who knew that the shy, soft-spoken man would be like this in bed?
you certainly didn't. not when yuta used to look at you like eye contact alone might burn him. not when his touches were fleeting, almost hesitant.
but now? now, with his hand is at your throat, thumb resting just beneath your jaw, tilting your head back so you have no choice but to look at him?
“keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs. his voice is still soft.
you swallow, breath catching, because he’s watching you so closely, like every little reaction matters.
“you get shy now?” he asks quietly, almost curious, brushing his thumb just slightly higher, enough to make your breath stutter. “after everything you were doing earlier?”
your face burns. you try to turn away, instinct more than anything, but his grip tightens just enough to stop you.
“ah,” he exhales softly. “no. don’t hide.”
he leans in, lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you, holding you there so his breath ghosts over your mouth.
teasing.
yuta is teasing you.
it scrambles your brain.
“say you want it,” he whispers.
your heart stumbles and you don’t even have time to think before his thumb presses just a little firmer under your jaw, holding you there, keeping your gaze locked on his.
“don’t think,” he murmurs, softer now, like he’s coaxing something fragile out of you. “just tell me.”
your lips part, but nothing comes out. he watches you for a second longer, then something in his expression shifts gently. “okay,” he breathes. “i’ll help.”
his hand slides from your throat to your wrists, to your tits, to your waist, guiding slowly, showing you what he wants without forcing it, his eyes never leaving yours as your breath starts to come uneven.
“like this,” he murmurs.
“i—” your voice catches.
he pauses immediately, waits.
you swallow, chest rising too fast, and whisper, "i want it."
yuta's fingers tighten for a split second before relaxing again, exhaling like he's been holding himself back this whole time.
“good,” he says, barely above a breath.
when he kisses you, it’s deeper, hungrier, and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your quiet, needy sounds. his hand returns to your throat, brushing the skin gently.
“you’re so responsive,” he murmurs against your lips, voice dipping softer, almost dazed. “every little thing…”
your head spins, and you shift your hips against him more, pressing your core against his cock, rubbing. desperate for more.
his forehead presses to yours for a second. “y-you don’t know what that does,” he mumbles under his breath. for a moment, the shy man you knew flickers back into place.
but then his hand slides down your arm again, steadying, guiding, reminding you exactly where he wants you.
“stay with me,” he murmurs, softer again, brushing his lips against yours, kissing you softly. “don’t run away.”
his thumb tilts your chin just enough to keep your eyes on him.
the first mistake was that the dorm room door wasn’t locked. the second mistake was assuming anyone would ever see 𝓨𝓾𝓳𝓲 𝓘𝓽𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓲 like this.
to the world, especially to people like nobara and gojo, yuji was sunshine incarnate. a sweet golden retriever with fists. he was so earnest and loud. the type of person who blushes at dirty jokes and apologizes more than finding excuses.
right now he was nothing like that.
you were beneath him, pressed into the mattress of his bed. his large frame loomed over you while his cock stretched your pussy wide open. his thrusts were unrelenting and unforgiving. you couldn’t think. you could barely breathe, also because his large hand was wrapped around your throat - tight enough to remind you who was in charge.
your pulse fluttered under his palm as you gasped his name. his warm eyes had turned dark with intent as he fucked you into submission.
“eyes on me,” he ordered.
you knew when he used that voice that he meant business. so, you obeyed. as a reward his thumb shifted to your windpipe, and applied pressure. heat coiled low in your stomach at how effortlessly he controlled the pace, the rhythm, even your breathing.
you were so close, and then— the door swung open.
“yuji, have you heard—”
you didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was. the sheer stunned vacuum of energy gave it away. yuji didn’t move, nor flinch, his hand still rested on your throat.
there was a long, fragile pause.
“what. the. hell. am i looking at?” nobara shrieked.
gojo, for once, didn’t have a witty comment ready. his blindfold hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head screamed theatrical disbelief. “yuji?” he drawled slowly. “is that you? or did sukuna finally decide to redecorate your personality?”
you were frozen and expected fully that yuji would scramble off and turn red. he did no such thing. his gaze flicked lazily toward the door, utterly unimpressed. “we’re busy.”
nobara made a strangled noise. “busy?!”
it felt almost grounding when yuji’s fingers tightened around your throat. even now he was protective as his body shielded yours completely.
“close the door,” he added calmly. “and knock next time.”
gojo’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again theatrically. nobara looked like she had just watched a puppy grow fangs. “since when do you—” she started.
yuji didn’t raise his voice when he held their gaze with an intensity that made even gojo pause. “out.”
there was something in his expression that said this wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a performance. this was his space and his girl.
gojo slowly pushed the door closed with one long finger. “fascinating,” he muttered. “our little golden retriever bites.”
the door clicked shut and the silence returned. yuji exhaled softly, gaze immediately returning to you. the hardness in his eyes melted a fraction. but his dominance stayed.
“sorry,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw now. “where were we?” you swallowed as your pussy clenched tightly around his swollen cock. he smiled slightly. “right,” he whispered as he leaned down. “i was about to show you who owns this body.”
Can you do a smutty blurb about Eddie x reader but I want it to be like Steve has a crush on her and she’s popular so he thinks he’s got a chance but when he goes to her house for like a party she disappears and Steve goes to find her and catches her riding Eddie in her bedroom and Steve’s like wtf. Something like that but you can expand lol
warnings: 18+ nsfw. voyeurism. semi-angst. eddie's a boob man.
requests are paused !
on paper, the both of you would make absolute sense. you’re cut from the same cloth as him, living just a few doors down from the harrington house, with an absent mother and a cruel father. he found solace within your company and maybe that’s why he figures there’s really no one else for him but you.
or, a voice that sounds suspiciously like dustin, you’ve yet to untangle yourself from the heavy social restraints from high school like concepts of being cool so you’re attaching yourself to someone that looks like the beginning of a high school cliche? or you just find her pretty and you think she’s definitely in your league?
no, that’s not it — steve thinks to himself. it’s fate and not the fact that he hates nancy’s moved on already and he still doesn’t know what the hell he wants.
he brushes his thoughts aside as he spritzes on some cologne. music’s already starting to sound from your house, his nerves starting to get the best of him. it’s just a party, he reminds himself. it’s your party but it’s not new territory. he gives his hair a few more puffs of hairspray before finally making his way down to walk to your place.
if he’s right about his hunch, he won’t be leaving your side anytime soon.
