinkle with a whimper.

“C-can’t help it, Toru–” Head throwing back with the roaring pap! of his clammy skin sticking to yours with each bounce, you’re stuffing your snug cunt so unbearably full with his massively large inches. And it only makes you want more more more- “-you’re just so pretty…”

Oh.

“Yeah?” Gojo’s letting his head splay-out into the pillow with a woozy grin smeared all over his ruined features. One set of his biceps rippling when he’s resting it sexily behind him, the other twitching when he’s curling one finger underneath the blindfold at your neck and dragging you until you’re mere sultry inches away. “Ya think m’pretty, huh?”

Your blood curdles in your vein with embarrassment at what you’d just babbled away cockdrunkenly - what you were still babbling out. “Y-yes. Unfairly pretty.”

Fuck, Gojo was just twitching his bulked rotund tip into your goopiest depths. Still so sensitive. Earning you a low whine puffing from between his lips, and the sweetest of kisses against that tender g-spot. 

“H-heh…” And if you were in a better state of mind, you’d have sworn that the great Gojo Satoru’s suave voice trembled with such an obvious crack. “M’gonna marry ya- I swear.”

And that massive diamond ring bunched up in his drawer to be mentioned later, you’re feeling the burning sting of his pampered fingernails raking bruising lines down the curvaceous arch of your spine. The sheer bend of it sending Gojo licking his lips, eyes craning to admire the bumpy pathways of his perfect work.

You’re hissing your own crescents drawing the very same thing all over Gojo’s Herculean front the very moment his jackhammers get too much. Strawberry red lines against his peachy flush. Plummy split-end probing deeply into all your treasure trove of geysers that it felt like just the slightest bit of recoil parting your gluey flesh made him mad. 

“Ohhh, girl-” The smile you’re bared with is so wild - unrestrained. Showing off his sharpened canines like such an animal, drooling and gleaming with mouth-watered sap. Breaths staggering out in hot pants, “-the way you hah- stake your claim on me is sooo sexy. Because m’yours, huh?” 

And maybe if this was any other time then you’re sure you’d be embarrassed at how quickly you’re hurtling into your orgasm headfirst with just those words and the bruising twang of his fingers pinching your clit.

Yet, it feels so good - Gojo Satoru was always the best at whatever he did. 

And right now you can feel your throat burn with the wrenching call of Toru— your hips stuttering down into his almost-thunderously. Riotous, vicious drags to plumpen your favorite spots with the curved angle of his thick cock, so drag out your high for far too long-

But Gojo wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t.

Not until spearheading few determinedly roughened thrashes up into your soppy cervix with a gritted slash of his mouth. 

“Yeah yeahh- y-you can handle it, girlie-” Swab after swab after swab that made your second and third orgasms cash into one. “Gotta s-suck me ngh- dry now, m’kay? Make aaaaall of Toyko lose their fuckin’ electrcity- ah- instead of worryin’ that pretty lil’ head with stupid things. Okay?” Final, heaving slopes of his thrusts- “Gotta take eeeverything th-this big cock takes like a champ, m’kay? Because it’s all yours heh…”

And then you’re milking him and you’re milking him until he’s gone. Ruined. 

The strongest reduced to nothing but a lecherous mess of whimpers and feral twitches of his ruby-red tip. Flooding your poor cunt over and over with waterfalls of his creamy sap, so fucking overstimulated that he can feel his footfalls planting down firmly on the mattress. Eyes watering, spine hunching-

CRACK!

Ah, Gojo’s cracking his leaky lids open to a dim bedroom, air murky with sex and buzzing jujutsu. Exactly how he wanted it - for everyone in every ward of Tokyo to know who made him feel this way. So good. To know how he was yours.

Gojo looks up at you, cock jerking ever-so-slightly at your heaving figure straddling him and oh, he’s in love. “Let’s take out the lights in all of Japan this time.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Soulmates.

“Cummin’ on my haaaah- cock for the fourth time and still not ‘nough?” And perhaps for the first time ever in his life, the ever-stoic Higuruma Hiromi sounded breathless. Words hitching into a needy lilt of his voice, “-still want fuckin’ more, greedy girl?”

Yes. The answer was yes yes yes yes - and it was bleeding into your every action. 

Steadying your precarious hands on the cool mahogany plane of his office desk. Important law documents rustle and fall with every single motion of your hips pivoting backwards against Higuruma’s toned ones, wrenching out resounding paps! of clammy skin-on-skin. Saturated lips puckering up around every solid, girthy inch he could give, “...J-jus’ want you, Hiromi.”

“Hm, s’that right, angel?” Planting a sudden spank of his thick digits down onto the jiggling mound of your ass. And if you crane your head over your shoulder just right, you’d catch that simpering dimple at the end of his curling grin. “Such a needy girl- bet ya can’t stop thinkin’ about me, huh?”

