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rules • ko-fi • listening to • roleplaying subscription
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NSFW - ♡
Fluff - ❆
Haikyuu!! requests
- Noya/Kenma with a s/o who cries a lot ♡
- Suga/Kageyama/Tsukishima with a writer s/o that forgets to take care of herself ❆
- Tendou reacting to a s/o who is shy at first but then discovers she’s talkative with people she trusts ❆
- Tendou handling an argument with his s/o, with making up afterward! ♡
- Kageyama being insecure about being in a relationship, s/o reassures him! ❆
- Kenma and shy reader locked in a closet ❆
- Tendou Headcanons
- Oikawa Thirst ♡
- Osamu getting together with a nb, asexual reader ❆
ⓘ zanka’s routine has been pretty concrete since he first joined the cleaners, but he’s not against adding in a new step whenever the opportunity calls for it and you’re an abnormality he could never deny.
pairing. zanka nijiku x fem!reader | wc. 3.4k. | genres. smut. minors do not interact. characters aged up to 20+ | warnings. fem oral receiving. somnophilia ( consensual ). zanka takes great care of you. written from zanka’s pov. | return to masterlist.
notes. i am so sorry this is just almost 3.5k of pure pussy eating lol! i hope you will atleast enjoy it - still getting back into the swing of writing after a short break! ✨
Zanka has a routine.
He wakes up, spends most of his spare time training, eats breakfast to fuel and repair his muscles, cleans himself up and then returns to his room at night.
That’s what it used to be like anyway. But now there’s you. You’re an anomaly in his routine but one that he was more than willing to incorporate, almost a little too eagerly actually. Because one thing about Zanka is he’s not one for doing stuff half-assed, he can’t afford to.
He’s not got some innate hidden talent or natural knack for picking up things after only seeing them once, so he works, hard. He puts as much effort into his relationship with you as he does everything else, he studies you, from top to toe.
There’s still work to be done here and Zanka knows that too, he’s nowhere near done yet. He’s just always been that type of person, he’s a hard worker, takes things seriously until he knows everything there is to know about whatever he’s focused on. Every smell, every reaction, every movement.
Which is why when Zanka’s finished with his morning sparring, brandishing the aches of his muscles like a job well done, he’s quick to return to his room to continue a different type of training.
You’re only barely noticeable as he steps into the dimly lit quiet of his bedroom, still lying all wrapped up in his bedsheets like he left you while he quietly makes an attempt to slip off his shoes and prop up his assistaff in the doorway. Zanka doesn’t think he’s quite used to this yet, even just seeing you sleeping in his bed still makes his brain feel like it’s about to short circuit at times, but he tries his best to remain composed as he crosses the room with big steps.
It’s a careful but important part of the routine, the way he brings himself to the edge of the bed and allows himself to admire you for a moment before he proceeds.
Even in the dimly lit room, Zanka can still make out every dip of your figure; the way the shirt you’re wearing falls along your curves, your lips pouty as your cheek smooshes against his pillow, your brows pulled into a cute frown like you’re lost in a dream.
He maps it all out, memorises every part of it and locks it away into his memory. This must be the expression you make when you’re at peace, when you trust someone enough to fall asleep in a bed that’s not yours. Surrounded by a scent that’s not yours, but his. All his.
The idea of referring to you as that makes a shudder rake through Zanka and he finds himself flushing at his own thoughts whenever he looks at you now. Staking a claim on you like he’s any right to, not yet anyway, not when he’s still got so much work to do.
But that’s exactly what motivates him.
So Zanka begins with a gentle grace, a trait that was no doubt picked up from his time at home as he shifts back the comforter that rests over your bare legs. He feels his mouth run dry when he realises you’re still in just your panties, like he’s not seen much more by now but the reality of it still flusters him more than he’d like to admit. Especially when you’re in his bed of all places.
“Pull yerself together.” He mutters to himself, sighing before the next shift of his body is followed by a creak in the mattress as he eases his weight down on top of it. He moves slowly, until he’s able to lie on his stomach at the bottom of your body and he gives you another look again, making sure he’s not woke you with the gentle shift.
Zanka fits between your thighs much easier than he used to as he guides them over his shoulders. First time he got into this position he was really clumsy about it, had the idea haunting him for days after whenever he thought about it too much, but he’s much more natural about it now. He’s able to move you so gently that you barely rouse, still sleeping softly with your head on his pillow.
But he gets you right where he wants you with ease because he’s learning.
Zanka’s hands wrap softly around your hips as he finds himself a comfortable position on his front, now face-to-face with your clothed cunt as he gives your underwear a once over. His hands offer you a squeeze and then a smooth, like he’s soothing you as his eyes narrow in on the cute fabric and then he leans in close. Just enough for his lips to barely be touching you.
