this might be a hot take but i HATE reading bimbo reader fics.
to be specific like hyper feminine reader who's literally the embodiment of a male fantasy and she's just stupid as fuck and has no self respect and is literally only used to furthur the plot by having sex with whoever the oneshot is about. its one thing when the fic actually has depth to it and is genuinely interesting to read, but when reader stops having a personality and good dialogue is when I drop the work because at what point does this become an excuse to literally write vile porn where a man degrades a woman for 6k words while plowing her from the back???? i don't mean to be that guy but we spent tewww long fighting for individuality just to give into the male gaze and turn our characters into literal fleshlights for the sake of kinks and horniness. I do understand the view of "well it's just writing" "well if you don't like it don't read it" "well degradation/dumbification kink" "well self-insert/self-indulgent", but in my personal opinion it gets to a point of being straight porn and feeding into the male fantasy of stupid big tiddy fat booty perfect body dumb bimbo porn bitches and just wanting to write about sex and being able to dumb down the reader to make it easier to write. yes I do dabble in bimbo reader fics sometimes they're cunty as fuck, I literally just read one the other day, but some fics do a very bad job at portraying a dumb sexy reader with a personality.
in no way AT ALL am I shaming writers by posting this because I myself am a mid ass writer and I rarely write anymore anyways so honestly feel free to completely ignore this because if you disagree then why should a random opinion matter to you :)
cw: age gap (35/25), bratty reader, dominant/grumpy Kusakabe, power play, mirror sex, blowjob, rough sex, praise, hair pulling, choking (light), creampie, consent check, emotional tension, aftercare, shower scene, suggestive banter, coworkers pretending nothing happened, Nanami being observant, smut, soft/flirty ending
Atsuya was a man of restraint.
You? Not so much.
Especially when you saw him standing in the hallway just outside his office, door half-open, hunched slightly with a file in one hand and a red lollipop tucked in the corner of his mouth. His sleeves rolled up, a few strands of his hair falling over his forehead. His usual slouch. His usual irritation.
He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on the folder. So you slowed your steps. Quiet. Predatory.
“Hey, Atsuyaaaa,” you purred, just loud enough for his ears and no one else’s.
His body flinched like a shot of static hit his spine. He didn’t look up immediately, just clenched his jaw around the lollipop stick and turned slightly, sighing through his nose like it physically hurt him to acknowledge your existence.
You stepped in close. Right into his space. Right where you knew he’d feel the heat of your body as you hovered two fingers just over his chest, just above the fold of his shirt, not touching.
“You look tense,” you said, voice dipped in mock concern, your smile anything but innocent. “Need me to loosen you up?“
His eyes narrowed, slow and tired and very much not amused. But his jaw? Still clenched. Still grinding around that poor candy.
“I’m working,” he muttered.
“Mm. And here I thought you were just loitering, looking delicious in your little office doorway,” you teased, fingers now barely brushing the edge of his collar. “What flavor is that anyway?”
“You are not getting my damn lollipop.”
“Oh?” You leaned in. Your voice dropped like a stone into his stomach. “But I’ve got a better mouth.”
He exhaled sharply—through his nose, again. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at you, tight-lipped, like he was deciding whether prison time was worth it.
You hovered a finger near his jaw, right beneath the curve of his cheekbone. He didn’t move, but you felt the way his body tensed. The way his eyes followed your hand like a threat.
Then you did it. You plucked the lollipop right out of his mouth with a grin, popped it into your own, and sucked slow.
His lips parted like he was about to protest, but nothing came out. His eyes flicked down—neck, chest, hips—and then right back up, clearly catching himself.
“Stop teasing,” he growled. Low. Dangerous.
You stepped back slowly, keeping the lollipop between your lips. “Why? You look like you like it.”
He scoffed and turned around sharply, walking into his office. “I’m putting in for a transfer.”
You followed him to the doorway, smug. “You say that every week.”
“I mean it this time.”
„Yeah sure.“
But he didn’t close the door on you. Didn’t tell you to fuck off. Just kept his back to you while he reorganized the same folder you knew he’d already read three times.
And behind all that annoyance, that rigid posture, that irritated sigh. You could feel the heat.
And next time? You’d turn it up even more.
You were becoming his problem.
Atsuya already didn’t like people. But you? You were something worse. A consistent, nagging itch beneath his skin—too close, too playful, and always too damn smug.
And the worst part? He hadn’t stopped you.
So when you saw the new mission assignment—just you two—you grinned. Then you walked into the meeting room and found him.
Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, knees up, folder resting on his thigh. His hair was slightly messy, eyes dark, jaw clenched. And of course, there it was: the lollipop between his lips. Probably his fifth that day. Poor man was trying to stay away from smoking. Poorer man didn’t realize you were worse for his health.
You slid the door shut behind you with a soft thud. He looked up, didn’t say a word. You padded over, then slowly crouched down in front of him. Eye level. Smirking.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice light, teasing.
He didn’t even blink. “Nothing.”
“Atsuyaaaaa,” you whined, drawing his name out like a complaint, a purr, a dare. “Stop it with the sulking already.”
