sienna

[c1nnam0roll-08]

˙⟡FANTASY✧˖

Your man has been begging to try something new...and who are you to deny him?

˙⟡ FEATURING: Satoru Gojo, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna

˙⟡ CONTENT WARNINGS: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal sex, squirting, overstimulation, bondage, bdsm elements, somnophilia, oral (m rec), creampies, double penetration, praise, degradation, vibrators, dubious consent at times, crying, pet names, swearing, brief murder, non-curse choso

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　　　

SATORU GOJO ~ TOYS

It’s no secret that Satoru loves watching you squirm—hips writhing, tears glistening, legs twitching. He adores those high pitched sounds you make when you’re overwhelmed, delicate hands trying to push him away when he fucks you a little too deep. 

So now he wonders…

How loud would you scream if he added some toys to the mix? 

“No, no, no-“ you’re begging, tummy tensing and hips bucking as Satoru brings the wand back up to your already overstimulated clit. “I can’t, Toru!” 

“Oh, come on, angel-“ he rolls his hips, smooching your cervix with his leaky tip to make you squeal. “You’re not tapping out already, are you?” he mocks you, turning the vibrations back on- 

“Fuck!” you’re crying, legs kicking and hands smacking Satoru’s abs in an attempt to save yourself from another tortuous orgasm. “Too much- I c-can’tttt-“ 

“I don’t care, baby.” his voice is sickeningly sweet, sapphire eyes crazed as he watches you with a twisted satisfaction. “Gimme another one-“ he grunts, hips settling back into a slow rhythm—he hits that pleasurable spot deep inside you with cruel precision every time. 

“Feels- ngh- different!” the pleasure-pain that courses through your veins is intoxicating—you can feel every painful buzz on your overly sensitive clit, your tummy contracting every time he hits the very back of your abused cunt. 

“You can do it, princess-“ Satoru chuckles, leaning over you to plant wet kisses on your tear-stained cheeks. “Just relaxxx and let it happen, hun.” 

“Please-!” you squeal, not sure if you're asking for more or for it to end—your entire body jerks, once, twice-

“Fuckkk, baby.” Satoru groans, hips stuttering as you squeeze him so tight. Clear liquid comes out in spurts, soaking his pelvis and the bedsheets as your cunt visibly pulses. 

You let out broken moans as Satoru fucks you through your orgasm—pathetic gushes of your squirt slowly decreasing in amount. 

“No more- can’t-“ the bliss of your orgasm dulls into a full body ache—your hands pull at the forearm holding the wand, trying to pry it off. “Toru- it hurtsss-“ you sob, feet kicking as his body weight remains pinning you down. 

“Shhh- s’okay, angel-“ he coos, finally pulling the nightmare of a device off your swollen nub and turning it off. “Did sooo good-“ he pecks your quivering lips, holding you close as your body  tremors. 

“How many times was that?” Satoru laughs, still balls deep inside of you. “Felt like a new record for you, babe.” he gives the side of your hips a few smacks, urging you to speak. 

“Dunno.” you whisper, falling limp against the messy sheets. 

“Hey-“ he smacks your hip again. “I’m proud of you, princess.” 

CHOSO KAMO ~ SOMNOPHILIA

Choso and yourself had a conversation not too long ago—about your boyfriend’s tendency to need sex all the time, that is. Before the two of you got together, your previous partners had a hard time keeping up with your libido. But ever since you met Choso, your sex drive has been put to shame. 

To solve this…issue, you had given Choso the green light to use you when you’re asleep—in the event that you’re too tired, at least. 

You’re softly snoring when Choso enters the room, his dick straining against his jeans as he stalks towards the bed. He had a hard day, but he was even harder—he couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, your silky hair, the dip of your waist, your hips-

Your pussy. 

He gently pulls the covers from your form, only to find you naked—nipples peaked, legs spread, cunt glistening just for him.  “God damn, sweetheart.” he mumbles, unbuckling his studded belt and taking his sweat scented shirt off (yum). 

His fingers explore you tentatively, soft brushes across your nipples all the way down to your bare mound. You don’t stir, breaths remaining stable as he collects your slick—bringing it up to his gaping mouth for a greedy taste.  

Choso climbs on top of you, making a place for himself between your legs. He crowds you, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent like a dog. “Mfmm- missed you, love.” he gets a sleepy snore in response, a giggle escapes his throat before his hands return to groping you. 

He frees his cock from the confines of his boxers and starts grinding in the wetness of your pussy lips—his leaky tip painting your clit with glossy pre. “Been waiting to fuck you all day, pretty-“ he licks a hot stripe up the side of your neck, lining himself up and pushing in-

“Cho?” you whimper, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you’re fucked open.

“Shh- just me, sweetheart-“ he bottoms out with a sigh of relief, planting a wet smooch on your lips and squeezing your plump tits. “Go back to sleep-“ he murmurs, his deep voice soothing you. 

“M’kay-“ you’re far too tired to be bothered by the fullness of your cunt—you’ve grown accustomed to the feeling, so much so that it lulls you back to sleep. 

“Sooo good for me.” Choso chokes back a whimper, gently thrusting in and out of your warmth. It doesn’t take him long to paint your insides with his sticky cum—with the tension of the day, the simple wet, heat of your pussy is enough for him to drown in pleasure. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” he whispers fondly as he pulls out, covering your relaxed body with kisses while he waits for his release to leak out of you. 

Choso makes sure to snap a picture of that precious creampie before cleaning you up and snuggling next to his beloved girlfriend. 

He’ll probably fuck you in the morning too.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ~ ANAL

“How does that feel, doll?” Toji grunts, your little pucker is squeezing him unbelievably tight—your body weight resting on his chest and legs pulled up, up, up in a full nelson-

After about a week of working you up with his fingers, Toji came to the conclusion that you were ready for his dick. Although, given how big he is, your smallest hole still wasn't fully prepared for the intense stretch. 

“Feels weird-“ you’ve never felt so full yet so empty in your life—the sensation is similar…but like it’s happening next door, making your cunt clench around nothing. You let out a choked gasp when he shifts just a little bit- “Fuck- ngh- too deep-“ 

“Gotta let loose, doll-“ he snakes a large hand down your front, nibbling and licking your ear before making contact with your glistening pussy. “Can’t- mfm- tense like that.” he rubs your clit in slow circles, occasionally dipping down to your hole and collecting more slick. 

“Haaa-“ you let out a breathy moan, trying your best not to close your legs around the stimulation—not that you really could, given that they’re being forced open by Toji’s arms. “Feels good-“ 

“Yeahh it does, doll-“ Toji thrusts his hips justtt a tad, experimenting with your limits. You yelp, head falling limp on his shoulder—your back arches off of his abs, inadvertently taking his cock even further into your ass. “Told you it’d feel nice, heh-“

“Want more-“ you whine, the pressure feels amazing, the heavy weight of him seated deep inside of you makes you wish you had agreed to this sooner. 

“More?” Toji huffs a laugh. “You’re just perfect, aren’t ya?” the hand on your clit sneaks lower, two girthy fingers slide inside of your neglected cunt and curl- 

“Ohhh my god-“ Toji’s hips settle in a slow, shallow pace, keeping you nice and stuffed while he fingers you with fervor—audible squelches and loud cries fill your once quiet bedroom. 

“Yeahh- you like getting your pretty little holes stuffed, huh?” the heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every single prod of his fingers to that spongy spot inside your pussy—you swear you can feel his dick rubbing against his digits through the separating wall with every thrust- 

“Gonna cum!” you squeal, body thrashing in Toji’s hold as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt builds to a peak- 

“Good fuckin’ girl-“ 

Toji had never expected his girlfriend—the one who wouldn’t even let him eat her ass a few weeks ago—would turn into such an anal slut. As of recently, that’s all you’ll ever ask him for: to be fucked in the ass while he plays with your pretty pussy. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

SUGURU GETO ~ SHIBARI

Suguru loves being in control—he adores seeing you on your knees, eyes wide, as you wait for him to give you a command. So safe to say you weren’t surprised when he started tying you up during sex. 