And- shit, Higuruma wasn’t expecting his lovely angel to actually nod. 

To let your head tumble up and downwards like you were out of control, mewling out affirmative yeses.

Without a second thought, he’s tugging the tattered rest of your tight silken skirt cleanly off. Engulfing palms smoothing over your stinging flesh and spreading your puffed-up pussy lips so wiiidely agape.

Your squirmy hips are being pinned down with one of his strong arms, and the forever-deepening angle of Higuruma hiking up a singular thick thigh. Neat black garter only digging into his supple leg muscles and making them look even bigger. “Take this fuckin’ cock now- no need to be shy.”

What a pretty sight.

Of your sheen-slicked folds struggling and yearning to take up more more more of him. Slobbering out sweltering hot geysers of sickly sweet slick that drizzle between his digits and down to that neat, black happy trail. You were so needy right now and Higuruma has never loved anything more - well, other than his love for simply you, of course. 

“Not a single ngh- inch left- hah- ya really are made f’me, huh? All this for jus’ me?” He’s hissing out over the knocking thuds of your knees bumping into the wooden furniture with each pressurized thrust. But of course, Higuruma couldn’t have that- bending his legs with a grunt to lift your own boneless limbs ever-so-slightly midair. And you take it so fucking well- “M-maybe I hafta make ya ngh- jealous of overtime more often.”

You’re mumbling, “Hiromi—”

For which you’re shut up by the pads of his rounded fingertips rolling over your pulpy clit with a patterned heart. “Kidding- kidding, angel. But I wouldn’t s-say no to ya barging in my office n’ takin’ this fucking cock more ah- often.”

Pump and pump of his vigorous shaft, you feel like you can only perch your hips higher and take it. 

All the while Higuruma’s babbling away pussydrunkenly like he doesn’t even realize it - and he doesn’t. He can’t. The only thing running through his saccharine sweet mind being you you you-

“Awww, nothin’ for ya to be worried about, dear–” Those overstimulated pearls of wet tears gathering at your droopy eyes are lazily wafted away by one of Higuruma’s thumbs. “M’a married fuckin’ man- not to my work. To you, my soulmate.”

“B-but–” Your lower lips juts out in a pout that makes his strawberry pink cockhead jolt like he’d been zapped with a million fucking volts of electricity. Mind too intoxicated to really even register what he said - married. “-makes me feel so lonely n’ jealous some ah- nights, baby–”

“My poor angel-” His face nuzzles into your tear-clammed cheeks, and the miniscule bristle of his five-o-clock shadow makes your trembling orifices only wetter. “-my poor, poor angel. Y’know what we can ngh- do?”

Blinking up dazedly, “What?”

“What if I…” And oh, he’s planing over the middle of your tummy, fingers teetering sensual little circles right above where his rummaging fat cock was making such a mess of your goopy insides. ‘-pumped ya alllll f-full right here.“ Just those sweetly tender words in your ear was enough to make your lips part parchedly, as dry as a desert. “N’ gave our little family a-another hah- member…or two.”

It’s as if as soon as the idea is dropped into your needy head, it’s all that you can think about. 

“Wan– ah-” You’re mewling, “Want it- want it so bad. I-inside please–”

Plummeting your hips in an even sloppier slew of grinds against Higuruma’s, it’s no surprise that his sculptured skin where your ass is meeting and smacking into his is angry and red. But he doesn’t mind-

Fuck, in fact, it makes Higuruma even fucking harder. Every ounce of hot blood in his body bloating up to balloon his swollen crownhead even puffier, and he’s skimming over the sensory pads of his digits over and over your womb to feel for that nudge- that little probe of his ruthless shaft into your depths.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He can’t help but snicker in an uncharacteristically sleazy way at just how eagerly you’re nodding, “‘Course it does- my- ngh! good girl takes it all, doesn’t she?” He’s so filthy with his mouth, driving you closer and closer to the edge, even more so when he’s finally uttering. “N’ m’gonna give my all because m’yours, angel. All yours.”

He was fucking you all the way through your high like he meant it - and was driving the very message into both your gummy cunt and your stupefied mind. 

Over and over in such salacious grounds of his bulky cylindrical shaft swirling into your pudgy cervix. Kissing you hello and goodbye each n’ every time until he can’t hold it in-

Can’t stop. Can’t even falter when the arm manhandling you flatly onto your front sags with the weight of his entirely powerful body. Hunching over with a low groan, Higuruma’s filling you up to the very brim. Even past that with the utter viscous volume of seed treacling past your puckered slit. 

It’s so soppingly soaked that you’re feeling your thighs slip and slide past each other with every squeeze, lathered in a sugary frosting of his cum. Packed and plugged safely inside your goopy depths.