You placed both hands gently on his knees. He stared at you.
Then you pushed them apart, just slightly. Testing. He didn’t stop you.
Didn’t move. Didn’t clench. Just let you crawl a little closer into the space between his legs. Too close. Intimate-close. Eyes locked. And still that stupid, sweet lollipop sat between his lips.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
He gave you a look like he wanted to strangle you. “You don’t listen even when I do talk.”
You grinned. “Because you say such boring shit.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re a menace.”
“A cute one.”
“No.”
“Yes.” You leaned in a little closer, hands still resting lazily on his thighs. “You smell good, you know that?”
He blinked, confused. “…What?”
You leaned closer to his chest, inhaled dramatically, eyes fluttering closed.
“Mmm. My bedsheets would love that smell.”
His lollipop drooped from his lips just a little. His jaw locked tight, like he was trying to process whether to be offended or wildly turned on. You didn’t give him a chance.
You snatched the lollipop right from his mouth again and popped it into your own. Loud click of it hitting your teeth.
“Hm.” You tilted your head with exaggerated thought. “Strawberry. The last one tasted better.”
Kusakabe looked murdered. Offended. Slightly pink in the face. Absolutely questioning every life decision that led to this moment. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—maybe insult you, maybe warn you, maybe bark a tired “what the fuck is wrong with you.”
But your hand was already on his face. Firm fingers grabbed his jaw—not soft, not sweet. You tilted his head up like you owned it.
He stared at you, wide-eyed. And then— You shoved the lollipop back into his mouth.
“If you don’t want to kiss me,” you whispered, voice low and deadly sweet, “maybe this’ll get you used to the taste, sweetheart.”
His breath caught. His eyes dropped to your lips for half a second too long.
You patted his cheek. “I’ll see you before the mission starts.”
Then you stood, turned, and walked away—hips swaying, victorious. Behind you, Kusakabe sat there, knees still spread, lollipop resting pathetically between his lips again. Too stunned to move. Too flustered to curse you out.
And completely, utterly yours to ruin.
You really shouldn’t be flirting while running for your life.
But then again when Atsuya was the one watching your back, it was hard not to.
The mission had gone sideways fast. The cursed spirit was stronger than reported, and your two-man team was being cornered in a half collapsed parking structure, the walls humming with leftover cursed energy. He was on edge. Focused. Sword unsheathed and shoulders tense.
God, he looked good like that. You grinned as you dodged debris, dropping beside him behind a low wall. “We should go out more often.”
He didn’t even look at you. “It’s a mission. We’re not out.”
“But you still picked me,” you teased, panting slightly, eyes flicking down to his blade. “Does that make this a date?”
Kusakabe side-eyed you, deadpan. “It means I was the only one available.”
“You’re so mean when you’re stressed. It’s hot- you little samurai.”
“Shut up.”
Another cursed projectile came crashing toward you, black smoke twisting midair. You barely registered it before—
His katana intercepted it with a clean, beautiful arc, sparks flying. He stepped in front of you, body moving instinctively. Protectively. You saw it before he even did, he shielded you without thinking.
The hit pushed him back a step, and your balance faltered. You stumbled forward, landing right against his chest. His arm caught you, hand bracing the small of your back, your face now stupidly close to his collarbone.
For once, it wasn’t a tease. You hadn’t meant to fall into him. He stared at you. You stared back. Your breath hitched. Not from the fight, from him.
“…You okay?” he asked gruffly, voice tight.
“Y-Yeah.” You swallowed. “You, uh… you saved me.”
“Tch. Someone has to.”
You didn’t move. His arm was still around you. His body warm, sturdy, and too damn close for your brain to operate properly.
Then, of course, you broke the moment.
“You know,” you whispered, lips near his ear now, “if you wanted me in your arms this bad, you could’ve just said so.” He made a sound between a scoff and a sigh, and gently pushed you off him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You keep catching me. That’s your fault.”
“Next time I’ll let the curse hit you.”
“No you won’t.”
He didn’t respond. Just stepped forward again, katana up, blocking the next blow with a grunt and you followed, grin spreading.
Because no matter how annoyed he looked. He still stepped in front of you every single time. And you? You were gonna flirt your way right under his skin until he broke.
One katana swing at a time.
The curse lunged. Not at you for once. But at him.
Kusakabe turned too late, distracted by a second spirit splitting off in your blind spot. And before he could raise his katana, the thing was already halfway through the air, claws up and humming with cursed energy.
You didn’t think. You moved. Your blade sliced the thing clean across the middle with a searing crack of your cursed technique, its scream barely finished before it hit the ground, dissolving into ash. Your breathing was rough, hair stuck to your forehead, heart pounding, not from fear, but from the fact that you had just saved him.
He turned, stunned.
You stood over the collapsed remains, one boot against what was left of the cursed body, wiping your blade with your sleeve.
“Nice reflexes, old man,” you said, breathless, cocky. “You’re lucky I’m cute and skilled.”
Kusakabe stared at you for a long second. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But his voice had a rasp to it. Like it hit him deeper than he wanted it to.
The air felt thick. Not awkward, but… loaded.