—
your house is teeming with sweaty, hormonal teenagers. with the parents out of town, you’ve got no concern for any damages that the walls or floors could sustain. in fact, you’ve got no concern for anything at all except eddie’s tongue gliding down the side of your neck.
“babe-” you laugh as you try to aim, one eye shut and a ping pong ball poised in front of you. you’ve got one cup left and the jock across the table looks scared shitless. the cups in front of you are still complete. your wrist moves back and forth, testing out your own power before your fingers release the ball. it soars true, landing with a plop in the final cup across the table.
cheers erupt around you and the crowd conceals the way eddie lifts you up, your legs around his waist and his hands on your ass, from steve who had just entered the house.
a few more people come up to greet steve as eddie steals you away to your bedroom upstairs.
—
steve’s got a loose grip on the red solo cup in his hand, untouched and ignored, as he plays nice with the people in his orbit. he used to love attention like this, had basked in it, and yet he’s aching for an exit, his gaze wandering the room for a glimpse of you.
he migrates around the living room, to the den, the backyard, and finally the kitchen but has no luck in finding you. his large hand cards through his styled hair, frustration seeping into his bones. a sudden crash steals his attention and he looks over to see a broken vase by the staircase. he sighs and waves away the drunken attempts of the people around him, picking up shards of porcelain to toss before he look up the stairs.
you’re usually good with containing your party to the ground level, making sure no one rifles through your parents’ bedroom or your father’s office, but steve figures he might as well wait for you in your room. his steps are silent against the carpeted steps, lips moving as he rehearses exactly what he wants to say to you.
except poorly muffled moans sound from your door and steve frowns, ready to interrupt any idiot that was stupid and bold enough to bring someone to your room.
“that’s it, sweetheart. take it—”
disgust courses through steve; he didn’t want to hear eddie’s attempts at dirty talk.
“christ, eddie!”
steve freezes at the sound of your voice. anger seeps out of him and a concoction of intrigue and guilt fills him instead. he moves slowly to your door, slightly ajar to allow him to peek through without being caught. he’s got a view of you on top of eddie, your back partially facing him so he can catch your features at an angle.
your top is off, the smooth expanse of your back arching each time eddie ducks his head down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. steve can see your arm wind around the metalhead’s shoulders, your hand pushing the back of his head into your tits. it’s a carnal dance, your hips moving to a pace eddie’s set for you even before steve had climbed up the stairs.
steve swallows, rooted to where he's standing outside your bedroom door, as he lets his gaze lower to see where you've got your knees bracketing eddie's hips. your moans spill into the hall when you drop down and for a moment, steve gains enough clarity to step away except eddie's ringed hands ruck your mini skirt up to give steve a perfect view of your cunt swallowing eddie's cock.
he shifts at where he stands, his own jeans becoming unbearably tight, while you start to pick up the pace. eddie's grin is feral as you ride him, his hands possessive and strong as he mutters a few words under his breath.
"... so good for me, princess..." he croons and there's something tender in the way eddie touches you that makes steve wonder if he's missed something entirely. "— takin' my cock so well, hm?"
your resounding whimper punches a gut through steve, so needy and submissive, and it must've done something for eddie too because he plants his feet onto your bed, grasping your waist to hold you steady as he fucks up into you.
you're nothing but a rag doll when eddie gets like this, rough and desperate as you bounce in his lap. you hold onto his shoulders, head falling back when his teeth claims your pert nub, adding another lovebite to the myriad of hickeys all over your chest. "ohh fuck—! yes, yes, yes, right there...! don't stop—!" you shriek and this is it, steve's ready to take his leave except—
eddie catches his eye over your shoulder and the shit-eating smirk he sends steve makes him freeze yet again.
"that's it, princess," eddie coos but his eyes never leaves steve's, your own gaze still screwed shut as eddie's ruthless strokes has you catapulting towards your second orgasm. he lets you ride out your climax slowly, releasing your waist to splay his hand along your back. eddie guides you to lay onto him, catching your breath as you tuck your head beneath his jaw. he smells like his aftershave and a hint of weed and when you burrow your face deeper into his neck, he chuckles.
"you can come out now, harrington," you call over your shoulder.
synopsis: hakari is bad at answering your texts, so you decide to send his phone's notifications something better: fraud alerts as you max out all his credit cards
word count. ❤︎ 4.1k words — ur telling me my first fic of 2026 is hakari smut . bro ur fucking lying to me HELP
before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; reader is a lil bit bratty ok but he likes it ; financially irresponsible reader LOL ; reader calls him kin-chan ; oral (fem receiving) ; edging ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read pls forgive my typos and errors okay say u still love me :,)
commentary. ❤︎ yeah . so . i wanna be that ex that maxed out his cards SOBS. though i do not fancy being an ex so i think we will stay together thanks
It started out as a petty fight.
You hiss, you never answer my texts, Kinji!—and Hakari hisses back, don’t text me so many times when I’m busy, then!
And you decide he deserves it after that. He does. He never wants to check his stupid phone that’s in his stupid hand most of the time, so you give him a reason to check his fucking phone. You give him a reason to pay attention to the notifications that pop up on his screen, one after the other, because he deserves it. He does.