It started with just him holding your wrists, keeping you where he wanted you. Then he upgraded to handcuffs, some simple knots with silk, maybe a belt-

But nothing compares to how he has you right now. 

“Too tight, gorgeous?” he asks, tying the last of many delicately woven knots. You watch his veined hands tug at the rope intently, your slick dripping down the crevice of your ass no doubt. 

“A little.” you admit, unable to move your limbs—your legs are spread wide, knees forcibly bent from the rope that binds your calves to your thighs, heels flush to your ass. Your hands are tied to your sides, breasts framed tightly with the same rope that circles your spine and shoulders. 

It’s an art form, no denying that, but it is a little uncomfortable. You know it shouldn’t be, but Suguru enjoys leaving marks on you. 

“Good.” he purrs, walking around the bed until he’s standing next to your head. “Open up, baby.” he taps your cheek, thick cock hanging over your face with a fox-like grin plastered across his features. 

Suguru slides into your willing mouth with a groan, hungry eyes wandering over his handiwork. “You’re so beautiful like this-“ one of his hands buries in your hair while the other caresses your tied body. “Pliant and unable to squirm-“ he pinches your nipple, hard- 

“Mfmm!” you whine around his dick—Suguru is fucking your throat, holding your head still by your scalp. Electricity shoots straight down to your clit every time a groan slips past his lips, your cheeks are hollowed, desperate to please. 

“You’re so wet, gorgeous.” his hand snakes down to your cunt, collecting the obscene amount of slick and bringing it up to your clit. “I’d almost think you could- ngh- cum from me fucking your mouth alone.” Suguru laughs, grip in your hair tightening.

“Mhmm!” you try to nod but he keeps you still, hitting the back of your throat to make you gag—there’s a mix of your spit and Suguru’s pre dripping down your chin, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he finally starts rubbing your neglected clit. 

“Such a dirty girl-“ he pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, using the concoction of fluids to gloss your lips. “You like being tied up, huh?” 

“Yes.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA ~ EXHIBITIONISM

The King of Curses is an avid enjoyer of your humiliation—he loves watching the embarrassed flush rise to his favorite whore’s face when he tells you to kneel in a room full of people. 

It started with you being forced to feed him fruit while he’s sat on his throne, then he made you do it naked, and now-

“Tsk- eyes on them, brat.” he tuts, one of many hands grabbing your face and forcing it forward. 

It was about that time of the year that Sukuna had people from each of the villages bring him offerings to save themselves from an inevitable slaughter—only today, he yearned to put on a show it seems. 

“Look at those scum while I take you-“ he pulls you back down on his cocks, forced so deep in your holes you swear you’ll burst. “Show them how generous I am.” an evil cackle radiates throughout the main room of the shrine, a wide crowd of eyes trained on the obscene display in front of them. 

If it weren’t for Sukuna’s prior threat of decapitation, you’re sure they all would’ve scrambled out the ornate doors over an hour ago. 

“So generous- nghh- Kuna!” your whines bounce off the walls, along with the squelching of your slick. Your legs are spread wide, draping across the armrests with your stuffed cunt and ass on full display for the unwilling audience. 

“Such a good cocksleeve aren’t you, my dear?” he croons into your ear from behind, huge arms maneuvering you up and down, down, down his monstrous dicks. It’s brutal—you’ve cum multiple times already, the evidence dripping down your ass and onto the ground beneath you. 

“Mhmm!” you nod profusely, another orgasm already worming its way into your belly. You unfortunately lock eyes with a frightened woman as your body starts to convulse—a torturous stream of squirt sprays with every pound- 

“That’s right, brat-“ Sukuna grunts, his grip on your face bruising. “Show them how good I make whores like you feel, heh-“ his many eyes roam the crowd, making sure they’re all still watching until-

Screaming.

Blood splatters across your face as someone close loses their head—an almost equally disgusting display as to what’s happening on the throne. 

“I warned them.”

(c1nnam0roll-08 / 2026)

[reignpage]

Synopsis: you want extra marks and you won't hesitate to bother TA!Toji for them, via email chain

Warnings: before and after of this fic, some suggestive content, nerd!toji, college au, pre relationship and established relationship back and forth emails between reader and Toji, a couple years age gap, mostly fluff and crack but does get slightly smutty near the end, additions to the Nanami and Gojo email fics, use of yn but kept to a minimum, fem!reader, problematic reader?, reader stalks him, Toji art by @/youka.i_, not proofread Word Count: 2.4k (give or take)

From: [email protected] Subject: Latest Essay Submission

Dear Toji Fushiguro, I hope you are well. Thank you so much for your feedback on my latest essay. The results are not quite what I was hoping for, as I am sure you can imagine after our years of friendship. If possible, could I discuss with you some points of improvement, or begin a conversation as to the possibility of having my essay remarked? Best wishes, A most studious and dutiful student

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Latest Essay Submission

Sure, I’m free on Thursday afternoon at 1:30pm for an office hour. I’m happy to discuss any parts of your essay you would like feedback on and answer any questions regarding the feedback I provided. I cannot, however, remark your essay. Department policy. — Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Thank You

Dear Toji Fushiguro, Thank you so much for your prompt reply, and for being amenable to meeting with me. Whilst your response greatly pleases me, it also disappoints — I was so very hoping you would consider re-reading my essay, because I am certain you will see the value in pushing me into the next grade boundary.  It is, after all, only a matter of recognising brilliance when it is placed directly in front of you. I trust this will not be your first encounter with such a phenomenon. Please consider it. Kind regards, Someone who would owe you the world if you do

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Department. Policy.

No.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: no??

Um, excuse me.  Do you not find your reply unprofessional and unnecessarily rude? As the Teaching Assistant, you have a responsibility to respond appropriately and with grace. Need I remind you, you are representing our dear Professor, who would want the very best for his students (which includes me). Nevertheless, I shall overlook this callous response in exchange for extra marks. I am, as always, generous. You could learn from me. Best wishes, Someone not above blackmail

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: nice try

I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re above policy, nor who told you I’d listen to you over the Prof (my employer), but you’re barking up the wrong tree. And in reference to your initial email, I have many friends, you are not one of them, but even if you were, I still wouldn’t pull strings and be as stupid as to leave a paper trail via email. If you want higher marks, earn them the normal way. Wishing you a speedy recovery from the head injury you must have suffered recently, Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I am well, thank you very much

Dear TA with a stick up his ass, Note how I have not explicitly asked to be given extra marks? I am only asking that you reconsider my essay and the marks you have awarded me, because I am absolutely certain you were mistaken in your initial assessment, which is fine. I understand. You’re overworked and underpaid. Shit happens.  So allow me to say, my essay was well-researched, balanced, concise, and thoroughly supported with relevant scholarship. I engaged directly with the question, demonstrated independent thought, and constructed a coherent argument that remained consistent throughout. According to the mark scheme — which I have, unlike some people, actually read in detail — I should be placed in the top band.  This is not an isolated case of overconfidence either. I have submitted numerous essays to both you and the Professor, and they have consistently fallen within, or very near, the top band. There is a clear pattern of performance here, one that does not suddenly collapse without reason.  In short, my essays are worthy of that standard. I am worthy of that standard. You are, at present, the only barrier between me and my deserved academic standing. I would encourage you to reflect on that carefully — on the weight of that responsibility, and on whether you are discharging it fairly. Wondering why you were ever hired, Girl who regrets ever giving you my last gum three months ago P.S. You really needed it

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: that supposed to make me want to reconsider?