You were both scratched up, bruised, and riding high on adrenaline. But the energy between you had shifted. You’d always teased him. He always rolled his eyes. But now?
Now you’d saved his life.
You heard the driver’s side door open. He slid in, dropped his katana beside him with a grunt, and leaned back with a heavy sigh. And of course—of course—there it was. That damn lollipop between his lips again.
You side-eyed him. “Seriously?”
He ignored you. Started the car.
The car ride was quiet.
You turned toward him slowly, your legs pulled up on the seat, and stared like he owed you an explanation. “How many lollis do you go through in a week?”
“No idea. Not enough to deal with you, apparently.”
You leaned closer. “I mean,” you said, voice low and butter-sweet, “you could’ve said thank you.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I was going to kill it.”
“It was an inch from your back.”
“I had it under control.”
“Sure you did,” you whispered, fingers now tracing the edge of your seat, then slowly brushing against his arm.
He didn’t look, but his jaw tensed.
“You taste like strawberry again,” you added, tongue slipping over your bottom lip like you weren’t the devil in disguise. “That all you ever get, or is it just for me?”
His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. You reached over suddenly slow but firm and curled your fingers under his jaw, turning his head toward you. His eyes widened just a fraction.
“You’re quiet now,” you whispered. “I kinda like it.”
He stopped the car abruptly. He blinked. “Don’t start.” You smirked. “Who says I ever stop?”
And before he could say a word, you leaned in, not to kiss him, no. Not yet. You just pulled the lollipop gently from his mouth, tossed it into your own, and sucked on it slow.
“Mmm.” You hummed. “This one’s better than the last.”
He stared at you like you’d just committed murder. “You goddamn menace,” he muttered. You licked the candy slowly, grinning. “And you keep letting me get away with it.”
Later that Day
You were in his office, dropping off some bullshit paperwork you could’ve just left at the front desk. But no you wanted to see the look on his face.
“Got something for you,” you said, casually tossing the mission log onto his desk. “And before you say anything—yes, I actually filled it out correctly.”
He didn’t look up. “Congratulations. You met the bare minimum.”
You stepped around his desk instead of leaving. Leaned against the edge. “Harsh. Aren’t you gonna thank me?”
“For not wasting my time?” He raised a brow, eyes still on the report. “Thanks, I guess.”
You tilted your head, letting your fingers brush lightly over the edge of his desk, “That’s it? Not even a smile for your favorite junior?”
That made him pause. His eyes flicked up, slowly, and there it was—that familiar, tired scowl. “You’re not my favorite.”
You smiled, leaning closer. “But I’m the one you keep saving on missions, aren’t I?”
He let out a long sigh and pushed his chair back. “You keep getting into situations that require saving. There’s a difference.”
“But you always come.” You were so close now, your knee bumping his. “Starting to think you like me.”
“You’re exhausting,” he muttered—but his eyes dropped to your lips for half a second. You caught it.
“Oh?” you teased, reaching down to tug lightly on his tie. “Then why aren’t you telling me to leave?”
He grabbed your wrist—not roughly, but firm. His expression shifted. A beat of tension passed. His voice came low.
“Because I know you won’t,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“I should stop you,” he continued. “You’re ten years younger. You’re annoying. You never shut up.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he muttered, already regretting how close he let you get.
You laughed softly, stepping right between his knees, the space narrowing down to heat and breath.
“But a hot one,” you shot back, cocky and smooth.
He didn’t move. Didn’t lean back. Just sat there in that creaky office chair, eyes tracking every tiny shift of your body like a man watching a fire crawl across his floor.
You reached up and tugged lightly on his tie. And he let you.
He was taller than you, seated or not, shoulders broad under his black suit, arms strong enough to fold you in half if he wanted. And yet, here he was, letting you pull him down with two fingers and a grin.
You brought his face just close enough to breathe in his scent, cologne and sweat and the damn sugar on his breath and tilted your head, mocking, playful.
“Careful,” you whispered. “I may kiss you.”
His jaw clenched instantly, the tiniest twitch beneath your fingers. “Don’t,” he warned, voice rough, but lower now. “Don’t start what you don’t wanna finish.”
You leaned in a little more, your hand still gripping his tie, your lips just barely not touching his. The air between you could’ve been sliced with his katana.
“Who says I won’t finish it?”
His eyes flicked to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. Then back to your mouth again. You knew that look. Kusakabe was unraveling slowly and hating every second of it.
And god, it made you ache. But you didn’t kiss him. Not yet. You pulled his tie just one inch tighter and let the tension simmer until he couldn’t pretend anymore.
Then, with a breathy laugh, you let go, stepping back just enough to let him feel the cold.
“Guess you’ll have to wait,” you murmured.
And with a smirk, you turned around and walked out of his office—knowing full well you’d just left his mouth half-open, his pulse racing, and his thoughts very far from professional.
The next day, you didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to.
Kusakabe was in the corridor outside the main operations room, arms crossed, talking quietly with Nanami about cursed spirit sightings. The usual deadpan exchange. Calm. Professional. Boring.