He deserves it when you charge his card. Once. Twice. Ten times. Even more.
If he won’t answer texts, you think, he’ll surely answer transaction alerts.
You start small at first—an overpriced jacket you don’t need (not when you always wear his, anyway). Then a pair of shoes. Then you decide your living room could use some remodeling, too—that couch could use a replacement. You get a sick thrill in it, imagining his screen lighting up with a message as you make one large, concerning purchase after another.
FRAUD ALERT.
A charge was made to your VISA credit card ending in 3467
Reply YES to confirm or NO to report fraud
You picture his eyebrow twitching. It makes you grin smugly at the idea. By the time you’re done, you’ve hit all three cards—and he seems to have let you, too. Not a single purchase gets canceled as a fraudulent transaction. You hit the limit on the third and hum in satisfaction to yourself.
Your phone buzzes immediately.
Kinji ♡:
What the hell are you doing?
You stare at the message. Let it sit. Let him feel ignored the same way he ignored you. Your phone buzzes again.
Kinji ♡:
Did you just max three cards in twenty minutes?
You ignore him yet again. And then, he actually calls you—and you stare at his contact photo with petty resolve as you let it ring until the call is missed. He doesn’t let that stop him, though, and sends another message.
Kinji ♡:
Pick up my call woman
He calls again, and you don’t listen to his demand. The call rings out again before you type back: Wow. So you do know how to look at your phone huh?
The typing bubble appears instantly.
Kinji ♡:
Don’t start
You scoff as you start anyway. Your thumbs type furiously before sending: I wouldn’t start anything if you didn’t fucking ignore me.
There’s a pause this time. A long one. You imagine him running a hand over his face in irritation, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that way they get when he’s trying not to snap. He’s good about not snapping at you, for as moody as he tends to be. He’s good about keeping himself patient when it’s you. Usually.
But your phone rings. You decline it. It rings again. Decline. Rings one more time. Decline. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears, and you’re almost giddy by the image in your head.
He calls yet again—this time, it’s a FaceTime. You answer at the last second just to be petty.
“What,” you say flatly as soon as his face pops up onto the screen.
“What,” he echoes, incredulous. “That’s it? S’all you got’ta say? Are you out of your mind?”
“You said don’t text you so many times,” you shrug. “So I found another way.”
His eyes narrow. “So you maxed out my cards?”
“You weren’t answering.”
“Was this s’posed to make me answer?”
“It made you call me, didn’t it?” you grin cheekily, giving him an annoyingly victorious look.
His mouth opens. Closes. His gaze flickers, eyes narrowing at you. Annoyed—he’s thoroughly annoyed. Still, underneath it, something else. Something warmer. Something that looks…dare you say, a little too much like amusement.
“You think this shit is funny?” he asks.
“I think you finally responded. Just like I wanted.”
There’s a beat of silence. He’s studying you with a look that makes you shiver slightly, even if he’s only looking through a screen. Then he leans forward, closer to the camera. His voice drops.
“You need my attention that bad, huh?”
Your stomach flips despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your attention—you’re supposed to answer me when I talk to you. That’s the principle of things.”
“Yeah? So makin’ stupid purchases is the principle of shit, too? S’that it?”
“Yeah,” you say stubbornly, “it is, actually.”
He studies you. Over it—he’s so over you and your petty drama and the schemes you always seem to have pulled out of nowhere to give him a migraine. He’s over it. But he’s also not—because then he gives you a sharp snort. “You’re lucky I can afford your fuckin’ nonsense.”
“I know,” you snap in return. “That’s why I used your cards.”
For a second, you think he’s going to yell when his face twists in surprise at your audacity. But then, instead, he laughs. It’s loud, obnoxious. A cackle more than a laugh, and your eyes narrow at the fact that he is not taking you as seriously as he should. Not when you could do some serious damage to his credit score.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re a damn, spoiled brat. I ought’ta teach you some appreciation for hard-earned money.”
“You hardly earn anything,” you shoot back. “You gamble it. Like everything else—one of these days you’re not going to gamble wisely how long I’ll put up with your shit.”
That wipes the grin from his face. The line goes quiet.
“Don’t antagonize me, woman.”
“I can’t antagonize you when you’re ignoring me,” you reply smartly. He doesn’t seem to like that.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he counters, “I’m out here makin’ money that you just tossed down the drain like a damn brat.”
“You’ll make it back.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point,” he says, rolling his eyes, “is that you’re fucking spoiled.”
You shrug. Yeah, you’re a bit spoiled. You are. So what? He makes you spoiled. He gives you his cards, and he lets you spend on them as you like, and he pays good attention to you when you’re there. You’re spoiled because what else would you be? He makes you this way, and then he complains like it’s your fault.
But it’s not. And you make sure to tell him.
“That’s on you,” you say flatly. “Not on me.”
And that, as you expected, is his final straw. “Stay there,” he hisses.
“What?” you flutter your lashes innocently, “what’s that mean?”
“It means. Stay. There.”
And then he hangs up, and you lean back in your bed with a ghost of a smug smile on your face.
Twenty minutes later, your door is swung open, and an agitated Hakari is walking into your shared room with a look on his face that has you clenching your thighs together. He’s not happy. Unhappy Hakari means he’ll fuck you right—fuck you hard and good and proper until he’s no longer unhappy.
“You need’ta learn to be patient,” he grits.
“You need to learn to answer your texts.”
He clicks his teeth in irritation. You always talk back—way more than you should. Way more than you used to before you learned he lets you get away with pushing his buttons like that.
“Next time,” he says, crowding into your space as he leans down to hover over you, “if you want my attention—” his hand hooks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—you ask. Nicely. With manners.”