I’m sure Mommy and Daddy gave you too much praise and love as a child and that’s why you are the way that you are, but you’ll find that I’m not so easily impressed.  Your essay had egregious mistakes that, if I had it my way, would have earned a 0. Be grateful I even let you have the marks you have now.  No one is ‘worthy’ of top marks by the simple virtue of existing. That is an arrogant way of thinking I despise. There is only hard work and determination, which yes, you show at times, so good for you, kid. Still not just gonna hand out extra marks because of whatever history you think we have together. Advising you to get over yourself, Toji P.S. Not taking judgment from someone who pops three gums in the morning instead of brushing their teeth

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: suing for emotional distress

Dear Toji Fushiguro, My parents are both dead, so thank you for bringing up traumatic memories. I really don’t appreciate the personal jabs. Please refrain from mentioning them, from talking about the people who worked multiple jobs to put me through college, who won’t be there to see me graduate, won’t be in the crowd cheering me on. But yes, they loved me very much. And it is because of their support, which I still feel even when they’re no longer here with me, that I do this.  It isn’t easy for me to grovel at your feet for scraps, for crumbs. However, I will do whatever I must to succeed. So judge me all you want, hate me, and show me disdain for my relentless, shameless ambition. Just answer me this one question: What are you willing to do to prove people wrong? Because if it is anything less than what I am doing, then you are not a TA deserving of my respect. Despite it all, best wishes, An orphan P.S. If you are apologetic and regretful, you may earn my apology via extra marks. Thanks in advance P.P.S. I do brush my teeth thank you very much!

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: you’re deranged

I saw you touring your fucking parents through campus just last month. You pointed at me and said and I fucking quote, see that miserable-looking homeless man? he’s the TA with no hobbies or interests other than grading that I told you about. Spare me the guilt trip.  Even if you were a Make A Wish kid, still not giving you shit.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: did not know you heard me…my bad, big bro

Dear the greatest TA to have ever lived, So, yes, I did lie about being an orphan. But, I feel that I was one in another life, and the tragedy of that distant life long lived carries me through this one.  More importantly, I have a special message for you: Thank you so much for your continued responses. I deeply appreciate every hour you dedicate to aiding me, and the student body which you govern. I understand you are so busy and carry many burdens; it cannot be easy. Yet you persevere and always give detailed and insightful feedback that has never failed to guide me towards improvement. You truly are an inspiration. If I could nominate you for employee of the month, I would. If such a thing existed. Let me know and I’ll campaign for you myself. Scout’s Honour! (Please do forgive me for my lapse in judgment. It’s late and I am not thinking clearly). All the best and love in the universe, A student who really needs you to not tell the Professor about any of this P.S. It really is late, what are you still doing up? P.P.S. You jerking off? P.P.P.S. The video you watching any good? Send recs pls

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: don’t play games you can’t win

Dear idiot,  It’s just three marks. You can live without it.  Enjoying the ass-kissing though, Toji P.S. What the hell is wrong with you? P.P.S. Working. 

From: [email protected] Subject: lol sure

'Working.' And no, you give me too much credit. I really cannot live without the three marks. I need it for something. This isn't just vanity talking.

From: [email protected] Subject: go to sleep

We have an early lecture tomorrow. Shut your laptop and count some sheep or something. I don’t want to hear anything from you tonight again. I’m serious.

From: [email protected] Subject: fine

But this isn't the last you've heard of me.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: stop. seriously

I know you’ve been following me. To my classes, the library, my hang outs, my fucking home. Don’t pretend otherwise — I could hear you whispering ‘oooh you wanna remark my essay sooo bad’ from behind a fucking bookcase. Not only is it stupid as hell, it’s also creepy as fuck. Do you not have better things to do? Like, I don’t know, hitting the books so your next essay will be better and we won’t have to do this whole song and dance? Next time I see you stalking me, I’m going to tie you up to a lamppost and let campus security deal with you. – Toji.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: oh that?

Dear Toji Fushiguro, For legal reasons, I will neither admit nor deny your accusations. Perhaps every encounter you believe you had with me outside of lectures/classes/office hours were mere coincidences. Campus isn’t that big, after all. I promise I would never do anything to endanger you (unless, of course, it’ll give me extra marks — I kid, I kid). If my persistent appearances are bothering you, however, maybe you should reconsider your rejection of my plea to have you re-read my essay. Just food for thought. Best wishes, Woman who might already have been, but I’ll keep that to myself P.S. you’ll tie me up? Kinky. Didn’t know you have those kinds of interest rawr

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: fat chance

My answer was no yesterday. It’s a no now. And it will be a no in every single instance you ask me in the future. Grow up, Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: never say never

We’ll see…

From: [email protected] Subject: hi handsome

Dearest Toji,  The distance is agony. I miss you so very dearly, yet every metre we are kept apart only strengthens my adoration for you.  Lots of love, Your soulmate

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: it’s too early for this

Don’t be emailing me during a lecture. Focus. And I don't know what distance you're talking about; you’re literally sitting on the front row, right in front of me. Damn near killed that girl when you shoved her for the spot. Listen to what the professor says — it’s important.  And stop spreading your legs; I can see your panties from here. — Toji P.S. Focus on your notes before I move you to the back.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: boo you’re boring

Dear hot stuff,  Important, you say? Important in the sense of appearing in the next exam important, or important for the soul important? You don't need to tell me, just send one wink for the former and two for the latter. Also, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I’m not wearing panties ;) All the best, Your gorgeous girl P.S. ngh I love when you wear those grey sweatpants, if I look closely enough, I swear I can see every vein

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: no.

Dear dumbass bound by the university’s Code of Conduct, You know better than to solicit unfair advantages by exploiting your personal relationships. I trust you also know that since we filed an official form regarding our relationship that you face different papers than your peers, which will not be marked by me.  — Toji P.S. quit staring at my dick. you panting like a bitch in heat ain't helping. neither was the low cut top you're wearing.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I know I know

Dear Mr. Strict TA, I’m well aware. I was just kidding. I actually appreciate that the department approved of our relationship, with the support of the Professor. Not that we would have let them stop us — I just like that we can still see each other in lectures and classes, whenever you’re auditing or teaching.  You know how worried I was that things would change if we became official.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: yeah, me too

I owe the Prof a lot. Guess he was preparing for this day or something.  Look, just don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble or will make the other students think you’re getting special treatment. I don’t like the idea that you’ll be discredited because of me. You got a bright future ahead of you. I won’t ever hold you back.  So head down, alright? Leave all the worrying to me. — Your Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I love when you’re sweet

Okay, okay. I’ll pay attention. This is a rather interesting topic anyway. I bet the PowerPoint was all you — it screams, I don’t get paid enough to use pictures and animation lol Oh, and don’t forget we promised Megs we’re taking him and his wittle friends to the movies tonight! Please don’t stay too late grading. Love, The best sister in law ever!

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: good girl

Yeah, didn’t forget. Little brat’s been going on and on about it. Says he wants to sit next to you, like I didn’t raise the runt. Whatever. Wait till he finds out you hog the popcorn.  Meet me in our usual spot after this lecture. I wanna verify something you said for myself.  Better not have lied to me.  — Toji

Stupid Tumblr 30 images limit grrrr had to delete a couple emails rahhhh. It also keeps making random letters in normal size font 😭 I forgot how hostile Tumblr is to this format

[sunmoonnie]

Kiss It Better

bf!jake x reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ summary :: being single in your teenage years made you miss out on many things, one of them being the kissing game with the soda flavored lipsticks. so, now that you finally have a boyfriend, you decide to play it. however, the game quickly escalates into something more...

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ genre :: smut (mdni!)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ tags :: fingering, small fluff, missionary, p in v, jake is head over heels for y/n, squirting, small to no plot, pwp, kissing, making out, overstimulation, masturbation, protected sex, nicknames, cum eating, finger sucking, dry humping (kinda)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ wc :: 3.1k

now playing :: kiss it better — rihanna

With the plastic box tugged under your arm, you typed in the message quickly as you were waiting for the traffic lights to turn green so you could finally rush home. 

you : i got the thing. ill be home in probs like 5 mins.

You couldn't deny the nervousness that took over your body. The lights finally changed, and you snatched the box out from under your arms and threw it in your tote bag. You made your way to the other side of the road with quick steps, getting lost in the big New York crowd. 

Just another busy Friday morning. Every person has a different goal. A different place they go to. Most probably go to work, but who knows? Maybe they are on their way to one of their loved ones in the hospital, or they are going on a date (even though it's eleven in the morning). 