Until you came down the hall. You saw him. Of course you did. You were practically tuned to his frequency by now—grumpy, tall, always dressed like he had better things to do than be hot. You didn’t pause or call out. Just walked right past, slow and smooth, brushing your shoulder against his just barely.
Then just as you passed you tossed a wink over your shoulder.
Dirty with implication. Kusakabe stopped talking mid-sentence. Nanami, mid-thought, blinked once. Then turned to look at him.
Kusakabe’s eyes were fixed ahead, clearly trying not to react. His jaw flexed like he was biting the inside of his cheek. The tips of his ears turned red. The lollipop in his hand paused halfway to his mouth.
Nanami raised an eyebrow. “…You okay?”
“Fine.”
“That didn’t look fine.”
“She’s just—” He let out a rough breath through his nose. “—always like that.”
Nanami’s lips twitched. He adjusted his tie with a little shrug. “Seems like it works on you.”
Kusakabe gave him the side-eye. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Of course,” Nanami said, completely deadpan. “Let’s not talk about how you keep watching her like she’s going to disappear.”
Kusakabe grunted. “You’re an asshole.”
“Just observant.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Nanami gave a calm nod. “I do. But this is more fun.”
Kusakabe pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated this. Hated how obvious it had become. How one wink from you could drag his brain into a place it had no business being in during work hours.
Nanami glanced down the hall again, then smirked slightly. “You know, if you keep letting her win—”
“She hasn’t won anything,” Kusakabe snapped.
“Mmm. Sure.” Nanami walked off with his usual calm pace, hands in his pockets. “Just make sure you’re the one doing the catching, not the falling.”
Kusakabe stood there for a moment longer, then slowly slid the lollipop into his mouth, mostly to give his hands something to do before he did something stupid. Like walk after you.
You caught him the second he stepped out of his office. Shoulders tense. Eyes tired. A sigh half-finished on his lips.
But this time—it wasn’t his lollipop.
It was yours. Twirling slow in your mouth as you leaned against the wall, the deep violet candy pressing lightly against your cheek when you smiled.
His eyes met yours. You watched the exact moment his jaw tightened. His eyes flicked from the lollipop to your lips, then away again—pretending not to look.
“What’s the matter with you?”
You pushed off the wall, slow steps toward him, the silence thick and pulsing.
“Mmh,” you hummed around the lollipop. “Nothing? Just checking on my favorite grumpy bastard.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t call me that.”
You grinned.
With no further announcement, you stepped into his office, letting the door swing shut behind you—and then click as your foot hooked it closed. Locked. Sealed.
You turned, licking the lollipop slowly, and hopped up onto his desk, legs swinging just slightly.
He followed. Of course he did. “Something’s wrong with you,” he muttered as he stopped in front of you.
You smiled up at him with the lollipop still in your mouth. “Yeah. You.”
His sigh was audible but he didn’t leave. Your hands were on his tie again, fingers brushing the knot, slowly tightening the slack. He didn’t stop you. He never did.
“You walk around like you’re not the hottest man on campus,” you murmured. “It’s criminal.”
“You’re insane,” he muttered. “And wildly inappropriate.”
“And you’re standing between my knees.”
He opened his mouth to say something else—probably another insult, another warning. But then you shifted.
Opened your legs wider. Pulled him closer by the tie until he was flush against you hip to hip, heat to heat. You could feel his pulse jump. His breath catch. His fists clenched slightly at his sides.
Still no protest. You held his gaze as you chewed the last of the lollipop, the candy crunch loud in the thick air between you. Then slowly you reached up and slipped the empty white stick into the front pocket of his shirt.
He stared at you. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“Blueberry,” you whispered. “Wanna taste?”
You didn’t wait for a yes. You yanked him down by the tie and kissed him.
It was heat and frustration and something unsaid finally spilling between mouths. His lips crashed against yours, rough and starved, hands gripping the edge of the desk on either side of your thighs like he needed to hold something to keep from losing it. His tongue met yours immediate, no hesitation, all friction and pressure and anger curled into something devastatingly hot. Your fingers buried into his hair, tugging. He growled low against your mouth. It was messy, breathless, long overdue.
When you finally broke apart, his forehead was pressed against yours, his hands still planted beside you, breath ragged. You whispered, teasing, smug as ever: “See? You do like blueberry.”
He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.” You smiled, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Only if you’re lucky.”
His hand tightened slightly on your thigh. And then—he stepped back. Fast. Like the distance would help. Your fingers slid from his shirt. Your knees stayed open, letting the cold air between you cut through the heat he’d left behind.
He turned his back to you, hands braced on his desk just inches from where your thighs still sat, breathing uneven.
You let the silence linger for a beat. “What?” you said softly. “Scared I’ll ruin your rep as the emotionally unavailable bastard of Jujutsu High?”
“Don’t push me.”
His voice came low, shaky, deadly calm. You saw the tension in his neck, the flex of muscle down his back. Saw the tremble in his hand as he slowly straightened his tie like it could fix anything.
“You’re the one who kissed me,” you whispered.
“You kissed me.”
“And you kissed me back.”
That got him. He turned around. Slowly. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were wrecked with tension. With something starved and dangerous.