Your heart is pounding too loudly. Too filled with anticipation. There’s a distinct ache between your legs, and you’d be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so excited by it.
“You didn’t answer when I asked,” you huff.
His thumb tilts your chin up. His gaze is piercing as he scoffs at your stubbornness. “So then you be patient. But it’s okay,” he adds, eyes glinting again, “you’re paying me back.”
Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“In installments,” he says smoothly, giving you a hungry grin. “Starting now.”
And then he kisses you. Hard.
It’s a rough kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and relentless in that way that steals the air straight from your lungs. You hardly have a moment to take a breath in between, and he doesn’t pause to let you have one, either. But your body wants him even if your lungs protest—your hands fist into his jacket automatically, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since he pissed you off to start with.
He makes a low sound against your mouth—satisfied. Hakari is satisfied when you melt into his touch. He’s satisfied when you can’t help but let whatever snarky sentence it is you’re about to say die off in your throat as he keeps that mouth of yours occupied.
“Installment one,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away.
“You’re insufferable,” you breathe.
He slides a hand under your shirt, thoroughly pleased to find no bra there to serve as an obstacle in his wandering palm’s path. His hand squeezes around a tit, and you gasp against his lips as his thumb teases over your nipple.
“Installment two,” he gives you a cocky look. “Installment three is a little pricier, you know.”
“I can afford anything,” you shrug easily.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that why you use my card?”
“That’s exactly why I can afford anything,” you grin, and it’s a cheeky little thing that you flash him.
He gives you an irritated look at that—there’s no real heat behind it, though. You know you’re right. Hakari can afford it. That’s why he gave you his cards in the first place. But you like that look on his face when you talk a little too much and sound a little too smart for your own good.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just moves to hover between your legs as he slowly pulls your sweats and your panties off in one swift movement. You’re already dripping—that much gives him a bubbling sense of pride. It makes him scoff to himself a little, too. You’d go through any lengths just to get a little attention from him, wouldn’t you? he thinks to himself. And he likes it, a little. Likes that you need him and want him so passionately, so fervently. So desperately.
“I’m taking my payment now,” he mumbles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. He grins as you shiver. Feels himself hardening between his own legs when you try to spread your legs wider and make more room for him in anticipation.
“Your payment is to reward me?” you ask, giving him an amused look.
He snorts, giving you a look in return that’s even more thoroughly entertained. “You keep hoping, baby.”
With that, he’s buried in your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue licks a stripe along your entrance, and you gasp at the sensation. He dips his tongue past your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibrations against your heat make your eyes flutter shut as you whine. You grind yourself down into him more, trying to feel the pressure against your clit and feel him press deeper past your folds, but his large hands keep a firm grip on your waist, holding you in place.
“K-kin,” you moan, “s’not enough—”
“This is my payment, not yours,” he grunts, “keep quiet.”
That shuts you up because, well, you know, brattiness will do you no favors right now. You display a rare moment of restraint, and he takes what he wants with his tongue, tasting you slowly, deliberately. Maybe even a little cruelly, with how achingly long it takes for him to give you what you need.
“Please,” you gasp, voice shaky, “p-please, Kin.”
“Say you’re sorry, then,” he says.
You lift your head up and stare at him in disbelief. Sorry? He wants you to say sorry for being ignored? After he caused this petty argument and your petty show of defiance? You press your lips together in a firm line before letting out a huff that tells him all he needs to know.
You’re not apologizing. And he doesn’t seem to be bothered. If anything, he seems excited—his pupils dilate as he watches your stubborn behavior.
Maybe because you’re so stubborn is why Hakari likes you so much. Maybe because you’re firm and resolute and…passionate about what you want and how you’ll get it is why he’s so enamored by you. You don’t stop. Never know when to quit. Never know when a limit is a limit and when a boundary is a boundary. All you know is when to cross them. When to push them. When to be in a fever-induced state of your desires, and you don’t break the fever until they’re yours.
“Not gonna say it, huh?” he mumbles, “okay. Suit yourself, brat.”
Then his fingers sink into you—and your arch your back at the intrusion with a soft cry. His fingers are thick. Thicker than yours and longer, too—that’s why you always need him so badly. He can give you better attention than you can give yourself. He likes the idea of that, even if it does tend to make you even more demanding of his time.
His tongue moves to lap at your clit, dragging back and forth along the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers work in and out of you, stretching you open and coating his digits in your arousal. Your head falls back against the pillow, and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure when his fingertips brush along your sweet spot.
He knows you. Knows your body. Spent a good, long amount of love-filled labor to learn it so well. Burned himself hot and bothered getting to know it better than he knows himself. He paints quick circles along your clit with his tongue while his fingers work slow and deep into your folds, every thrust of his wrist taking its sweet time to fill you with the pressure of his touch.
“M’close, Kin,” you breathe after a bit, voice strained as it comes alongside labored pants.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that right?”
“Uh-huh,” you nod.
Sweet little thing you are. You look so pretty and fucked out just from this—he takes a moment to stare at it a little longer before he pulls away completely.
Your body jerks at the sudden stop, and your head lifts as you stare at him in pure disbelief. It aches—right between your legs, at the apex of your thighs, there’s a sharp, uncomfortable pressure that makes itself painfully noticeable. You can feel the deliberate throb of dissatisfaction he leaves you with, and you’re not happy.
“Hey!” you hiss, “I was…I was gonna—”
“Cum?” he interrupts, “is that it? You thought I was gonna let that happen so easily? No, baby—you gotta work for it. So you know it ain’t easy earning your payments.”
You’re about to argue, but he’s already stripping out of his own clothes, and that gets you relaxed instantly. He’s going to take you now—which means he’ll fuck you good. Fuck you right. You have enough reason to let his act of cruelty slide when you can look forward to that. His shirt comes off, and you can now stare at the hard planes of muscle along tanned skin, and if that view isn’t enough, the sight of his stiff, leaking cock is when he’s kicking off his boxers.