Personally, you were on your way to your new apartment. You freshly moved out of the college dorm to your own apartment, and it was pretty hard to pretend like you felt sad for your roommate while she was sobbing in your arms when you told her the news. The truth was that you were straight up cheesing inside the whole time. You couldn't wait to have your own personal space, without anyone interrupting your study sessions or series binge sessions. But the best part : you finally had enough time to be with your boyfriend alone. 

Jake was your first ever boyfriend, which was a kinda embarrassing thing to admit at the age of twenty. However, you felt like you just entered your youth, even if it was late. You tried to ignore that part. People usually do cringy teenager type of things when they are sixteen, but you missed out on that. 

You weren't the type to complain a lot, but one day you found yourself spilling your heart out to Jake about it while your head was in his lap, his fingers caressing your head as he nodded understandingly. 

That's where the idea came from : the lipsmackers, now tossed in your bag next to your breakfast you got from the bakery on the corner of the street. 

It was Jake’s idea. He said, and I quote “We should start doing those ‘cringy’ things, then” 

You wanted to say ‘no’ so bad, because still, you are in college, a twenty year old independent woman who has a successful career in front of her. You almost did say no, but thinking it through, it can't hurt, right? 

So, Jake made you write a list of things you missed out on when you were a teenager. The things your friends would brag about to you, knowing damn well you are a lonely loser. The things that made you so insecure you couldn't stop scratching your arms. 

Lip Smackers were on top of the list. It was so nostalgic, at a time they were all over the stores. Well, you never had anyone to do it with. Until now.

You push down the bell next to your apartment door. Jake should be there, because he spent last night with you. You binged all the three Maze Runner movies, and neither of you noticed how much the time passed. By the time you finished, it was already four am. 

Soon, the door opens and the most gorgeous boy you have ever seen in your life smiles at you. Then he steps closer and wants to press a kiss on your lips, but you stop him.

“Remember, no kissing” you say, teasingly. You and Jake decided to not kiss until you got the lipsticks. It was anticipating, because you made the list two days ago, and you kiss, like, all the time. 

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips are tugging upwards “Someone is strict” he comments, leading you in the apartment and closing the door behind you.

You set your bag down by the table, pulling your breakfast and the plastic box out of it. Jake glances at it, then his eyes find you again. “So? When do we start? I don't think I can handle another day without kissing you” 

He steps closer, grabbing you by your waist. And he moves dangerously close, his lips breezing your skin ever so slightly. 

You look up at him, smiling “We can do it now”

                             ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You fiddle with the box a bit before you can open it, your hands shaking. Jake is sitting on the bed in front of you, and you could tell he just can't wait, because his back is perfectly straight and he has his hands on his knees as they are crossed. 

Your heart is thumping in your chest. You don't even know how to play this game properly. It sounds so dumb — a grown woman being anxious to play a kissing game with her boyfriend. It's straight up ridiculous. But the lipsticks bring back so many memories, and most of them being bad, you just can't help your feelings. 

When you finally manage to get the lipsticks out of the box, you look up at Jake.

“Okay. Cover your eyes. And don't cheat” You tell him, and he nods as he lowers his head and buries his head in his hands.

You look down at the six different lipsticks, indicated in vivid colors. You end up picking the sprite one first. As you apply it on your lips, you taste it a little bit, the sweet flavor getting on your tongue. It tastes horrible, like every candy from the 2000s. It's not much of a surprise.

You throw the green bottle back to the other ones, mixing them together.

“You can look now,” You insist. 

Jake looks up faster than the speed of light, his eyes landing on your glistening lips. He's so freaking cute when he's all excited but can't get what he wants yet. 

You smile softly “You are really excited”

“I am” he doesn't deny it, he gets on his knees so he can crawl towards you. 

He moves slowly, almost hesitant like it's your first kiss ever. Like it's his first kiss ever. He gulps nervously, Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. Jake leans down and presses his soft lips onto yours. He doesn't move at first, and you don't either, because you have no idea what to do.

After a few moments, you feel his tongue darting out and licking your bottom lip. He grabs onto your shoulders and pulls you closer to taste it better, but his tongue only licks your lips and he's very careful with it.

He pulls back, looking up for a moment. “Hm” he humms, thinking “I think… Sprite? Maybe?”

You nod heavily, feeling your cheeks getting red. “You got it right on the first try. That's good” 

“Alright, next one” He hurries, lowering his head again.

You let out a small laugh, picking out the next lipstick. You hesitate for a moment, should it be Coca Cola or Fanta? Coca cola is an iconic flavor, he would get it fast, meaning he wouldn't kiss you for long… But Fanta is his favorite. Maybe he would get that even faster.

But again, Fanta is his favorite. Bingo.

You pick up the neon orange bottle with more confidence now, smearing it all over your lips. Once. Then twice. Then thrice. 

“I'm done” You smile and close your eyes, this game is so fun after all. 

You keep your eyes closed but hear the bed creaking under his weight as he crawls closer again. He's so so slow, it makes you want to pull him closer as fast as possible. It feels like he's doing it on purpose.  

He leans down, your eyes are still closed. You feel his hot breath hitting your skin, your slick lips offered to him. His lips feel softer this time on yours, he kisses you like he's trying to hold back. You know it, it happened before. It makes you feel a little more excited, knowing he's trying his best to control himself.

He licks your lips again. Once, then twice. Jake tilts his head slightly and licks your lips once again, this time he licks into your mouth. It's a bit awkward, he’s hesitant with it, but you let him. His hands find the side of your burning hot cheeks, and he tilts your head upwards for more availability. The angle feels better now, and you straight up make out at this point. His tongue finds yours continuously, and his lips are moving hungryly on yours. 

He kneels between your legs, but you feel him crawl closer, gesturing you to move back. And you do, until your back hits the bedframe. The kiss never breaks, his movements are far away from hesitant. Jake moves his hands from your cheeks to your waists, squeezing it slightly.

“This one is… good…” he manages to spit out, then he dives onto the softness of your lips again. 

Jake bites down your bottom lip, and you can't stop a small moan from getting out. You let your hands wander and you ran them through his soft brown hair, grabbing onto the back of his head to push him closer. 

His hands feel hot against your skin as he pushes your shirt upwards. 

He breaks the kiss, and you finally open your eyes to meet his. His pupils are blown wide and his whole face is red like he's tipsy, drunk on your lips. Not to talk about his glossy lips, the lipstick messily smeared all around his mouth, some of it on his cheeks. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks softly, tugging your shirt.

You nod and help him, then your eyes flick to his yellow-black striped shirt. A silent gesture, but he gets what you want immediately and takes it off. He tosses both of the shirts aside and fiddles with his zipper. Your eyes track his every movement. 

“Fuck” he cusses when he finally unbuttons his jeans and pulls it down, throwing it aside.

The next thing you know is that he’s on your neck, sucking on the smooth skin. It will probably leave marks later. 

He works his way down with his mouth, and you take a deep sigh before you look down at his back, watching how his back muscles flex with every movement, every time he leans lower and every time he moves his hands on your hips.

“Jake… Please” you beg. He looks up at you, his fingers hooking onto your pants as he pulls them down without teasing.

His tone is soft when he asks “Please what, angel?” 

You swallow, squirming in your place “I want you”

He smirks up, and moves back up to kiss you. As he kisses you, he still feels the vague taste of the Fanta on his tongue. He grinds his hips down, you feel his bulge against your panties, fabric to fabric.

“What do you want from me? Be specific?” He tilts his head, looking at you with those big puppy eyes.

You are sure you are about to melt. Why is he soft and cute, but also so handsome and hot at the same time? How is that possible?

You lick your lips, looking down at his body hovering above you. “I want you inside of me, please, Jake” you whisper. 

He smiles, grinding down again. His bulge presses to your wet panties, the fabric is — gosh — so thin. 

“Hm, what a nasty girl…” he mumbles, kissing on your cheek. “I gotta prepare you for that, then, because I don't think you can take it right away”

He drags a line with his index finger  across your chest, between your breasts, across your stomach, and then he plays with the lace of your panties for a while. Jake sees the anticipation on your face, and it makes him nearly laugh. He ends up letting out a small giggle as he pulls the panties down. 