You hopped off the desk, walked toward him, lollipop stick still nestled in his pocket like a damn trophy.
“You gonna say something grumpy again?” you teased.
He watched you get close again. This time, when you reached for his tie, he grabbed your wrist. Not rough. Just… firm.
“I should tell you to leave,” he said.
“But you won’t.” You saw it, the fight in his eyes. The line cracking. The last thread of restraint tugging taut in his jaw, his fingers twitching at your pulse point.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, “what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.“
“You think this is fun?” His voice was harsh now. “You think teasing me like this is some fucking game?”
You stepped into him again, chest brushing his, your smile too slow, too smug. “It’s not a game if we both want to lose.”
His hand was still on your wrist. His breath hitched once. You reached up with your free hand and gently placed it flat over his chest. Felt his heartbeat slam against your palm.
“Say it,” you whispered.
“I’m not saying anything,” he growled, eyes locked on your mouth again.
You leaned up just enough to ghost your lips over his. Not a kiss. Just the threat of one. Then you pulled back with a soft chuckle and turned toward the door.
“You’re not walking away from this,” he said behind you.
You glanced over your shoulder, heat in your grin. “You’re right.”
Your hand reached for the doorknob. And then his voice dropped low, dangerous, hot enough to burn:
“If you stay… you’re not leaving my bed in the morning.”
You froze. Slowly turned to look at him.
He was staring at you. Breathless. Eyes wild. Jaw set like he hated himself for saying it but couldn’t take it back.
You licked your lips. “Then maybe,” you whispered, “you should stop pretending you want me to leave.”
His voice had burned into your spine—If you stay, you’re not leaving my bed in the morning—and something in his eyes told you it wasn’t a line. It was a confession. A breaking point. One step further and you’d fall in with him, and neither of you would crawl back out.
So you walked. You left his office. Didn’t look back.
But sleep never came.
You tossed. Turned. Swore into your pillow and thought about the lollipop still tucked in his shirt pocket. About his hands on your thighs. About how he looked at you like he wanted to ruin every line of professionalism he’d ever drawn.
By midnight, you gave up.
The hallway was silent—just the soft hum of security lights and the occasional whisper of wind through the open ventilation shafts. You didn’t know where you were going exactly. You just let your feet take you.
And then you saw him. Outside. Leaning against the brick wall of his dorm, hood half-up, cigarette pinched between two fingers.
Lit by moonlight and the orange glow of the burning tip. He was smoking again. Your heart thudded. Quiet. Uneasy.
You walked toward him slowly. He saw you before you said anything. Didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch. Just blew smoke out the corner of his mouth like the act alone was penance for everything he hadn’t said earlier.
You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, your voice quieter than usual.
“I thought you quit.”
“I did.”
You looked at the cigarette. “That doesn’t look very ‘quit’ to me.”
He shrugged. Didn’t look at you.
“Didn’t think you’d actually leave,” he said after a beat.
You stared at him. “Didn’t think you’d let me.”
His jaw twitched. He took another drag.
You stepped closer. “You okay?”
“No,” he muttered.
Your voice softened. “Because of me?”
His silence said everything. You reached out, took the cigarette from his hand, and dropped it into the small tin ashtray beside him. Still smoldering. Still warm.
He finally looked at you. Up close now, you could see the tension still buzzing through his body shoulders high, breath shallow, like the kiss was still echoing in his blood.
You placed your hand lightly on his chest. His hoodie was warm. His heart raced under your palm.
“Why are you making this so hard?” you asked, voice barely audible.
“Because you make it so easy.”
His words hit you right in the ribs. You looked up at him—tired, beautiful, wrecked.
“You didn’t kiss me like it was easy,” you whispered.
He didn’t respond. Just stared. Jaw clenched. And still he didn’t touch you.
So you did it for him. You leaned in slowly, forehead resting against his chest, not pushing—just there.
He hesitated. For a moment.
Then, finally, his hand rose and curled around the back of your head. No words. Just that quiet, brutal need he refused to name. You stood like that in the dark. Just breathing. Just… holding.
You didn‘t mean to hug him but slid your arms around his waist.
And you felt him freeze. Like it startled him. Like no one had touched him that gently in a long time.
His breath caught. He didn’t say anything—but after a few seconds, you felt his free hand come up. Rest lightly between your shoulder blades. Just a little bit of pressure. Just enough to mean he needed it too.
You didn’t let go. Not for a long minute.
And just when you were about to pull back—
Click.
He reached over and unlocked his dorm door with his elbow, hesitating only a second before pushing it open behind you both.
You blinked. He didn’t say a word. Just slid his hand down your back, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you inside like he couldn’t wait anymore.
The door shut behind you. And then he snapped.
His hands were on your waist. On your back. On your jaw. His mouth crashed into yours, hot and desperate, tongue sliding against yours like he was starving. Like he’d held back for too long and now there was nothing left but you.
You gasped into his mouth, and he took that too.
You stumbled backward, his hands guiding you, mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the wall with a soft thud. His body pressed into yours—solid, warm, unshakable. One thigh slipped between yours, pinning you there.
“Knew it,” he muttered between kisses. “Knew the second I let you walk out, I was gonna fucking regret it.”