“Mornin’, ain’t awake yet, are ya? So ya can’t even hear what I’m sayin’ right now.” Zanka asks, talking directly to the mound in your underwear with a hushed tone of voice.
“That’s fine, I ain’t against lettin’ ya sleep. Think ya can still react though?” He closes that distance with the next ask, pressing his nose against the fabric of your underwear and then he takes a loud, lewd inhale through his nose that’s followed by a full body shiver as he basks in the scent of your cunt. “Yeah. Can smell it.” Zanka grunts, answering himself.
There’s a certain confidence to him when he finally begins, slowly at first as he tests you out. Zanka noses through the fabric of your underwear before exhaling, deliberate this time as he feels the goosebumps flare along your cool flesh. He knows you like when he does that, picked up on it the second or third time he was down here and he’s stuck to it. You’ve never once complained.
So he keeps going. Zanka’s tongue peeks out from between his lips and he presses it against your underwear, dragging it in light, slow swipes across your cunt and making sure to focus more pressure over the bump of your clit. You’re sleeping still, but you’re reactive, sensitive.
Every roll of his tongue is making you twitch, your legs spreading a bit wider, the muscles in your thighs contracting with his movements. You make a little breathy, light sound in your sleep that makes Zanka’s cock throb from where it’s pressed against the mattress, and he takes that as a sign to move onto the next step.
“Yer bein’ real good about it today.” He huffs before taking a mouthful of your clothed pussy into his mouth this time, suckling lightly at the quickly dampening fabric before he’s moving his lips all over the surface and he feels you twitch. “Seems yer warmin’ up to me. No problem, can bet I’ll take care of ya.”
Zanka keeps going like that. He takes you into his mouth and sucks, feels the heat of your cunt even through the spit soaked fabric and he can tell you’re enjoying it. He’s used to these reactions, can tell by the way you’re breathing, the way your legs are beginning to shake. But he could give you more, he needs to.
Zanka shimmy’s himself a little closer before he’s hooking one hand beneath the fabric of your underwear and peeling them out of his way. The sight he’s first met with renders him breathless, leaking, flushed. You’re glistening with slick, wet and well-prepped and he feels like he’s about to bust a nut right there.
He has to take a few breathes to compose himself and then he locks back in, giving you another glance to make sure you’re still out cold before continuing where he left off. You won’t be asleep much longer judging off how you’re looking; the parted lips, the pinch in your brows.
Not long left but that makes no difference to him. You’re probably used to this by now anyway, not like you don’t let him do it.
Zanka’s calloused hands reach to spreads your folds this time, giving him a better angle to see the spots you took the time to point out when you first got together. He recognises them quickly now, locking onto your clit before leaning in and he takes it into his mouth with ease. He bathes you in long licks of his tongue, focusing on the bud as he spoils it with wet rolls of the muscle and he can feel the way your slick only seems to intensify.
Good signs. Definitely good signs. He’s getting better now, you’re responding faster. Getting wetter, it makes him twitch as he feels you begin to wiggle and rouse at the sensation of his wet mouth.
“I ain’t really into slackin’ off and I still think I could do more for ya, I ain’t nothin’ special yet.” Zanka grunts with his mouth in your pussy, half-like an apology as he feels you shift again. “Gonna put in the work though.”
It’s like how he’d kiss you, Zanka reminds himself, thinks back to the articles in those womens magazines that Semiu had left lying around. It would be way too awkward to mention it or give thanks so he’ll think up some other way to say it to her. But for now he gives your pussy another eager, messy lap with his tongue as he makes out with your cunt. The lower half of his face now slick with a combination of spit and slick as he buries himself deep between your legs.
“Ah—“ You eventually say after a stretch of silence, the room filled with only loud squelches from your cunt and Zanka’s own groans. He can already tell you’re awake by the way your thighs are suddenly clamping at his cheeks but he doesn’t rush you.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya so early,” He says, like he’s not eating you out right now and instead just made a sound too loud. The low tone of his voice must send blissful vibrations straight through your clit before he’s curling his tongue around your pussy and groaning when he feels the first greedy squeeze around the entrance to your walls.
You only respond with a sound that’s whiny and sleepy, still waking up but Zanka knows what your body wants without you having to say it anyway.
So Zanka complies, his tongue finally dips into your walls to explore what’s hidden beneath and he experiments by letting the muscle graze along the sensitive nerves he finds there. His nose grinds against your clit with every eager swipe as needy, breathless sounds fall from your lips and he takes note of that. Basks in the taste, the noises, the way your thighs are squeezing at his cheeks still as you wake up slowly.
“You’re earlier today.” Your voice shakes for the first time, hands rousing the sheets.
“Gotta train to get better or else I just won’t.”
Your body begins to shift restlessly, trembling beneath another eager suckle of Zanka’s mouth against your clit and he curls his tongue up through your folds once more. He drags it back and forth, presses it in and out of your hole again and then he draws back, swallowing loud as he slurps up the slick he finds hidden there.