He smears the pre cum dripping from his tip before his fist wraps around himself and he strokes once, twice, then a third time, and he groans low and deep at that. His eyes pinch shut, and his teeth press into his bottom lip as he curses under his breath before pulling away from his length. Instead, he takes to hovering over you, giving you an expectant look as he lines himself up with your pussy, but doesn’t quite give it to you, just yet.
“Say you’re sorry,” he hums, tip nudging just past your folds, but not quite pressing into you just yet. You give him a defiant glare, but he only grins, “C’mon, baby. You know how to use your words—I taught you that much, at least.”
“M’not sorry for anything,” you huff.
“Hm,” he chuckles, “that’s a shame.”
The thick head of his cock pulls out, tapping against your clit. It’s coated in you. Coated in a mix of your slick and the pre cum that spills from his slit—it’s filthy. Messy. You’re fucking aching to feel him fill you up and make things even messier.
But Hakari is taking his sweet time. He has enough restraint for now that you’re positive you won’t get what you want until he makes a lesson out of this. A lesson you are unwilling to learn so easily.
“Stop fucking teasing me, you asshole,” you hiss, angling your hips to try and press into him. He pulls away, chuckling as he gives you a cocky, amused look.
“You have’ta say you’re sorry, baby,” he insists, “that’s the only way you’re gettin’ what you want. I can’t have you spoiled more than you already are—I’d be making more trouble for myself.”
You glare, and he seems to relish the feeling of pulling that look from you. The tip of his cock presses back into your folds, making you gasp as you buck into him desperately. He’s fast, though. Pulls his hips back just enough to make up for the little bit of distance you managed to bridge between the two of you as you attempt to sink down on him. He’s pulled away enough that he’s still just barely pressed into your cunt, just the tip teasing your entrance while he grabs your hips and keeps you still.
“Kin,” you whine, “s’not fair!”
“Course it is, baby,” he snorts, “you did some serious damage to my bank. Got all the shit you wanted. You think I’m giving you what you want again?”
“You should,” you huff, “I deserve it.”
“You will once you say you’re sorry,” he corrects. “Now say you’re sorry like a good girl—you know you like being good for me.”
That much is very true. He’s right. You love being his good girl—the one who gets to slide next to him on the couch when he’s drinking at some shady club, the one who gets to curl up on his lap when he’s in a crappy mood, the one who gets to feel his rough hands turn oddly gentle when you need him close.
You like being his good girl. His girl. You like being his.
You huff through a pout as you ask, “I can still keep all my things, right?”
He rolls his eyes at your question. But you’re spoiled by his own doing, after all, and Hakari has a habit of giving to you just as often as you take. So, he grunts, “Course you can.”
You beam. His eyes soften just a fraction. “Fine,” you murmur, “I’m sorry, Kin-chan.”
Kin-chan.
His pupils all but dilate when you call him that. They always do—it’s cute, you think. Cute that he cares what you call him. Cute that you mean enough to him that he wants it to be something laced with familiarity.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down as his hands move to grab yours. They lace with your fingers before he lifts them to pin each hand over your head. “You’re sorry, huh?”
“Mhm,” you nod, gasping as his cock pushes into you deeper, slowly, inch by inch. “Yeah, I am.”
“Sorry for what, hm?”
He’s halfway pressed into you. He’s taking his sweet time. Pushing the thickness of his length little by little so you can really feel him stretch you out. Carve you to fit him. Mold you so only he can sink into your cunt and take you this way.
“S-sorry that I—hah—used your money,” your voice shakes as the last of him sinks in with a deep thrust of his hips. He hums at the sound of your words, lips hot and searing against your jaw as he presses kisses along the angle of it.
You shiver as you feel the vibrations of his voice along your skin, hands squeezing his as he murmurs, “No, you’re not,” he snorts, “but that’s okay, baby—you know I like it when you push my buttons.”
You do. When you push Kin-chan’s buttons, Kin-chan fucks you like he means it. When you give Kin-chan a reason to give it to you hard, he fucks you with passion. Burns hot with it as he snaps his hips into you and pulls you closer, pulls you flush against him. When you act spoiled rotten with Kin-chan, that’s when Kin-chan knows he’s loved you good. Loved you hard. Loved you hot with fever.
“And I like it when you fuck me,” you whine, “so maybe you should get on tha—oh.” You break off with a soft moan.
“You’re always so fuckin’ spoiled,” he grunts as he makes you cut yourself off with that sharp, unpunishing thrust of his hips. You know what that means. He’s had enough of waiting.
He pulls his hips back so that his cock has almost slipped out completely before slamming into you again. You gasp, arching into him. You can feel the sweet reward of friction—every ridge and every vein dragging along your slick walls before the blunt head of his cock presses against a particular spot in the back that makes your eyes see white.
You are spoiled. Because Kin-chan turned you spoiled. And a spoiled you makes Kin-chan excited, try as he might to act like it doesn’t. It’s just the way things happen. How you both just are. How that cycle always tends to just go.
You burn hottest when you want something, and he burns hottest when he gets to give it to you.
“Don’t you love me when I’m spoiled?” You give him a pouty look. It doesn’t last too long, though, because he rolls his hips and your face scrunches with pleasure.
He gives you a throaty laugh, his hand grabbing the ankle hooked on his shoulder before he turns his head and gives your calf a soft kiss. “You know I do, you crazy fucking thing,” he mumbles. You clench around him at that, and he laughs again. “You know I love you.”
“Then don’t ignore me,” you warn.
“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes.