You grinned, breathless, chasing his mouth. “Then stop wasting time.”
He growled like your voice alone undid him. Your hands tangled in his hoodie, fisting the fabric, and he leaned in harder, lips trailing down your neck, biting just enough to make your knees go weak.
“I told you,” he rasped against your skin. “If I start—I’m not stopping.”
You tilted your head back, grinning through the heat in your chest. “Then don’t.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. And something in his gaze—dark, torn, full of restrained hunger—made your stomach flip.
“You drive me insane,” he whispered.
“And you taste like blueberry,” you whispered back.
That was it.
He grabbed your face in both hands and kissed you again, rougher now, breathless groans against your lips as your bodies locked tight. You knew, right then, no one was going to save you from him. And he was done trying to save himself from you.
His mouth was on yours again, but it wasn’t the same.
This wasn’t holding back. This was him finally breaking, and it felt like fire ripping through dry skin.
You barely had time to gasp before he was spinning you, pressing your front to the wall of his dorm room with one hand braced beside your head and the other dragging your hips back against his. You could feel him already—hard through his pants, grinding against your ass with a low, murderous grunt in your ear.
“I told you,” he growled, voice gravel. “If I start, I’m not stopping.”
“Then shut up,” you hissed, pushing back into him. “And fuck me.”
His hands grabbed your waist so hard you gasped, and in one movement he yanked you back, spun you around, and shoved you onto the desk behind him—papers, pens, all sliding off as your thighs spread for him like it was instinct.
You grinned up at him, breathless. “God, you’re so—”
He grabbed your face, thumb on your chin, and forced your gaze up to his. “Say now if you don’t want this,” he said low, serious, jaw locked.
Your whole body lit up at the roughness of it. At the way he still checked.
“Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered.
That was all he needed. He crashed his mouth against yours, messy, wet, needy. His hands already under your shirt, yanking it up. You raised your arms and it flew off, then he was on your neck, sucking hard enough to mark, biting your collarbone as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your pants.
They didn’t come off slow. They came off with a snarl of fabric and impatience, and so did your underwear, yanked halfway down and shoved aside like they were never going to survive this night anyway.
“You fucking tease,” he muttered, dragging his fingers between your folds. “Look at this, now you’re dripping.”
You let out a whimper when he rubbed your clit, rough and fast.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, fingers slick now, curling them inside you, voice right at your ear. “Flaunting that lollipop, touching my fucking tie, knowing I couldn’t stop thinking about you—was this it? You wanted me to snap?”
Your hands grabbed his hoodie, pulled him closer. “I wanted you.” He grunted, pulling his fingers out. You watched him lick them clean, eyes locked on yours. That damn mouth.
He undid his belt. Quick. Fumbling only once. He shoved his pants down just enough and stepped between your legs again. He dragged the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds and nearly groaned when he felt how ready you were.
One hand on your thigh, the other on your throat just enough pressure to make your breath catch, not enough to hurt.
“Look at me,” he said, low. “When I fuck you.”
Then he pushed in. You cried out. It burned. Stretched. And felt so goddamn right.
He filled you all the way in one smooth, brutal stroke—deep, tight and hot. “Fucking hell,” he growled, jaw tight as he bottomed out. “You feel—shit—perfect.”
You clung to his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He started to move, rough, desperate thrusts that had the desk creaking under you, his hips slamming into yours again and again.
You moaned loud and unfiltered. “Fuck—Atsuya—”
“You don’t get to act innocent now,” he hissed, thrusting harder. “You wanted this, sweetheart? You take it.”
He hit deep—so deep it made you tremble, made your hands claw at his back. His hand shifted from your throat to your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again—messy, open, tongue licking into your mouth as you cried into him.
“Such a brat,” he whispered. “All day, driving me insane and now look at you.”
“D-don’t stop,” you begged.
“I’m not gonna stop ‘til you fucking break.”
And he didn’t. His fingers found your clit again, circling, relentless. You were gasping, grinding up into him, eyes rolling back as he pounded into you with his voice in your ear, his breath hot on your skin.
Then— “Come,” he whispered. “Right fucking now.”
You shattered. Your body clenched around him, thighs shaking, head thrown back as you came with a cry—loud, broken, desperate. And he fucked you through it. Chasing his own high with a few more savage thrusts before burying himself inside you with a deep groan, hand tangled in your hair, lips pressed to your cheek as he came hard.
You stayed like that for a minute. Breathing. Panting.
He didn’t pull away. Just held you. And then, after a long silence, his voice—low and spent—murmured: “You okay?”
You nodded, smiling weakly, boneless in his arms. “More than okay.”
“…Good.” He kissed your temple. Soft and gentle. Like the roughness hadn’t just destroyed you. Like he still wanted to stay.
Your eyes blinked open to the early slant of morning light cutting through the blinds. The air was cool, quiet. Your limbs ached in the best way - sore thighs, kiss-bruised hips, heat still lingering between your legs.
You were in his bed.
One arm was slung heavy over your waist, warm and solid. The other tucked under the pillow. And when you glanced over—shirtless, half-asleep, hair a mess, face buried against your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile. You didn’t know he could sleep that deeply.