How could he ever tease you rudely when you look at him so softly? 

He circles on your wet clit, and you let your head fall back on the bedframe. When you are about to catch your breath and get yourself together, you feel two of his long fingers sliding inside your dripping hole. Your hand flies to grab his muscular arm, letting out a moan. 

“Jake!” you scream when he curls his fingers inside, just the right way. He moves them fastly, setting up a rhythm. You clench around his fingers, the stretch makes you see stars when he scissors his fingers impatiently.

As he plumps his fingers inside with his right hand, he holds you in place with his other one, his thumb caressing your stomach. 

When you are about to burst, your mind going dizzier than ever, he pulls his fingers out. 

You take deep breaths, chest rising and falling heavily. He moves his hand up to your face and pushes his fingers inside of your mouth suddenly, forcing you to suck on them. Your mind is already so fucked up that you just do whatever he tells you to do. “Good…good girl” he mumbles, the sight of you sucking on his digits and tasting yourself turning him on more than it should be.

“Do you think you are ready now?” Jake asks but he's already pulling his boxers down, out of breath.

You nod, and watch him as he reaches to the bedside table and pulls out a condom and lube. He rolls up the condom and smears lube over his cock, making it slippery. Jake lines up against your entrance and he sucks his breath in as he pushes in. He always does this, you’ve noticed it already. 

You moan as your muscles tense, grabbing the sheets next to you to keep yourself steady. He stops, a small whine leaving his mouth.

“Are you okay?” He eyes you up and down, and his gaze sets on your face. You look at him, your eyes half lidded and your gaze hazy. 

“Yeah” you breath, barely audible. 

But Jake hears it, and he starts to move slowly. Even though he stretched you out with his fingers, you still feel like your walls are about to break at any moment.

You arch your back as he pushes again and bottoms out slowly. You feel him slightly shaking, a sign that he's still trying to control himself. 

His shaky breaths caresses your skin. 

“Jake” you mumble out, and he immediately looks at you. “You can go faster” you add.

You don't need to tell him twice, he picks his pace up and starts going in a faster rhythm, kneeling up on the bed so he can fuck inside you deeper. 

You moan out his name as he spreads your legs wider and lifts your hips. This angle makes it better to reach your G spot with every thrust, his movements getting smoother, the lube helping him out a lot. 

“So pretty and tight for me” Jake digs his nails onto your calves and moves them around his waist, gesturing you to lock them around him so he can get deeper. And you do it, trying to ignore the fact that your legs are beginning to give up and tremble.

Jake moves effortlessly in and out of you, and you open your teary eyes to look up at him, watching as he bites down his bottom lip. His muscles tense and flex with every move, and he keeps his eyes on your smooth wetness between your legs. The lube is mixed with your juices by now, and he can't get enough of the sight.

The bed creacks every time he bottoms out, the bed frame hitting the wall progressively. You grab the sheets like your life depends on it, the lipsticks slowly rolling to the edge of the bed until they fall down on the floor with a thud. 

You feel how you are falling apart slowly, your legs are undeniably trembling. Jake moves his hands from under your thighs to the curve of your ass, caressing in slightly. 

“Take it” he commands, thrusting hard. 

“Shit, Jake I’m going to—” without being able to finish the sentence, it happens. It's so sudden that you don't even realize what happens. 

Not until Jake stops his movements and pulls out. He leans down and presses a kiss on your neck, giggling “I didn't know I could make you squirt” 

You widen your eyes, the adrenaline still rushing through your body when you look down at your legs. Jake kneels up again and starts to stroke himself, looking at your pussy being covered in your juices you squirted out. Jake is also covered in it, his dick and abdomen glistering. 

Jake whimpers as he strokes himself, biting down his bottom lip. He comes into the condom with a whine escaping his lips a few moments later. He spanks your cunt with his dick, slightly pushing it between your wet folds. Then, he collapses onto the bed and steadies himself by putting his palms next to you on the bed. 

You are still dizzy and high by your enormous orgasm, probably your biggest one yet. You are also kinda shocked and embarrassed by how you ruined the sheets, but it seems like Jake isn't bothered by it. 

He lays down next to you, exhausted. You both turn to look at each other on the bed, just watching each other gasping for air. 

“I'm… sorry” you say after a few silent minutes, referring to the way your sheets are all wet now.

“Sorry? You don't have to be sorry” Jake smiles at your awkwardness. “This was probably our best session yet, if you’d ask me”

You can't help but smirk at that. “Yeah?”

Jake nods “Yes. Next time we play this guessing game we should spice it up a little”

You cock an eyebrow “Spice it up? This wasn't spicy enough?” 

“What I mean is that next time you should put it on your other lips” 

Your jaw nearly drops, and you hit his arm playfully. You try to hide how the idea doesn't make you disgusted at all, no, you will probably even think of it more than you should later. 

“You are such a freak, Jake Sim”

“But you love it” he leans closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. 

And you smile, feeling blessed that you have such a good boyfriend you can do things like this with. “I do”

[dionysusk]

finding out you weren't your boyfriend's type.

suguru never once gave you any reason to believe he didn't find you unbelievably beautiful. he's always touching you in some way, eyes fixated on you, and there's an unwavering soft smile on his face for you. he's been so attracted to you the second he met you.

but you're chatting with shoko and satoru one day when they let it slip that suguru's type used to be so different. they don't mention it maliciously, never intending to make you feel insecure! it was just casually stated and they really didn't think it would strike a chord in you.

he was attracted to a body type completely opposite to yours. you two never had any issues in the bedroom, but this is starting to make you feel more timid. suguru has been busy recently, but you've been wondering if that's why you two haven't been intimate lately.

it seems your personality wasn't one that would've caught suguru's attention either. learning this just made you feel like he's putting up with you. is he forcing himself to like you? do i annoy him? do i bore him? am i too loud around him? am i too anxious? the concerns go on and on, and your mind seems to forget the way he looks at you.

you forget how he makes you feel when he gazes at you so lovingly. suguru finds out about what you all talked about and he's eager to make it clear that you're absolutely all he wants, anyone he liked in the past pales in comparison to you.

[saintkaylaa]

Getting Primal .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, hiromi, toji

note: asking them not to shave their pubic area because you find it hot !

warnings: pubes, sexual, suggestive, cursing, crack, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?

[megumiangel]

HELUVME ! ☆ 07. i'm not unstable ⤷ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader

syn. you broke up two weeks ago... but you aren't quite done with megumi yet!

cw/tags. college/aged up megumi, he's mean, exes to lovers, kinda toxic? ANGST, jealousy, reader constantly provokes him ect. dirty/suggestive humour.

chapter 6 ☆ masterlist ☆ chapter 8

taglist 1 ☆ closed! ; @barsbymars @morganalatina21 @pawwwginaaa @simp-for-wanderer @vampshxde @kaemaybae @miniaturestudentspyhound @v4mp1r3b4tzz @birdflashhh @eloiki @jnnifrsbdy @ilovereddiewhydidhedie @in-aa @sxtellary  @strangedarlinggg @yumekoseiko @meguubear @estella-novella @princessxo2222 @6unchae @ackshit @fushifushii @stillsearching1name @sugerfilled @star-3214 @yeschefcarm @whispersofrealms @arabella0001 @mx-0-nchild @st31le @meikstv @d34ly  @werfiedeii @skeletaldynamolegion @ai-no-tegami @inkedtension @justanotherasiangirl @bubbleteaandboba @canthinkproperly @melisserzz-blog @star1nlght @love-me-satoru @jazzylicious8 @fleurdollies @ladyhesperus @onlyvicodine @1-akira-2 @miia-nguyen @celestial4ng3l @chosoissohotugh

[darlingragdoll]

Boobs are a better pillow

Yuji Itadori x reader

TW: fluff, naked intimacy (no lustful thoughts), female reader (no pronouns but sweet girl is used) nicknames (babe, baby, sweet girl), No specific boob sized mentioned, bad writing (like always)

⊹₊⟡⋆ → In which Yuji will not accept laying down anywhere but on your boobs (without the bra)

WC: 2.2k

After a long day at work, you finally get to go home and relax with your boyfriend, Yuji. 