“I—I figured you’d be tired after last night is all.” You laugh, deliberately broken off and pretty and Zanka feels his entire body flush at the memory of last night.
Much like he was right now, except you’d let him fuck you after it. He pressed you into the mattress, listened to you cry out about how good he was making you feel. How you were his, loved him, loved his cock and then he almost came too early and had to pull out to collect himself.
Proof he still ain’t good enough.
“D’ya really gotta bring that up?” Zanka buries himself deeper into your folds like he’s trying to hide.
You only laugh again, “Well I think it’s hard for me to forget. But I’m sure my reactions said enough of that themselves. I—I like when you seem to be having a good time too, it makes me happy.”
“Well when ya let me have ya like this I’m always happy, thought that was obvious.” Zanka’s words are probably too muffled this time for you to make them out, but he’s sure you feel every syllable vibrate from where he’s buried himself in you.
He’s learning, memorising, experimenting and driven by the way you’re beginning to twitch and shake for him. Your fingers reach forward to brush his hair back from his face and then you pull it, making him hiss while the searing pain only makes him feel dizzier, drunker on you.
“‘M gonna make ya feel better than ya even thought possible.” Zanka says again, mind cloudy from his arousal but still focused enough to lap at your folds between words. “Ya won’t even think about anyone else once I’ve memorised every part.”
“Zanka, that feels s-so good,” You gasp, hips twitching beneath his hands and words and he puts a little more strength into keeping you held down now. A telltale sign you’re getting close as you dig your head back into his pillows, whining. “You’re so good to me.”
Zanka doesn’t think he ever wants to stop training like this when he hears that praise fall from your lips, telling him how good he’s being to you like you’re not doing your best for him. He’s sure it gets tiring, letting him bury himself between your thighs every day until he gets better. Until you’re cumming so hard and good that you’ll never even remember anyone who came before him, and there certainly won’t be an after either.
Zanka thinks he’s addicted, so addicted to your pleasure that he’s dizzy with it. He’s so focused, so hellbent on becoming the best that he’ll do whatever it takes.
You pull at his hair, guiding him back and he knows what you want when he’s hooking his tongue around your clit once more. It feels firmer, more sensitive when he’s twisting and laving his mouth over the bud as you begin to meet his movements with eager, intoxicating humps.
Zanka remembers all the times he’s watched you touch yourself, remembers the things you’ve said that you like, so he pushes his tongue beneath the hood of your clit again and closes his lips around it. He suckles languidly as his eyes flutter closed in bliss and you rock yourself against his mouth, letting him bathe the bud in mindless licks and rolls with the wet muscle.
“Y’ taste good. Real good.” Zanka’s says and your body shivers so deliciously it’s like the praise rolls right through you.
“Yeah? You f-feel even better.” You bite on your lower lip, hands in his hair as your lips part, louder now you’re fully awake. “I’m gonna cum,”
Exactly what Zanka wants to hear as he notices your spine begin to curl with the first pinpricks of bliss, every eager roll of your hips chase that twist of pleasure in your abdomen that you crave from him as your slick coats all over his cheeks and chin.
It doesn’t take long for him to get you there, because he knows how to. A few more flicks of his tongue over your clit, accompanied by a big, rough squeeze of his hands on your thighs and you finally stiffen. You pull him deep into you when your orgasm suddenly rolls over you in waves and he only dives into you with even more eagerness, groaning shamelessly at the first taste of your cream on his tongue as his eyes roll back almost completely. There’s even a dangerous throb in his cock that almost knocks the breath out of him.
But Zanka’s focus on you is so unbreakable, he continues to slurp and drink you up greedily as he flattens his tongue against your folds. He bathes you in long kitten licks until you’re finally slackening and pushing his head away with an over sensitive whine. But not before he’s placing one more soft, wet kiss against your clit.
He’s completely flushed to his chest by the time he stops, his cheeks to his chin glistening with your juices while his chest expands with every shaky breath he takes to catch his breath. He probably looks more spent now than he did after a morning of sparring with Enjin, but then his wet, blown gaze is meeting your own and his cheek is smooshing against your thigh as he blinks up at you.
You look pleased with him and that’s enough to make his body feel lighter than ever.
You shift and stretch for a few seconds before talking, no doubt taking the time to properly wake up now that you’ve just came the hardest you have yet for him. Your smile says you’re satisfied as your hands begin a much more gentle movement through his slightly damp hair.
“What if I told you you’re already the best I ever had?” You say, words whispery and sweet. It makes Zanka shudder,
“Ya aint gotta say that stuff to make me feel better.” He shrugs, but he appreciates the sentiment regardless, if he wasn’t already flushed he’d surely be red. “Besides, I just ain’t one for skipping steps, I approach ya the same way I do all other sorts of trainin’ ‘cause there’s way more to ya than you’d think.” Zanka casts you another look, as if trying to make his confession seem more casual but still just as honest as he shifts from his place between your thighs. “Nobody knows ya like I do ‘cause I’m seein’ to ya with the time and care ya deserve and I can say that with confidence.”