Higuruma can’t help but let his heart twist with utter pride at the way he could feel the matted masses cream and knot around his throbbing shaft inside of you. Ready to keep you locked up in here as long as possible for it to take. 

Overtime be damned, he was on a mission to prove that he’s devoted - that he’s yours.

Which is what finds him sneakily tugging open the second drawer on his desk while you busy yourself trying to catch desperate breaths. To steady yourself. To fucking open your eyes after this thorough ruination of your insides - only to see something big, and glinting on your left ring finger. 

A big, expensive diamond in exactly the design you’d off-handedly mentioned liking years and years ago.

Your mouth drops, and Higuruma’s crooks into a simpering smile. “If that didn’t prove m’all yours- maybe this will, my wife.”

A/N. WALK ‘EM LIKE A DOG SIS-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[eraserbread]

your husband, nanami, finally gives you the one thing you've been pining over

nanami spoils you rotten. he's starting to see that, now.

you wanted a house? a week later he slid the deed to you over dinner.

that new egregiously priced sectional you've been eyeing? add to cart.

there was only one thing he fought you on.

"i'm sorry - just couldn't help but notice." ken walks into the bedroom where you're relaxing on your side of the bed, new fiction book in hand that you only just picked up. "is this your birth control? it was in the trash can..."

"oh." you reply haphazardly, flipping to page 28. "my doctor and I decided we'd take a few months off the daily's until my hormones even out."

poor kento - he has no idea what you're talking about, but he knows you never told him anything about hormones. "yes, I understand." no, he doesn't. "but what about contraception?"

"we'll be fine for a few weeks." you turn to the next page, deciding it being better not seeing his face right now. you wouldn't be fine - in fact, you're ovulating.

but, is it such a crime to have a baby with your extremely well-off, generous, yet supremely stubborn husband? the way he's acting, you would think so.

"i'm just supposed to not lay hands on you for a few weeks?"

"if that's what you feel like, yeah."

"hey." he suddenly crowds you, standing at your side of the bed and pushing your book down. "I don't like the nonchalant."

"just wear a condom, nanami." you flick his big hand away from your book, content just to rile him up a bit before accepting defeat.

you know what you're doing.

"nana..." he's repeating his name -- a name you never called him unless you were serious. "I'll give you time by yourself to cool off." he's at that tempered-state right before his self-control shatters; all he needed was another push.

"lock it behind you?"

"why do you need to lock the door?" you can see it as he faces your back to you, heading to give you some space before he's stopped by your words. this is a home of open doors- even if you're using the bathroom. it's a bit insulting that you'd want to lock the bedroom one now.

a flick of the finger finds you at page 30, and you smile as your main character is taunted and poked. " oh, nothing. just thought i'd try this new toy friend sent me."

"toy? are you trying to make me mad?" kento's glad to admit he's never even seen you whisper next to a sex toy when he's around. he truly is so spoiled.

the door in his hand he was about to close behind him, slams shut with a single push. it makes just enough noise to pull you from your relaxed state, lowering your book and furrowing a brow.

so, just imagine your ease and joy when he has you folded in a mating press a few minutes later, sweat dripping down the side of his face as he fucks you into the mattress. your knee is over his shoulder, thick, chiseled torso shining in the dull bedroom light under sex and sin. he looks so good like this -- eyes screwed shut and only blinking open to study your pained, but highly satisfied expression.

"you want a baby so damn bad, I'll give you a baby." he growls, taking your other knee in his strong hands to will you deeper into the position. you're aching already, and he was not the gentlest, but you loved every second of it.

it's nearly embarrassing just how wet you are, and ken can feel it as you squelch and weep for him. it's impossible to let up, you're fucking squeezing around his cock like you're trying to milk him dry, spilling out fitting endearances that lick over him, giving him reason to take you harder.

he's so hard it hurts -- it hurts because you're so beautiful and he loves you so much that he hogs all of his sweet, sweet seed for you all day until you're loose enough to take all of it.

but, you're so damn stubborn and you know how to frustrate him. he loves it. he lives for anything you give him -- it just gives him reason to fuck you a little harder after a long day. he knows you need that, so who cares if it takes a little bratting to get your way?

after all, he married you.

and it's pointed directly at your womb that he cums so fucking hard and deep. forcing himself to keep fucking you through it so he can pump his seed deeper and deeper until it has nowhere to go but up and out.

your stupid little plan worked. now, he has you bred and limp when he pulls out, leaving a sick stain of white between your thighs in his wake.

"you got what you wanted? happy now?" ken regards you with a glance over his shoulder as he scoots out of bed. you're staring at him unblinking, just taking in the way his strong back twitches with every move.

it's fucked-out and pliable that you give him a little nod, smiling soft at the corners, you mumble --

"...gonna have a baby... yay."