​

He too was tired after a long day of killing curses and what not. All he had on his mind was getting home to you (who always gets home before him) and enjoying some quality time with you.

​

You and Yuji's favorite thing to do together after a long day was to embrace each other and cuddle, and that's what you both had done. You lie on your back flat against the couch as Yuji holds a remote up to the TV, flicking through shows and movies.

​

“Is there anything in particular you want to watch, babe?” Yuji wants to pick something both of you would enjoy watching together, but he also just can't decide for himself what he even wants to watch.

​

“I'm good with anything Ji.” There's that sweet nickname you've given him that he loves so much. He feels butterflies in his stomach every time he hears your voice say his nickname.

​

Yuji just picks a movie after struggling to find something that catches his attention. When the movie starts playing, he flips around to face you and rests his whole body flat against yours, his head on your chest as he sets the remote next to both of you.

​

A couple of minutes into the movie, Yuji has started to squirm against you. He’ll lift his head to reposition it back against your chest, or he’ll shift down just to shift back up. He couldn't stop moving. He was uncomfortable, and his level of comfort was starting to negatively affect yours.

​

“Yuji, baby. I love you, but if you don't stop moving, I'm gonna have to kick you off me.”

​

“Noo ok” he pouts, “I'll try to stop. it's just…mmh…”

​

“Just what?” you ask him when his face flushes pink and he doesn't finish his sentence.”

​

Yuji lifts his head off your chest and turns it so his chin is resting back on it.

​

He looks up into your eyes with furrowed brows that wrinkle his forehead, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout, he looks like a whining puppy. 

​

But puppies' cheeks don't turn pink like his. He looked embarrassed to say what he was about to say next. 

“Your bra is making it hard to get comfy, is all.” he pouts even more, hoping to convince you with his eyes to take it off.

​

“Yuji….”

​

“Mmhmplease. Can we take it off?”

​

“Why do you have to lie on my chest so badly?” Don't think for a second that you didn't want it off. Of course you did. Bras were like an invention from hell, comfort wise. But what was worse about bras wasn't actually wearing them. It was the hassle of having to take them off, especially when you were so tired and already resting comfortably.

​

“Why don't we find a more comfortable position for you?” you offer to him.

​

“NoO please… I wanna stay here. Isn't your bra uncomfortable anyway? You always complain about it when taking it off.” He got you there. He paid too much attention to you sometimes, not like you were complaining about it, though.

​

You've had a long day, though, and have honestly just ignored the uncomfortableness. Too tired to bother taking it off.

​

“I complain that much?”

​

With a nod of his head, he responds. “You even let out this cute sigh of relief the moment you take it off.

​

“I do not.” you argue with him.

​

“Yes huh.”

​

This conversation had caused a playful argument between you two. Both of you are too stubborn to let the other one win. When you ran out of things to say, you refused to stay silent and let him win.

​

With all of the strength you could muster up, you flip your body around, throwing Yuji off of you. He fell to the floor with an ‘oumf’ next to the couch.

​

Hiding your face in the backrest of the couch. You turn your back to Yuji, who remains lying on the floor.

​

Yuji gets up and leans his chin on the couch cushion next to your head so you can hear his whispers meant for you.

​

“Babe…” he whined to you like a child.

​

“Please?” he begged like a puppy wanting attention.

​

When you still didn't respond to him and continued to give him the cold shoulder, he became more persistent in getting your attention. He gets quiet behind you, standing up to his feet.

​

When no other noises come from him, you get worried that you had taken it too far and had accidentally hurt his poor feelings. Turning around with an apologetic look on your face, you're ready to apologise to him.

​

You twist your neck. Front half still facing the backrest of the couch, but your face is looking behind you to Yuji. Only Yuji wasn't where you had left him anymore.

​

“Uh! Yuji?!” you call out to him, thinking he had sulked off to go cry to himself to tease you.

​

Instead of a response from him, you get a noise coming from behind the couch.

​

Turning around to the back of the couch, you see Yuji peeking over the top of the couch at you, waiting for you to notice him. When you do, with a grin on Yuji's face, he jumps over the couch with control and gently lands back on top of you in his original cuddle position.

​

“AH! Yuji, come on your heavy!”

​

“You weren't complaining about that earlier, sweet girl.”

​

Yuji says playfully, his breath hitting your neck and tickling you as he laughs at your squeamishness. He had pushed his face into your neck, giving it small, sweet kisses. You could feel the way he breathed through his nose into your neck.

​

You kept squirming till Yuji finally laid off the kisses on your neck. Moving his lips to rest on your cheek, not to kiss, just to be close to your face as he asked his question.

​

“Can I please lie back down on your boobs?... no bra this time.” 

​

He asked with confidence, thinking his kisses had lifted your spirit. Not that you were ever actually upset with him. 

​

He was wrong. He could see on your face the conflict going on in your head.

​

It's not like you DIDNT want your bra off, you did, it's just A LOT of work to do.

​

You'd have to sit up. Pull your arms into your shirt, then pull and twist your bra till the clasp is on your stomach for easy access. Then you'd have to actually unclasp it, throw it off, and put your arms back into your shirt sleeve, and find that comfortable position you were once in, but end up never finding it.

​

You understand, it's not really all that much work if you actually think about it. But after the long day you've had. Anything sounds like more work to you, and more work isn't what you want to do.

Before you could think any longer and tell Yuji ‘No,’ the answer he's dreading to hear, he speaks up once more.

​

“I'll take it off FOR you, sweet girl.” He mumbled into your cheek.

​

You almost didn't understand what he said, but that's impossible when he's speaking right into your cheek, next to your ear.

​

He lets out a little giggle as you attempt to side eye him. Struggling to meet his eyes fully, given how close his own eyes were to yours.

​

You don't say any words to Yuji, you just raise your arms over your head. That action of yours however, is enough to tell Yuji you're allowing him to do what he's been begging for all this time.

​

Yuji had gotten onto his knees for balance. Each one is placed next to your hips so he doesn't accidentally squish you in the process of taking your shirt off, now kneeling over you.

​

He placed his hands on your waist, giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

​

“Thank you, baby.” Yuji leans down to whisper into your cheek again, before gripping your shirt in his hands and pulling it off and over your head.

​

When he had taken your shirt off, it had tousled your hair a bit, making it messy, but neither of you cared as Yujis' next actions made your breath stop for a moment. 

​

Yuji had tossed your shirt off somewhere across the room and moved his hands back to your body to start doing what he's been wanting to do since he had laid down on your chest.

​

His hands had moved back to your waist, warm from his body heat, before slowly sliding them up and behind your back to find the clasp of your bra.

​

You had arched your back a little to allow easy access to your back for Yuji. Pushing your chest up into his as he sweetly looked into your eyes.

​

So sweet, and so innocent. Yuji wasn't lustfully looking at your chest that was touching his own. He was staring deeply into your eyes, his own eyes heavy and lidded. Either from the long day he's had himself or because of all the love he feels for you.

​

Yuji's hands had found your bra clasp, and with experience, he had unclasped it like the countless of other times he had. 

​

After your bra was unclasped, he leaned in closer to your face.

​

You met him halfway. Unarching your back to lean your shoulders up and wrap your arms around his neck for a slow kiss as his hands continued to travel up your back. The warmth from his hands lingered.

​

His hands traveled up to your shoulders, grasping your bra straps along the way as he released you from the kiss.

​

Once he had pulled your bra down your arms and off your body, you let out a big sigh of relief, feeling satisfied at the comfort that came with your bra being gone.

​

“See! You're doing it again. I told you, you do that.”

​

“Shh, whatever, Yuji.”

​

Now your chest is exposed. Nipples starting to stiffen from the sudden cold air. But not for long.

​

Yuji, with a youthful glee, had raised your bra over both of you in the air. “Yes!! Finally, it's off! Yuji Itadori, you've done it again! Another win for Yuji!” He giggled.