He leans forward, all but bending you in half as he snaps his hips faster, bullying past your folds with a sloppier pace as he starts to get closer and closer to his own high. His lips find yours, pulling you into a hot, breathy kiss. Your hands wrap around him, clinging to him as your nails dig into his skin. He likes that. Gives you a low grunt of approval as the sting makes itself known.
“C-close,” you whimper, “m’so close—fuck!”
“That’s it,” he hums in satisfaction, “cum for me, then.”
A few more punctuated thrusts of his hips and you do. You feel that familiar coil in the pit of your belly snap, and that build-up of pressure break free between your legs. He works you through it—makes sure to drag his cock along your sensitive walls hard and fast as they flutter around him and squeeze him in.
“Kin!” you gasp through the height of your pleasure. Your ears are ringing, but you can just barely make out the satisfied sound he makes when you say his name, so you slur it a few more times just for him.
He groans as you squeeze around him with every spasm of your walls, muttering, “S’so fuckin’ tight,” under his breath before he’s claiming your mouth again, kissing you so you can swallow his own sounds as he follows right after you.
You feel him twitch before he’s filling you up—hot, thick ropes of his seed pumping into you while he stills for a moment and shivers. When you’ve both come down from your highs, he slumps down beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest, where you happily curl up.
“Learn your lesson?” he grumbles. He follows it with a delicate kiss to your forehead because, of course, he does.
“Yup,” you hum happily.
“And what’d you learn?”
“Kin-chan loves me so much, he’ll let me buy whatever I want and fuck me for it,” you smile. Still so cheeky. Still so smug.
It burns him with excitement just looking at that defiant little spark in your eyes. “Yeah?” he laughs, “well alright, then. Guess I just have to teach you a little harder.”
ECLIPSEDIARYWRITES PRESENTS ;
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
synopsis: no matter how much time has passed, bucky still fucks like he's the winter soldier.
cw: nsfw!!!! porn with no plot, rough sex, riding, piv (unprotected), praise dirty talk, pet names (doll, attagirl, darling, baby), established relationship, dom!bucky, choking, creampie, breeding.
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“fuck, darling,” he muttered against your lips.
you moaned into the kiss, nails clawing into bucky’s back. each thrust came harder than the last, eager to please you as much as possible. he pulls back, staring at your tear stained cheeks, drool slipping from your mouth. you were a mess—unable to form coherent sentences, simply being fucked dumb, taking him whole, being stretched out to the brim as he whispers all types of profanities in your ear.
“mmfh—taking me me so well, doll,” he murmurs, breathe uneven, messy, desperate, “god baby— so tight.”
“oh—buck, right there!” you cry out, a knot forming inside your stomach. his thumb started circling on your swollen clit, driving you over the edge as you come over his cock with a high-pitched sob.
“i’m not done with you yet, baby.” he says, wasting no time in flipping you over, setting you on his lap as he leans back on the plush pillow behind him. your hands pressed on his chest, and carefully, you slide down on his cock, a mewl escaping your lips, “fuuuuckkk…” he grunts, “atta girl, just like that.”
his calloused hands gripped your waist tightly, grinding you against him. his lips were slightly parted, panting heavily as he picked up the pace.
bucky was pounding into you with feral force, each thrust emitting a grunt. “look at you… takin’ my cock like a good girl,” he moaned, his mouth falling open even wider now. your ass rippled against his hips, filling he room with obscene sounds, each slap mixed with the squelch of cum spilling out of your already used hole, forming a thick ring at the base of his dick.
your whole body was trembling, you’ve lost count of how many times you came already—your pussy dripping and gushing around him, but he never stops, just keeps rutting at the same sadistic pace.
“b-buckyyy!” it rips out of your throat like a sob, you couldn’t even speak properly. back arching slightly, trying to escape his thrusts. he held you even firmer, pulling you back, “stay still.” he huffs, dragging you back onto his cock. you give stifled cry in response, “too much bucky—too much!”
his hands stretched out to your neck, squeezing it tightly, while being careful not to cause you any harm. his hips kept slamming into you with his seemingly endless stamina, each thrust drawing out a lewd moan from you, as you sputter out brainless rambles of ‘fuck!’ and ‘too much!’.
the closer he got to his orgasm, the tighter his grip on your neck, making you squeeze around his cock. his thrusts got faster, rougher. “you can take it, i know you can.” he encourages hoarsely, before enveloping your lips in a filthy, messy, opened-mouth kiss.
“I’m coming baby… fuckkkk,” he loudly sighed, pumping a few more times into you before finally releasing his hold from your neck. your cunt was pulsating, dripping with even more cum now.
“you were so good for me, doll.” he exhaled,
before the bed started creaking all over again.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto are both enamored by you. you all share an economics class, a stupid credit that you all complain about. you see the two walk around on campus all the time and it surprised you seeing how well those two got along. once you learn more about them, it seemed that they both were the same, loud and arrogant, just hidden under the stress of college.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto never tended to go for the same girl. they didn't really share a type, so hooking up with girls wasn't an issue. until you came strolling into their life. "no, i should ask her out! i'm the one who she smiled at first," gojo argued, pushing his glasses up. geto's eyes narrowed, mocking gojo's motion. "do you fuckin' hear yourself? no, i'm asking her out, get over it."