He doesn’t know if that was stupid or corny to say but before he can begin to overthink it and lock himself into his room for a few days, you seem to pick up on his embarrassment. You choose your next words carefully. “And what have you learned so far?” You ask, teasing.
Zanka shrugs again, but he smiles this time, settles a bit. “That’s for only me to know and I don’t plan on tellin’ anybody.”
“I never thought you’d be the type to keep secrets.”
“Guess I gotta do whatever I can to have the upper hand. Not like it matters, nobody else is gonna get to test it but me.” Zanka moves when he answers you this time, shifting himself up onto his knees and moving your trembling thighs back down onto the mattress. He kneels across from you as you give him a narrowed look.
“I like when you get like that.” You smile, blinking at him,
He tilts his head, his earrings shifting with it. “Like what?”
“You know, all possessive on me.”
Zanka immediately shudders with humiliation at the idea of actually staking a claim on someone like you. Hell, he can’t believe he even managed to bag you to begin with considering his track record of losses but he’ll be damned if he lets this opportunity go to waste.
Gotta play it off, gotta seize the moment. Show ‘er you’re not just any regular average joe.
“Y-yeah, well it’s true.” Zanka responds after a moment in his head but he can’t look at you, “I like havin’ ya all to myself, is that so bad? I ain’t one for sharin’”
You grin even wider now as you push yourself up from lying on your back, coming to your knees until you’re able to reach forward and wrap your arms around Zanka’s shoulders. It’s like you know he’ll steady you, bringing you close enough until his hands are on your waist and your lips are by his cheek.
You giggle, “Definitely not. I’m not letting you away so easily anyway.”
Zanka thinks his heart’s due exploding, but there’s a throb in his cock aswell. His jaw tight as he holds you against him, “Yeah well I ain’t anywhere near bein’ done, but I think I’m gettin’ pretty close.” His hands stroke at you as he kneads at your body, groping at your skin and mapping it all out for the nth time before he feels you press a little kiss to his cheek. As if igniting something in him, he puffs out his chest. “It just ain’t nowhere near enough yet. Think ya could go another round? Don’t wanna push ya too hard.”
You pull away to eye him, but it’s with a certain flutter to your lashes that Zanka recognises immediately, “And what if I can barely handle it this time?” You say, breaking away from him before lying yourself back and spreading your legs. His mouth almost waters but he plays it off with a long, slow blink.
“Then that just makes it even more satisfyin’ for me.”
He’s pacing, coiled tight, still annoyed by something you said earlier, giving you that sharp, silent treatment he thinks is subtle.
You tug lightly at his sleeve. “…Kiss ?” Just one tiny word.
He freezes. His head tilts toward you like you just punched the air out of his lungs. “…Seriously ?” he mutters, voice low, raw, but he’s already stepping closer. “You’re gonna ask me that. Right now.” You nod, small, shy.
His composure snaps — he grips your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in with a frustrated exhale. “You’re impossible,” he whispers against your lips, moments before kissing you slow, deep, like he’s finally melting.
And just like that, the argument disappears. He can’t stay mad at you — not when you ask for him like that.
Zanka
He’s focused, meticulously cleaning his lovely assistaff for the fourth time, pretending he’s not ignoring you.
You whisper, barely audible over the faint shing of metal: “…Can I have a kiss ?”
Zanka drops the cloth like it burned him. His ears turn bright pink — his whole posture softens, instantly yielding. “I— yes. Of course. Come here.”
He steps toward you so carefully, as if he’s scared to do it wrong. He cups your face with gentle, warm hands, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze, a visible struggle. His kiss is feather-light, almost shy, but you feel his breath tremble against your skin.
“…Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice a soft apology. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He kisses you again, just a bit firmer this time. He’s yours the moment you ask.
Tamsy
He’s sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped over the blankets. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting soft, sleepy patterns across the sheets.
You crawl in beside him, nudging his side gently. “Tamsy…?”
“You need something, my love ?” He shifts immediately, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping snugly and possessively around your waist. You lean closer, breath warm against his ear, whispering, “Kiss ?”
He freezes for a heartbeat, that familiar, utterly mischievous grin spreading slow across his face. “A kiss, hm? ”
His fingers brush your jaw lightly, tilting your face up to his. “Darling… you didn’t even need to ask.” The kiss is slow, soft, and teasing, a promise of more. When he pulls back, that smirk lingers, warm and playful, daring you to stay in his arms forever.
Gris
He’s just sitting there, legs slightly apart, hands resting open on his thighs, radiating a deep, unshakeable calm.