​

His laugh was so contagious that you yourself couldn't hold back your laugh from his silliness. 

​

Yuji had tossed your bra aside as well before leaning his face back down.

​

With his butt high in the air, Yuji wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, resting his cheek back onto your breast, blocking the continuous air flow from hitting just one of your nipples.

​

“See? Doesn't that feel much better, baby?”

​

“Put your butt down, femboy.” you say flatly in playful annoyance.

​

He's got you down to a T. Knowing what you're feeling and thinking before even thinking and feeling it.

​

“Yes ma’am.” He said in urgency, slamming his hips down to rest flat on you, just like before, when you had both started the movie.

​

Both of your guys' attention had returned to the movie, though it was hard to follow along and understand anything going on now, from both of you not paying attention to it earlier.

​

“That movie sucked.” He mumbled into your chest as his cheek and face were squished up.

​

“Yeah, it did.” you agree, closing your eyes as the end credits started to roll.

​

You're on the verge of falling asleep. After the long day you've had and Yuji's body heat and weight splayed out on top of you, how could you not after the long day you had?

​

The warm touch of Yuji's hand on your other naked breast had made you jump. Not expecting the touch.

​

“Yuji…”

​

“Yea baby?”

​

“You said you only wanted to rest on them.”

​

“I am”

​

Too tired to care for his actions, you let him continue. If anything, it was almost comforting. His warm body on you, his comforting weight grounding you, and his calloused hands not sexually squeezing or fondling, but just slightly holding and, on occasion, rubbing his thumb in circles on you softly. It's almost as if he were comforting himself.  

​

You had fallen asleep to his comforting touch. Yuji could tell with his head pressed to your chest. It was easy to hear the moment your heartbeat settled into a steady pace. Sitting there and listening to it was like heaven to his ears, it was the only thing he could focus on other than your soft skin under his cheek and palm.

​

It was the loudest thing in the room, your heartbeat that is, not the TV. The TV had long been turned off after the end credits started rolling. The atmosphere was perfect for Yuji himself to fall asleep. 

​

Streaks of sunlight had peeped in through the curtain, waking you up. Yuji's weight was still on top of you. The moment was peaceful.

​

When the feel of something warm running down the curve of your boob had made you jump slightly, you tried your best not to wake Yuji up after the long day he had had himself yesterday.

​

You looked down thinking some spider thought it was invited to the cuddle session with you and Yuji, only to not find anything, but your small jump from earlier had caused him to stir a bit and… oh… Yujis is just drooling. Mouth slightly agape and his cheek still smooshed from the curve of your breast.  

​

Guess your boobs really were that good of Pillows.

​

Damn you, Yuji…

Authors Ending Note: I might come back to this and fix it up a bit, I did read over it but got lazy and just started skimming through (I hate reading my own writing - ok)

Photos found on Pinterest, Divider credits in tags

[hoonguin]

polka dots‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ✿‎ ‎ ⁠. ۫ ·‎ ‎ 西村力

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊

✷ nishimura riki spends an entire luxury fashion event forcing himself to stay composed while watching another man flirt with you, his oblivious fiancée, only to completely lose the battle against his jealousy the second you guys get home !

pairings ⸝⸝ fiancée‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎!riki ✿ oblivious!f!rea ‎ ‎ ✉️‎ ‎ ‎ wc ⸝⸝ 10.0k

🗯️ 内容‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, public event tension, lots of emotional intimacy and domestic moments, jealousy, reassurance, possessive behavior, markings, praise kink, edging, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), face fucking, tipsy sex, unprotected p in v, dacryphilia, creampie !

EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : again, i got a bit carried away with this one so oops ! this may lowkenuinely be one of my most favorite fics i’ve written for this event >< if it wasn’t already obvious, i’m a complete sucker for fashion, polka dots (swear on my life i loved them before they became a trend everywhere), and anything nishimura riki 😚 requested by my one and only @vmpiricou, of course! aaand technically this isn’t even an event request, but a request that’s been rotting in my brain and inbox for forever now, so i thought it’d be the perfect addition to the lineup . . . basically a two-in-one request fic hehe ! enjoooooy <33 mwehehehehe with much love

The invitation had come in the mail three weeks prior, thick, cream-coloured cardstock with the Prada logo embossed in matte black foil, the kind of paper that felt like money between your fingertips. 

A winter showcase. 

An outdoor installation that merged fashion and architecture, held on the grounds of a privately owned estate just outside the city, where hedges were trimmed into geometric shapes and the fountains had been drained for the season so they wouldn't crack under the frost. 

You'd been on the guest list before, your brand had collaborated with half the houses present tonight alone, but this year felt different. 

This year, you weren't just a designer in attendance. You were the fiancée of one of Prada's youngest ambassadors, and the whole world knew it.

You'd spent the entire morning preparing. Not because you needed the time, you could throw together a look in twenty minutes flat, a skill honed from years of running your own label, but because the outfit required precision. 

Every detail was deliberate, every accessory a statement, and if there was one thing you refused to do, it was to show up to a Prada event looking anything less than editorial.

The fuzzy grey high-neck winter jacket was your own design, a prototype from your upcoming fall-winter collection that you'd finished stitching at two in the morning the night before. 

The thick scarf wrapped around your neck was a mix of blue, white, grey, and brown plaid patterns, hand-woven by a small atelier that was run by the sister of your online friend in Scotland that you'd been supporting since your brand first turned a profit. 

The black mini-skirt was deceptively simple, a high-waisted silhouette that hugged your hips just right, the hem hitting mid-thigh. 

Your brown winter boots were lined with shearling, practical but polished, the kind of footwear that said you understood the assignment: fashion first, frostbite second.

But the highlight, the pièce de résistance, was the tights.

Black polka dot tights. 

Tiny white dots scattered across the sheer black fabric, close enough together to form a pattern but far enough apart that you could still see skin underneath. The dots caught the light differently depending on the angle, shifting from stark white to almost pearlescent when you crossed your legs. You'd spent an embarrassing amount of time deliberating over them, holding up pair after pair in front of your full-length mirror until Riki had finally wandered into your studio, chin resting on your shoulder, arms looping around your waist, and murmured, "The polka dots. Obviously."

You were also wearing a pair of black-framed glasses, rounded, slightly oversized, with thin metal arms, that Riki had gifted you on your six-month anniversary. He'd picked them up from a vintage shop in Harajuku during a tour stop, tucked them into his carry-on between his passport and a half-eaten pack of melon bread, and presented them to you in the back of a van with his manager yelling at him to hurry up. 

The frames suited you in a way that made his chest tight every time you put them on, which was precisely why he'd bought them. Your hair was curled at the ends, soft waves framing your face, and your bangs were clipped back with two small silver clips, half-moon shaped, another one of your designs. White fuzzy earmuffs sat over your ears, the kind that looked like they belonged on a snow bunny in a 1960s ski film.

When you finally emerged from the bedroom, Riki was leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone with a glass of water in his other hand. He glanced up, did a full double-take, and then just — stopped.

His phone slipped. Not all the way, not dramatically, but enough that he fumbled to catch it, his fingers closing around it a second too late, and it clattered against the marble countertop with a sound that made you wince.

"Riki—"

"Don't move."

"Huh?"

"I said don't move." He set his glass down carefully, deliberately, like he was afraid any sudden movement would shatter the image in front of him. His eyes dragged over you slowly, from the earmuffs perched on your head to the glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, down the column of your neck wrapped in plaid, the grey jacket, the mini-skirt, the polka dot tights, the boots, and something in his expression shifted. His lips parted. His throat worked. He looked, for a moment, like a man who had just realised he was thoroughly, devastatingly out of his depth.

"You look," he started, and then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "You look unreal."

"You already said that when I tried on the jacket last week."

"I meant it then and I mean it now." He pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in three long strides, his hands finding your waist like they were magnetised to the spot. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips. "The tights," he said, voice low. His fingers skimmed down your side, over your hip, settling at the bare strip of thigh between your skirt hem and the top of your boots. "The tights are going to be a problem."

"Ow, you don't like them?"