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto eventually talked things through and realized that everything could work out. these two definitely had feelings for each other, now it was getting you to join along.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto came on strong. you all were at a party on campus, enjoying a few drinks before they dove in for the kill. one stood in front of you while the other placed his broad hand on your ribs, pulling you close. you'd never admit it out loud, but this was something out of the constant wet dreams you'd have about these two. and fuck, was it fantastic to feel both of their cocks nudge against your body, already so desperate after a mere swirl of your hips.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto had you in the eiffel position in the upstairs bathroom. bass pounded, thrumming in your chest while you slobbered over gojo's cock, running your tongue over his thick vein. geto was hitting hard from behind, his hand striking your ass multiple times just to feel your wet pussy clench around his cock.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto shared a sloppy kiss while they went down on you, both of them lapping up suguru's cum from your cunt. their tongues gently flicked against your clit before their swollen lips met in the middle, alternating between sucking on each other's tongues and suckling on your swollen clit. you both guide their heads, bringing their swollen lips together in another messy kiss, watching geto's cum dribble down gojo's lips.
nerd!gojo and frat boy!geto ended up in your bed that night, all three of you squeezed tight. gojo half laid on you while geto spooned you, his arms wrapped tight around the both of you. they both sighed, more than content with this new little dynamic.
in which your husband toji has a huge thing about you being his wife
the thing about toji fushiguro—the real, unvarnished truth that no one gets to see but you—is that his obsession with you being his wife isn't sweet. it isn't about cute pet names or showing you off at some boring company party. it’s primal, it’s filthy. it’s the cornerstone of his entire fucked-up existence.
it hits him at the weirdest times. you’ll be doing something utterly mundane, like reaching for a cup on the top shelf, the hem of your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin above your pajama pants. and he’ll just… stop. from across the room, his gaze goes heavy, dark, predatory. he’ll watch the line of your body, the domestic ease of you in his space, and something in him just… snarls with possession.
that’s mine, that’s my wife.
he gets off on the paperwork. no, seriously. he has that stupid marriage certificate locked in a safe that’s probably worth more than everything else in the apartment combined. sometimes, after a particularly shitty job, he’ll come home smelling of blood and city grime, bypass you in the kitchen, and go straight to the safe. you’ll hear the click of the lock, the rustle of paper, and then his heavy sigh. he’s not looking at it for the legalities; he’s looking at your name, written right next to his. a permanent brand. a claim that even he can’t fuck up. it calms the beast in him like nothing else.
the ring is a whole other thing. he spent an obscene amount of money on it, not because it was flashy, but because it was strong. the band is thick, practically indestructible platinum. he likes the weight of it on your finger. he’ll be fucking you, his pace brutal and unforgiving, and he’ll drag your left hand up over your head, lacing his fingers through yours just so he can feel that cold metal bite into his own skin with every thrust. a constant, grinding reminder that you’re tied to him. when he cums, it’s with a guttural groan against your neck, whispering “my wife” like it’s the dirtiest word he knows.
and he loves using it.
“make your husband dinner.”
“come warm your husband up.”
it’s never “me” or “toji.” it’s always “husband.” he’s reinforcing it, for himself more than for you. every time he says it, he’s marveling at the fact that someone like him gets to have this. gets to have you.
his protectiveness isn’t noble, it’s not chivalrous. if he even gets a whiff that someone looked at you wrong, his mind goes to the darkest places. it’s not about defending your honor; it’s about defending his property. the thought of another man’s scent on you, another man’s voice in your ear, makes him see red. he’d break every bone in their body without a second thought, not because they disrespected you, but because they dared to touch what belongs to him. and afterwards, he’d come home and fuck you raw, his hands shaking with residual adrenaline, needing to smell like you, taste like you, to cover up the violence he just wrought in your name.
the most lowkey, nasty thing? he loves your smell on his sheets. he’ll go away for a few days on a job, and he refuses to wash the pillows. he buries his face in them, in the lingering scent of your shampoo and your skin, and it’s better than any drug. it’s his anchor. the only thing that smells like home is you.
in his mind, you’re the only clean, good thing he’s ever managed to keep. and his way of worshiping that goodness is by dragging it into the gutter with him, by making sure you’re just as obsessed, just as claimed, just as filthy and his as he is yours. being toji’s wife isn’t a title. it’s a full-body brand, and he makes sure you feel the burn every single day.
he’s a possessive, obsessive bastard. and the fact that you are legally, spiritually, and completely his wife is the biggest, most constant turn-on of his entire life.
another day of sukuna and his nails falling victim to your viscious hello kitty addiction.
it's something that's become routine and non-negotiable over the years - you painting sukuna's nails that captivating obsidian colour they always are. right now, you're ardently focused on making a good job of it; sukuna can tell by the way your eyelids have slightly eclipsed into a squint, and that once again, you've managed to fall back on that god forsaken habit of bitting the inner part of your cheek when you're concentrated.
he stops for a moment,because you'd tease him for it, but the man loathes to see you hurt, at any capacity.
"stop it, woman. biting your cheek."
"it's a habit, okay! now hold your hands still, or else you're gonna make me mess up."
"what the fuck are you talking about? they are still. my hands don't shake."
"mhm. of course, 'kuna." you say, condescending words honeyed with jest dripping out of your mouth. you tilt your head at an angle to check your work, before brushing a final, last coat on his nails.
"okay...done!! i'm done!!"
"fucking finally. took you long enough." he says, pushing his chair out and standing up.
"nuh-uh, ryo. you know the drill. as much as you might want to escape from the tyrannical grasps of your kind, loving and beautiful girlfriend, we need to cure the nail polish under uv light first."
surprisingly, he sits back down without a sly remark, and complies with your orders. and just as he does so, a genius idea pops up in your head.
"wait, kuna, let me add something." you exit the room in a brisk walk and enter yours.
that's he when he hears it; about a minute or two of successive clatters, clinks and clanks, that make him question just what the actual shit your so called idea entailed, before you emerge out again, holding something behind your back.
"ryo, close your eyes for a second."
"what is it?"
"just close your eyes!"
he kisses his teeth in annoyance and attempts some kind of glare that might have been intimidating if you hadn't seen the man drooling on himself asleep on numerous occasions.
"sukuna ryomen. close your eyes. now."
finally, he complies, because the last time you called him by his full name, shit went down, and he was most certainly not ready for that again.
you walk closer to him, and with your previous seat replaced by what might be bordering on an unethically large collection of nail polish, you opt to perch on sukuna himself.