You turned just slightly. His grip tightened instantly.
“Don’t move,” he muttered, voice wrecked with sleep.
“Mmh,” you teased, pressing your lips to his forehead. “You’re kind of clingy for a grumpy bastard.”
He sighed. Didn’t argue.
Eventually, he stirred, pulled back, rubbed a hand over his face and sat up with a grunt. You stared. Broad back. Scattered scars. Black sweatpants slung low on his hips. You almost whined.
He walked to the kitchen in silence, scratched his neck, grabbed the coffee pot. The air smelled like coffee beans and sex. You stayed in bed, blanket around your chest, watching him move. Still groggy. Still gorgeous.
He came back with one mug. Set it on the nightstand beside you without a word.
You took it. Smiled into the rim. “No sugar?”
“You’re sweet enough,” he muttered.
You blinked.
Kusakabe didn’t catch it. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes like he hadn’t just dropped a line that made your stomach twist.
You leaned forward, placing the mug down carefully.
“Say that again,” you said, crawling toward him.
“I’m not repeating it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll tease me.”
You swung your leg over, straddling his lap before he could react. His hands automatically found your waist.
“What if I pay you back instead?”
His eyes met yours. Cautious. Curious. You slid down his chest, slow. Kissed the center of it. Licked just beneath his ribs.
He exhaled. Sharp. “You don’t have to—”
“Shh,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you for once.”
Your lips trailed down his stomach, hands already tugging at the waistband of his sweats.
He watched you—eyelids heavy, jaw tense. You freed his cock, already half-hard, flushed and sensitive.
You gave him one long, slow stroke, watching his breath catch.
Then you leaned in and licked him tip to base, tongue dragging up his shaft while your hand squeezed gently around the rest.
“Fuck,” he hissed, head tipping back.
You took him into your mouth slowly, warm and wet, inch by inch.
His hand immediately found your hair. You sucked him deep, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. He grunted, hips twitching. His fingers tightened in your hair, but he didn’t push. He let you set the pace.
“Shit—fuck—just like that,” he rasped.
You moaned around him, letting him feel it. His thighs tensed beneath your hands.
“Always with that mouth,” he breathed, voice ragged. “Driving me insane.”
You pulled back just to kiss the head, lips swollen. “Then lose your mind for me.”
He did.
You sucked harder now, messier. Spit coating your chin. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take. His curses got louder. His hips started to move.
“God—fuck, sweetheart—I’m close—”
You moaned again, loud, needy.
He came with a broken sound, deep groan rattling in his chest as he spilled down your throat. You swallowed every drop, licking the head after, drawing it out until he hissed from overstimulation and gently grabbed your chin.
“Enough,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled up at him, lips slick. “You taste like coffee.”
He stared at you. Then pulled you up into his lap, kissed you slow, hand cradling the back of your neck. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered against your lips.
“And you’re gonna beg for it,” you whispered back.
He didn’t deny it.
You padded into his bathroom, his shirt barely hanging off your shoulder, sore in places you forgot could ache. Your voice was still hoarse from moaning his name through clenched teeth hours ago.
“Hey,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing a towel to wipe your face, “you got a toothbrush or am I just raw dogging coffee breath today?”
Kusakabe appeared in the doorway, disheveled and shirtless, his sweats hanging low on his hips like he didn’t give a single fuck about your self-control.
He tossed a toothbrush toward the sink. “Top drawer.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” you said, sing-song, just to hear him groan again.
You started brushing. He lingered. You could feel him behind you. When you leaned down to rinse, his presence stepped in closer, body heat pressing at your back like a second skin. You spat, wiped your mouth, and lifted your head—
And there he was. Right behind you. In the mirror.
Your eyes locked.
He looked wrecked. Sleepy. Tense. But more than that—he looked hungry. Like he’d been watching you the whole time, jaw clenched, just barely holding back.
And something about that restraint, that slow boil right behind your spine. God, it made you throb.
So you rinsed the toothbrush. Placed it neatly to the side. And locked eyes with him through the mirror.
“You don’t have to ask, baby,” you whispered, voice low and filthy. “Just fuck me if you want to.”
His eyes darkened. That was it
He grabbed your hips and bent you over the sink before the last syllable even finished falling from your mouth. His body pinned you forward, one hand slipping under your shirt to grip your bare breast, the other yanking your panties down to your knees with zero patience.
“You really don’t know when to stop,” he muttered, voice rough in your ear.
You smirked into the mirror. “Why would I? You love it.”
He didn’t answer. He just shoved his sweats down, cock already hard from watching you, and slid it through your folds once slow, teasing before thrusting in deep.
You gasped, head falling forward. “F-Fuck—Atsuya—”
“Look at me,” he growled, yanking your hair back.
You met his eyes through the mirror. God, he looked ruined already. He fucked into you hard, deep strokes that rocked the sink against the wall. His hand stayed at your throat this time, not squeezing just reminding you who had you.
“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed. “Bent over my sink, begging with that dirty little mouth?”