You step in front of him, a little hesitant, arms clasped behind your back, and whisper: “…Kiss me ?”
For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen — a flash of surprise — then a profound, soft smile spreads across his face. “Of course,” he says simply, his voice low but steady.
He reaches for you, guiding you gently between his legs, settling you comfortably on his lap. His hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, keeping you close. He leans in slowly, and when his lips meet yours, the kiss is deep, grounding, and absolute.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he murmurs, a hint of amusement and awe in his voice: “You always know exactly how to get me, don’t you ?”
Jabber
He’s adjusting his rings, posture loose but restlessly energetic, that leftover fight-high buzzing under his skin.
You step close and murmur, “…Kiss ?” and his hands still instantly. His grin spreads slow, sharp, amused — like you just offered him something far more thrilling than simple affection.
He steps into your space, closing the gap, his thumb dragging sensually across your lower lip, deliberately smudging it as he studies your reaction. “Asking me like that… you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, dollface,” he murmurs, voice low and excited.
His kiss comes sudden and intense, holding back just enough not to overwhelm, just enough to make your pulse jump. When he pulls back, he brushes your lips with his thumb again, his smile tilting in predatory pleasure. “Do it again ma,” he says softly. “I like it.”
Follo
He’s in the middle of something, totally lost in his thoughts and humming under his breath as you poke his shoulder.
“Follo… kiss ?”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he beams, a sudden burst of sunlight. “A kiss ? For me ?”
He drops everything instantly — whatever he was holding clatters softly — and hugs you so tightly you lift off the ground for a second, a squeak escaping your lips. Then he gives you the softest, happiest kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks with pure, unadulterated affection. “I’ll never say no,” he says with a flushed, genuine smile. “You can interrupt me anytime.”
𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Gris, Enjin, Zanka, Jabber, Follo, Tamsy x fem!reader
𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: ~3k
𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Pussy eating, fingering, teasing, pet names ie: kitten, babygirl etc, edging, giving head, a bit of desperation, pnv, unprotected/creampies (wrap your willy dont be silly) not fully proof read just skimmed over. Zanka is aged up to be 18+.
MDNI 18+ ageless, blank blogs, and minors will be blocked.
–
a/n: First post kinda nervous. Requests will not be open at this time due to finishing kinktober prep. After kinktober they will be open! You can cater your experience on this app under blog settings if this is content you do not wish to see.
Gris loves, loves, loves waking you up with his head buried between your thighs, tongue lazy at first, then greedy once your soft little gasps start slipping free. But he craves even more the mornings you’re the one to stir him awake, your warm mouth wrapped around his cock before he’s even fully conscious.
The first groan that rumbles out of his chest is broken, as if it was dragged out of him against his will. He blinks blearily, lashes fluttering as he wakes into pleasure, his hips twitching against your lips. You glance up at him through your lashes, the sight of his face contorting as soft, needy whines claw at his throat makes you ache. His brows furrow together his jaw tight, but then, fuck, his eyes finally meet yours. Those irises glowing hazy with sleep and lust with a crooked, lazy smile curls at his lips.
“Shit, babygirl…” His voice is a ragged, still thick with sleep, each word dragged out like he can barely hold himself together. His back arches slightly, cock twitching against your tongue, and his head tips back into the pillow as if he can’t fight the weight of the pleasure drowning him. “You’re so good fa’me… always so good…”
The way he says it – half whimper, half praise, makes heat rush between your legs. When your hand trails down to cup his balls, massaging them slowly, he jolts, hips lifting helplessly. You can feel the saliva pooling at the base of his cock, sliding messily over your fingers as you stroke him. The sound of you slurping him down fills the room, wet and obscene, and his breathing turns ragged – uneven.
“Fuck! fuck, babygirl,” Gris hisses, voice pitching higher, before his hand shoots down. Fingers knot roughly in your hair, he drags you off his cock with a wet pop, a gasp tumbling from your swollen lips. Strings of spit cling between your mouth and his tip. The sight alone almost breaking him in half. His chest heaves, his pupils blown wide, and he stares at you like he’s seconds away from losing his mind.
“Hands and knees,” he rasps, voice wrecked and desperate. His tone is pleading, but there’s a sharp edge of command beneath it. He gives your hair a gentle tug for emphasis, eyes blazing with want. “I need to be inside that needy little cunt of yours. As much as I fuckin’ love coming down your throat, I can’t” his words crack, falling into a strangled groan as his cock twitches in his hand. “I need to be buried inside you, babygirl. Please. I need you.”
His desperation is so raw it borders on broken. His body practically trembling with it, jaw clenched, hips rutting shallowly into the air as if he can’t stop himself. His need for you is carved into every line of his face, every shudder in his voice. He’s not just asking. He’s begging.