"ryo, push your chair out a bit. i'm sitting down."
when you sit, he's manspreading. legs wide apart, as always. he wraps a slithering arm around your waist (thankfully, that hand is dry already, or you would've genuinely hit him), tightening his grip as he leans forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. his eyes are closed, but he revels in your prescence. moments like this, where he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the new shampoo he bought you a week ago, and then feel the softness of his skin against yours are exactly why he lets you do this so often. because amidst all the years of calamity that forever plauge his soul, your prescence is a moment of respite that he could never replace.
you move his hands out from under the uv light, then pick up a bottle of small, but deadly strong nail glue and place a dot of it on the centre of his right hands' ring finger. you pick up the hello kitty charm that you had scowered the entirety of your room for, and place it on his nail, letting it dry for a minute or so.
"okay, now i'm actually done. open your eyes. like it?" you say, grinning ear to ear like a fool.
as of now, you're sat atop of sukuna ryomen - the strongest sorcerer in history, the king of curses, a lord of the golden era of jujutsu in all his glory, with a fucking hello kitty charm pressed onto his nails.
he doesn't speak. he just leans back, closes his eyes, and presses a hello-kitty-nail-ed hand against his forehead in dissappointment, or something of the like.
"what?" you coo, turning to face sukuna while you stradle him, then hold his nails out infront of you to fully inspect.
"don't you like it?"
"don't i like it? woman, do i look like i like it?"
"no, no, no, no, no, hear me out. we're matching! look!"
the man looks down at your nails, then at his. at your nails again. then at his again. he doesn't smile, but his expression softens. into, was that... a smirk almost?
"oh my god. you like it."
"you like it because we're matching?" you smile, teasing him.
you grasp him into an over dramatic hug, and then jab at him with your own matching set of nails, decked out in silver bling, pinks, french tips, sparkles and of course, hello kitty charms; the exact same as his. and for about the next 5 minutes, give or take, you don't stop taunting him with sickeningly sweet words of "kuna, you're so cute for that, you know?" , "you love me so much" and the like.
assumingly, by the look on his face, sukuna's not absolutely fucking over the moon about this like you are, for whatever reason. and so, in suit, he grasps onto the the side of you thigh, then holds onto your back as he stands up, and carries you away from the table your sat on.
" enough of that bullshit" he lets out, grunting a slurry of curses and that, maybe if you two watch something, "you'll finally stop bullshitting in my face and be quiet."
he stops infront of the couch, and throws you softly, but still hard enough to earn a yelp and repremanding from you. then he sits down next to you, and as always, you find yourself curled up in his lap, with the supple pads of your finger tips tracing along the black markings on his skin.
"you just wanted to cuddle, didn't you?"
" and you always have to get the last word, don't you?"
div by @/bernardsbendystraws
i didn't post this for a hot while cause i didn't turn out how i wanted it to and i highey do not fuck with the roll out for this at all but i have free will and will use it to abuse you all with my poorly constructed and grammar mistake infested sentences about fictional characters
18+ geto indulges his bratty girlfriend’s oral fixation
dating a man like suguru geto means surrendering, eventually, to the fact that he’s figured you out.
in the early stages of your romance, you’d tried to be discreet about your oral fixation—finger pressed to your lip while reading, straw chewed between your teeth during his lectures, thumbnail worrying the edge of your mouth whenever you thought he wasn’t paying attention. once, you blamed a particularly embarrassing nap-drool incident on low iron. he’d only raised an eyebrow. but of course he knows.
he’s always known. you like things in your mouth.
and suguru, ever the strategist, has made an art out of using that weakness against you.
“you’re staring,” he says mildly, flipping the page without sparing you a glance. his voice is smooth, deceptively gentle, like the glassy surface of a koi pond right before a ripple.
“if you’re bored, you could ask for something to suck on.”
he’s referring to the cherry lollipops in the cabinet, obviously. the ones he pretends he buys for the girls as treats. the ones that make your pretty lips glossy in a way he absolutely does not watch. not at all.
you’re trying so hard not to cave. instead, pride made you chew on the drawstring of your hoodie and kick your feet against the couch like a degenerate. which is probably what you are.
“that’s unsanitary,” suguru murmurs, pleasant as ever, one of those soft little smiles curling at his lips—eyes nearly shut in that affable way that masks his darker, truer nature underneath.
“you like when my mouth is full,” you shoot back, tone bratty.
that gets him. not immediately though. he takes his own sweet time finishing his page first. a private smile lingering like he’s already decided what you’ll be doing with your brat mouth for the next hour. he closes the book without marking the page. which was quite worrisome.
“is that a request?”
you hesitate.
and then he’s already on his feet, big hands coasting beneath your thighs, easing you to your knees like he’s rehearsed the choreography in his mind. one hand cradles your jaw, coaxingly. the other lifts to your mouth, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip, studying the shape of it with clinical interest.
“you ever think about what a bad girl you are?” he chides, gently. the soft bullying makes the shame worse, somehow. his thumb pushes between the seam of your lips before you can conjure up an answer, sinking knuckle-deep. the heat blooms across your cheeks. he doesn’t stop until your tongue curls around it, cheeks hollowing on autopilot. he sighs, long-suffering and dramatic. “go ahead, then. suck.”
you do. gratefully.
his thumb sits heavy on your tongue, wet between your lips, and you nurse at it with the greed of someone long overdue for it. your free hand slides up the inseam of his pants, palmimg at the half-hard bulge underneath. suguru watches with a curious sort of fondness, a self-satisfied smirk tightening the corners of his mouth. “look at this mouth,” he comments eventually, amused, “always begging for attention.”
you hum around his thumb, blissed out. he soon replaces it with his cock. obviously.
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