You moaned, helpless. “Go—Just shut up and fuck me harder—”
He growled, angling his hips just right to make your knees buckle. You clawed at the edges of the counter, crying out every time he slammed into you.
“God,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You’re soaked—I can feel you clenching—fuck—”
You pushed back against him, whining. “I want you to come in me.”
“You’re filthy.”
“You’re obsessed.”
His hand slid down your stomach to your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that made you tremble.
Your legs shook as the orgasm hit sharp, blinding, your eyes rolling back as you nearly collapsed over the sink. He grunted and thrust a few more brutal times before he stilled, burying himself deep, spilling inside you with a low, wrecked moan.
You both stood there sweaty, panting, your body trembling under his. Then his lips brushed your shoulder. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m gonna break you.”
You smiled at your reflection.
You leaned against the bathroom counter, still catching your breath, face flushed, legs jelly-soft.
Kusakabe was behind you, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist, the other rubbing lazy circles into your hip like he wasn’t the one who’d just folded you over the sink and fucked you senseless.
Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to. Eventually, he kissed the back of your neck and pulled back. “Shower.”
“Mmm,” you groaned. “Carry me.”
“Shut up.”
But he did grab your hand and tug you gently toward the stall, helping you step out of your panties like they weren’t ruined, like he hadn’t completely destroyed you two minutes ago.
The water was hot. Steam curled between your bodies.
You leaned into him under the stream, resting your cheek against his chest while his fingers slid through your hair with surprising care.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
You nodded against his skin.
“Didn’t hurt?”
“No. Just sore.”
He grunted. “Good.”
You stayed like that for a while his arms around your waist, your lips brushing along his collarbone, bodies sticky and clean all at once. You could feel the bruises blooming across your thighs, the ache between your legs, the mess of kisses under your jaw.
But mostly, you felt him, quiet.
You both showed up to headquarters fourty minutes late.
He wore his suit like usual. You wore his hoodie, a smug little smirk and a mark on your neck you hadn’t even tried to cover.
You passed Nanami in the corridor.
“Morning,” you chirped.
Kusakabe grunted behind you. Dead silent.
Nanami didn’t say anything. Just blinked once. Looked at your neck. Then at Kusakabe’s suspiciously stiff posture.
Then back to his files. “Hope it was worth it,” he said blandly, flipping a page.
You blinked. “Huh?”
Nanami looked up, entirely unimpressed. “The overtime you’re both about to get.”
Kusakabe groaned under his breath. You just smiled, bouncing on your heels. “Every second.”
You walked off ahead, and behind you, Nanami muttered just loud enough for Kusakabe to hear: “She’s going to eat you alive.”
Kusakabe sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah.”
And the worst part? He wanted you to.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
Summary: After filling in an open position at the FBI Behavioral Science Unit for the role of a forensic scientist, you become well acquainted with special investigator Will Graham and the psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter who both take an interest in you.
side note: this is a wip that i’ve been currently writing for!
i was trying to sleep and this idea popped in my head. needless to say i had to write it out
boyfriend reiner who will wait for you on the couch in your apartment, the tv showing another rerun episode while he wears his grey sweatpants and his college t shirt as you shower, eyes tired from his long day of work.
boyfriend reiner who’s favorite part of coming home being seeing you.
boyfriend reiner who will smile upon seeing you walk out in his oversized shirt and boyshorts, your wet hair splayed over your shoulders as you saunter over to him on the couch, straddling his lap
boyfriend reiner who will place his large, and firm hands on your hips, fingers massaging into your skin as he peppers kisses along your neck, his stubble tickling in the process
boyfriend reiner who will sleepily whisper, “i missed you, baby” as his hands wander down to your ass, giving you a gentle squeeze as his erection pokes your thighs
boyfriend reiner who will then capture your mouth in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming your body while you moan into his mouth, the two of you feeding off one another
boyfriend reiner who would make a small noise at the roll of your hips, your clothed pussy grinding down against his growing erection as you lean forward to kiss his chest, hands splaying along his pecs.
boyfriend reiner who then slips his hand past your stomach, making his way to your panties where he glides his fingers along your outline, his eyes softening as you moan
boyfriend reiner who whispers gentle praises, “so wet for me, babygirl,” and “been thinking of you all day, wanted to touch you so bad.”
boyfriend reiner who then lets you take his cock inside of your pussy, with you being on top of him, dragging your hips up and down slowly on his length, letting his thick cock stretch you out so deliciously
boyfriend reiner who whines as you use him to pleasure yourself, your hips rolling and grinding down onto him as you chase your pleasure, encouraged with his small moans and his voice, “use me, baby, ride my cock,”
boyfriend reiner who then fucks himself up into you, his large hands holding you in place while he kisses your shoulder, easing you into his pace that brings you to your climax.
boyfriend reiner who kisses your forehead after and carries you to bed, his large frame providing you with warmth as the two of you slip off into a satisfied slumber.
When you check a writer’s profile and they have a master list with NO weird “kink” fics or borderline illegal themes so now you realize you can enjoy their work to your hearts content
I feel a deep disappointment when I finish a fanfic and the writer has a master list filled with everything I have a deep hatred for