Enjin was never picky about where he fucked you. He’d taken you bent over the couch in the common room, pressed you into the mattress with your legs shaking, even dragged you into the backseat of the car just because he couldn’t wait until you got back to base. But what made him lose control every single time was watching you in the kitchen.
The sight of you moving around barefoot, one of his shirts hanging loose on your frame – hem swaying just enough to tease him with the glimpse of panties that barely covered a damn thing. Fuck, it did him in. Watching your hips roll with each step as you cooked, humming under your breath, hair a little messy. Then bending over to pull the biscuits out of the oven, ass arched up just right for him… it snapped the last thread of his restraint.
He’s on you before you can set the pan down, big hands clamping onto your hips, pulling you back against the hard line of his body. His breath fans hot against your ear as he leans down, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Such a cute little thing you are,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, words slipping into your spine like heat. He inhales against you, savoring both the smell of breakfast and the soft scent of your skin. “Smells so good, baby…”
Your body shivers at the ghost of his lips. His hand is already sliding under the oversized shirt, fingers rough and sure as they close over your chest. Fingers kneading, groping with no patience. The other hand presses firm against your stomach, dragging you flush into him, making sure you feel exactly how hard he’s getting for you. His cock grinds against the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of your panties, the friction enough to pull a small gasp from you.
You give the tiniest nod, body leaning back into him, permission written in the way your thighs press together instinctively. Enjin doesn’t waste a second. His hand trails lower, palm dragging against every inch of your skin as if he wants to feel all of you before dipping past the waistband of your panties.
“Mm, kitten…” he groans as his tattoo'd fingers slide through your slick folds, finding you already wet. His smirk brushes over your shoulder as he teases your clit with slow, deliberate circles. “So wet for me already. You’ve been dripping just waiting, haven’t you?”
The shirt is shoved higher as his mouth claims your neck properly now, trailing from the base up to your shoulder in wet, biting kisses that make you squirm against him. He nips, sucks, marks you like he can’t help himself. His voice rough and filthy against your skin.
“It’s like she’s purring for me,” he murmurs, skilled fingers dipping into your needy hole, his thumb pressed so sweetly against your swollen clit. The sound of your breathy moans filling the small kitchen. His cock throbs against you as he grinds against the curve of your ass, greedy for more. “Hear that, princess? That sweet little cunt is already begging.”
Enjins mouth is dirtier than anyone would believe, if they saw him outside this moment. But behind closed doors, this was the version of him you knew best. The one who worshiped you with filth, who praised and taunted you until your legs gave out, who treated every whimper like his favorite song.
Jabber was mean, so mean. That was his nature, the way he carried himself, the way his tongue cut sharp when he spoke. Usually, that edge followed him into every touch, every thrust. But tonight.. tonight he was something else entirely. Desperate. Unbearably needy.
Maybe it was the alcohol still burning in your veins, maybe it was the way you always caved for him no matter how many times you swore you wouldn’t. Or maybe it was just Jabber, your ex, the one your body never seemed to forget.
“Yeah, baby,” he cooed, voice low and taunting, but his words were ragged, like they were being dragged from somewhere deep. His inked fingers gripped your ass tight, possessive, before one hand came down in a sharp slap against your already sore skin. The sound cracked through the empty building, you yelped, body jerking, pleasure and pain blurring until you couldn’t separate them. His smirk curved dark against your ear. “Your needy pussy always remembers me, huh?”
You were pinned against the filthy wall, his weight pressing you against the cold and cracked concrete. Rational thought slipped further and further from reach, drowned out by the haze of lust that riddled your body. Tomorrow, you’d blame it on the drinks. Tonight, all you could do was feel him.
“Please! I need more, I need you!” The words tore out of you, loud, shameless, echoing off the walls of the building. Every plea fed straight into him, fogging his mind with raw, uncontrollable lust. His groan ripped out, deep and rough, chest vibrating against your back as his head tipped back, throat bared.
When his gaze dropped to you again, it was through half-lidded, heavy eyes, hungry, starved. His hand shot up, gripping your jaw hard, forcing your head back so you had no choice but to meet his stare. His voice dropped to a dangerous purr.
“Such a needy slut, aren’t ya?” His words were equal parts venom and worship, and then he slammed his hips into yours with a brutal snap that nearly knocked the air from your lungs.
Your cry broke into a moan, hands clawing into his shoulders. Nails sank deep into his skin, dragging red lines down his back. He groaned, the sound guttural, head dipping low to breathe in your cries like they were his salvation. The sting of your nails mixing with the pounding of his cock sent him spiraling, pain and pleasure tangling in exactly the way he craved.
Your moans spilled from you like prayers, frantic and unending, each one sweeter, filthier than the last. Jabber ate them up, every sound tightening the coil of his desperation until it looked ready to snap. He was mean, yes, but right now – he was yours in the worst, most consuming way.
Zanka was a menace – on the field, in your bed, everywhere. He didn’t just take what he wanted; he made sure you felt it, remembered it, carried it in your body for hours after. He could keep his mouth between your thighs until you were shaking and sobbing from overstimulation, or keep you impaled on his cock for what felt like forever, edging you until you were incoherent. Sometimes both. Especially if he thought you’d been neglecting him.
On those days, he made sure the entire day was spent with you spread open beneath him, his cock buried inside you, his tongue dragging you to climax again and again until you couldn’t breathe without tasting him.
He always started the same way, with his mouth. Zanka didn’t believe in rushing when it came to eating you out. He would pin your hips to the bed with his strength alone, broad shoulders locking you down, tongue flattening against your slit before delving deep, slow at first, then relentless once your thighs began to tremble. He didn’t care how many times you came, if anything, he wanted as many as he could wring out of you, messy and loud. He loved it when you broke, when your voice cracked, when you sobbed out his name like a prayer.
By the time he finally slid his cock inside you, you were wrecked, oversensitive, clinging. But that only made it sweeter.
Zanka, lived for the way you begged. The way your voice went high and raw, pleading for him to finally give you what you were already drowning in. Not that his tongue and fingers didn’t leave you satisfied, but there was something about the thick, unrelenting stretch of his cock that left you trembling, utterly undone.
His thrusts were slow, deliberate, his cock dragging along every swollen, sensitive spot inside you until you whined and thrashed beneath him. The slick, wet sounds of your cunt echoed in the room, obscene and perfect, mixing with the stuttered pants and guttural grunts falling from Zanka’s lips.
“Such a good girl, aren’t you, princess?” His voice was low, smug, yet almost reverent as he leaned over you. His breath was hot against your face, eyes blown wide and hungry. “Lost count how many times I’ve came in this sweet pussy already. She just keeps takin’ me, fuck, you’re so good for me.”
Another slow, grinding thrust had your back arching, nails digging at his shoulders, the pressure unbearable in the best way. He smirked against your lips, then pressed his mouth to yours in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tangled with yours as he groaned into your mouth, cock pulsing, hips stuttering.
“Sweet angel,” he rasped against your lips, voice breaking as his release hit. His body pressed hard to yours, burying himself deep as he emptied into you once more, like he never wanted to leave. The heat of him filled you to the brim, and he swallowed your moans with another desperate kiss, already ready to go again.
Because Zanka was a menace. And he wasn’t done, not until he’d ruined you completely.
Follo.. Gods, he looked like an angel, clean smile, soft voice, the type of man people trusted at first glance. But you knew better. Far, far from it. Underneath that sweet exterior was a devil who lived for pushing your buttons, for winding you up until you snapped, just so he could be the one to break you back down again.
That’s how you ended up bent over the desk, cheek pressed against the cool wood, your body trembling with frustration as he stood behind you. His cock tapped against your swollen clit, each flick of his hips deliberate, mocking, driving you closer to the edge without giving you what you needed.
“Oh, you want me inside this needy cunt, baby?” His voice was soft, lilting, almost sweet enough to be mistaken for concern. But you heard the venom laced beneath it, the smirk in every syllable. The head of his cock dragged down your slit, but he didn’t give in. “No, no, babydoll, you’re the one who acted out.” His tone darkened, dangerous but amused, and his grin widened as your body jerked under the teasing taps. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure this teaches you a lesson.”
He loomed over you, smile painted across his face like a saint. But his eyes, fuck, his eyes told a different story. They gleamed with hunger, with cruelty dressed up as charm, with the thrill of seeing you writhe.
He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, lips catching yours in a kiss that was far too hard, too consuming to be called tender. The second you melted into it, he pulled back, cock grinding along your slit again, the swollen head dragging over your clit until your legs trembled. His smirk cut through your whimper.
“Mm, so desperate.” He clicked his tongue, cocky as ever, as if your need was his favorite prize. His hand snuck up – fingers gripping your jaw hard, and with a flick of his thumb he pried your lips open. He stared down at your mouth for a beat, then leaned over and spit directly between your parted lips. The sound, the heat, the filth of it made your cheeks burn.
“Gods, princess,” he groaned, head tilting back as if the sight of you like this undid him completely. His grip tightened on your thighs as he pulled your body back against him, lining himself up. “So goddamn pretty like this. My perfect little mess.”
And then he sank into you, slow but steady, burying himself deep with a low grunt that vibrated in his chest. His hands gripped your thighs like anchors, pulling you back into every inch of his cock until you could feel him stretch you to the hilt. His sweet smile lingered on his lips, but his eyes rolled back in bliss, his composure cracking as he pressed himself all the way inside.
Because Follo wasn’t an angel. He was your devil, through and through, and he was going to prove it.
Tamsy was a tease through and through. He had the kind of cock that could ruin you on its own, but what made him dangerous was how well he knew you. He knew every little tell in your body, every spot that made you shiver, every sound that meant he’d found the perfect angle. After being with him this long, he had your body mapped out like his own, and he loved to exploit every inch of it.
His hands were never still. They wandered your frame as if without thought, sliding over curves and dips, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp. He loved your skin against his palms, loved leaving evidence behind: the red marks of his fingers dug into your hips, the fading bruise of a handprint on your thigh. Proof you belonged to him.
“Mm, look at you,” he murmured, voice silky and rich, curling into your veins like smoke. His hands tightened around your hips suddenly, dragging you back down hard onto his cock. The force made you cry out, your walls clenching instinctively around his thick length.
The smirk that split his face was smug, unbearably cocky, as if he lived for the way you gripped him so tight. You clung to his forearms, nails biting into his skin, trying to steady yourself against the relentless stretch.
“Such a cute little Dove,” Tamsy crooned, tone dripping with satisfaction. “Gripping me so nicely… gods, you feel so good, my pretty girl.”
His voice was enough to undo you. Smooth, low, deliberate, like velvet wrapped in sin. Every word was punctuated by another thrust, his hips snapping forward with merciless precision. Your chest rose and fell, your gasps syncing with the rhythm of his pace until you were nothing but a mess beneath him.
He was relentless, unyielding. Each thrust was deep, dragging a cry from your throat, each one carrying the weight of his obsession. Tamsy adored you, worshiped you, loved you in a way that clung and consumed. He wanted to be buried inside your needy cunt always, wanted to hear your breathy whimpers like they were the only air he could breathe.
His thrusts grew harsher, sharper, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Your cries tangled with his own groans, his voice breaking into rough, needy sounds that betrayed just how much he craved you.
“Take it,” he growled, voice cracking with pleasure as his hips slammed into you harder, faster. His head tipped back, sweat dripping down his temple, the sight of you unraveling beneath him burning into his mind. “Take all of me, my little Dove.”
His control slipped, his thrusts losing rhythm as he lost himself completely inside your fluttering walls. His words turned to broken grunts, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew the bruises would last for days.
Because Tamsy didn’t just want to fuck you, he wanted to brand himself into your body, into your bones. And he wasn’t going to stop until you both were ruined.
Hope you enjoyed!
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I just can't stop thinking how Kpop Demon Hunters would've been amazing as a 2 season mini series with 13 episodes each..
Like just imagine Gwi-ma and the Saja Boys plotting some type of shit every episode, and the girls always save the day...
Meanwhile, every episode is full of banter between Huntrix and Saja Boys every time they clash during awards, variety shows, interviews, etc...like just imagine Zoey and Mystery Saja being asked to host MAMA together, or Mira being called up on stage along with Romance Saja & Abby to announce a winner of an award..and Rumi and Jinu doing one of those dance collabs special performance..ALL THE WHILE THEY'RE LITERAL ENEMIES &, SECRETLY FIND IT INFURIATING BUT BOTH SIDE ALSO CAN'T HELP BUT ENJOY E/O COMPANY.
Also Jinu always flirting with Rumi amidst their fights in every episode 😏 + Zoey and Mystery Saja having cutest interactions every time, and everyone else has to remind them they're supposed to hate eo 🥹
The other Saja Boys becoming more tame and humane with the more time they spend in the human realm, and they begin questioning their actions, and it slowly begins gnawing them from the inside..
Like walk with me!! The potential is crazy good! 😩🤌
Jinu presents himself as the leader of the group in an attempt to shield the others from Gwi-ma’s wrath. He views the other Saja Boys as his family. He is a bit of a sassy bastard (that one moment of him dusting off his shoulder after making eye contact with Rumi and being all smug was a great moment to me) (I need more of him just subtly sassing people like that).
Beomseok tends to snore when he’s in a deep sleep, and his friends will lightheartedly joke about it. He will go for early morning runs because he likes the quiet, it helps him clear his head. He tends to be a bit of a goofball at times, but he is usually the one who eases the tension amongst the group.
Daeun loves spicy food and has the highest spice tolerance out of all of them (feels canon since he easily won that hot sauce contest). He adds so much spicy sauce to his food that if anyone else tried it, it would completely scorch their tastebuds. He has a very big vocal range, being able to go from a more high-pitched voice to his deeper rapping voice. He sometimes likes to prank people with it.
Jae-Hyun goes by “Jae” with his friends. He wears a face mask to sleep, and he is the one who has a 13-step hair care/skin care routine. He has more of a sweet tooth than a love of spicy food (medium level spicy will KO him easily) (it was his suggestion to name their first debuted song “Soda Pop”).
Garam rarely speaks when he isn’t singing and that fact that his hair covers most of his face can make him hard to read. Though, it’s not because he’s shy. Despite that, the other sajas always seem to understand him anyway. Will send oddly specific memes that he finds on social media to his friends.