"I like them too much." He kissed you then, soft and slow, his thumb tracing circles on the outside of your thigh where the polka dots pressed against your skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and there was a faint smudge of your lip gloss on his bottom lip. "We're going to be late."

"You started it."

"I'm aware." He smiled, the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed the slight overlap of his front teeth. "Come on, baby. Car's waiting."

Riki's outfit was, by his own admission, "an attempt at restraint." A black puffer jacket with a fur-trimmed hood that made him look like he'd stepped out of a streetwear lookbook, a white sweater peeking out from underneath the hem and collar, baggy denim jeans that sat low on his hips in that effortlessly cool way that only he could pull off, and his trusty pair of winter boots, the same ones he'd worn to three different fashion weeks and refused to replace because, in his words, "they're broken in perfectly." Around his neck was a striped blue scarf that you were eighty percent sure he'd stolen from your dad's closet last Christmas, but you didn't have the heart to call him out on it because he looked so damn cozy wearing it.

The estate was beautiful in the way that only places with old money could be, ivory walls and wrought-iron gates, gravel paths that crunched underfoot, and a sprawling garden that had been transformed for the event. 

Heaters stood at intervals along the walkways, glowing orange against the early evening dark, and sheer tents had been erected over the main areas, their fabric catching the golden light of the chandeliers suspended within. 

The air smelled like pine and expensive perfume, and everywhere you looked, someone was wearing something that cost more than a semester of tuition.

You and Riki entered together, his hand resting on the small of your back, and the cameras erupted. Flash after flash after flash, a wall of white light that made your glasses reflect like mirrors, and Riki's grip on you tightened, not out of possessiveness, but out of practice. He'd learned to guide you through crowds like this, his body angling to shield you from the worst of the surge, his hand a steady anchor against the chaos.

"Over here, Mr. Nishimura!"

"Miss! Miss, over here! The tights—who designed them?"

"Are those your own brand? Can you confirm—"

You smiled, tilted your chin, let the cameras capture the outfit from every angle. Riki did the same beside you, effortless, practiced, the product of years in an industry that demanded you be both accessible and untouchable. But just before you stepped past the photo wall and into the venue proper, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your temple, and the resulting shutter sound was deafening.

"You're killing me," he muttered against your hair.

"Behave."

"No."

The event was the kind of thing that looked effortless but required an exhausting amount of social choreography. You and Riki had been seated at different tables, his as Prada's ambassador, yours as the founder of your label, and while the tables were only about twenty feet apart, the distance felt insurmountable in a room where every conversation was a negotiation and every smile was a calculated move.

You handled your end with the ease of someone who'd been doing this since she was nineteen, when your grandmother's old sewing machine had been your only investment and your kitchen table had been your cutting room. 

You shook hands with buyers, charmed editors, laughed at jokes that weren't funny, and somehow managed to compliment someone's shoes without lying. 

Your grandmother had raised you to be warm, to hug people when you met them, to touch their arm when you laughed, to lean in close when they spoke so they knew you were listening. It was second nature to you, as automatic as breathing, and in the fashion industry, where everyone was accustomed to a certain degree of frostiness, your affection was disarming.

Which was how you found yourself in conversation with a man whose name you hadn't quite caught, something French, maybe, or Belgian, who had apparently designed the installation's centrepiece and was very keen to tell you about it.

"Your work is extraordinary," he was saying, his accent rounding out the consonants in a way that made everything sound like a compliment. "The way you construct silhouettes—it's architectural. Structural. I see a lot of myself in it."

"Oh, thank you!" You beamed at him, genuine and bright, because you appreciated any kind of comparison to architecture. Your grandmother had been a seamstress, yes, but she'd also been the daughter of a carpenter, and she'd always told you that building a garment was no different from building a house, you needed a strong frame, good materials, and a steady hand. "That means a lot coming from you. The centrepiece is incredible, by the way. The use of negative space—"

He stepped closer. You didn't notice. You were too busy gesturing at the installation, your hands painting shapes in the air the way they always did when you were excited about something. He reached up and adjusted the clip in your bangs, his fingers brushing against your hairline, and said, "This was falling. I fixed it."

"Oh! Thank you," you said, smiling. "These clips are tricky, they slip sometimes—"

"Your glasses too. May I?" And before you could respond, he was sliding them further up the bridge of your nose, his fingertips grazing your cheek, and you blinked at the proximity but didn't pull away because why would you? He was being helpful. He was being nice. That was a thing people did — they helped each other. Your grandmother had always said that kindness was free and should be given freely, and you'd lived your whole life by that philosophy.

Across the venue, Riki was in the middle of a conversation with a Prada executive about an upcoming campaign, and he was doing an admirable job of appearing engaged. 

He was nodding at the right moments, asking the right follow-up questions, even managing a convincing laugh when the executive made a joke about a rival house. But his attention was divided. It had been divided since the moment you'd separated, his eyes tracking you across the room like a compass needle finding north, and right now, that needle was spinning wildly.

He saw it all.

He saw the man lean in too close — close enough that his breath was probably visible in the cold air between your faces. He saw the hand that reached up to fix your clip, fingers lingering a beat too long against your hair. He saw the way the man adjusted your glasses, his touch drifting from the frame to your cheek like it belonged there. He saw the way you smiled up at the man, bright and completely, heartbreakingly oblivious, because you were you, and you assumed the best in everyone, and it had never once occurred to you that someone might be using the excuse of helpfulness to touch you in ways that made Riki's blood pressure spike.

His grip on his champagne flute tightened. The glass was sturdy, Prada didn't skimp on glassware, but he could feel the tension in his knuckles, the fine tremor of restraint running through his forearm.

"Nishimura?" The executive's voice cut through. "You had thoughts on the Milan venue?"

"Sorry, yeah." He dragged his gaze back to the conversation, forced his expression into something neutral. "The Milan venue is great. The lighting is the main thing—we need to make sure the—"

The man had his hand on your shoulder now. Your shoulder. He was leaning down to say something near your ear, his thumb rubbing small circles against the wool of your jacket, and you were nodding along, completely unaware of the way his eyes were tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone visible above the high neck of your jacket.

Riki smiled through it. He smiled through the next conversation too, and the one after that, and the one after that. He smiled when a photographer asked for a solo shot, and he smiled when a stylist complimented his scarf, and he smiled when a fellow ambassador asked about the ring on your finger, visible now that you'd taken your gloves off to accept a drink, because what the hell could he say? That he wanted to cross the room, slide his arm around your waist, and tell every man within a ten-foot radius to back the fuck off? That he wanted to bite the spot where that stranger's thumb had touched your shoulder? That he was actively restraining himself from doing something that would end up on every gossip account by midnight?

He could practically see the tweets already. 

Oh my god.

PRADA’S NISHIMURA RIKI CAUSES SCENE AT PRADA EVENT—JEALOUS BOYFRIEND OR JUST BAD TEMPER? followed by a thread of clips taken from unflattering angles and captioned with takes so hot they could melt the ice on the garden paths. 

He could see the think pieces, the psychoanalysis, the stan Twitter wars between people who thought he was justified and people who thought he was toxic, and neither side would be right because neither side knew the truth — they didn't know that you were the most oblivious person on the planet, that you thought everyone was just being friendly, that if someone flirted with you using the subtlety of a sledgehammer you'd probably just think they had great posture.

So Riki stayed where he was. He smiled. He networked. He kept his grip on his champagne flute tight enough that the tendons in his hand stood out like cords, and he watched, and he waited, and every time the man touched your shoulder, three times, he counted them, three goddamn times, he filed the number away like a brand seared into his memory.

By the time the event wound down, Riki had shaken approximately forty hands, smiled through approximately sixty conversations, and consumed approximately four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. 

He was tipsy, not sloppy, not sloppy enough for anyone to notice, but just enough that the edges of things had gone soft and warm and his tongue felt loose behind his teeth. The buzz was pleasant, distracting, a buffer between his brain and the image of that man's hand on your shoulder that he kept replaying like a scene he couldn't stop watching.

You found him near the exit, adjusting his scarf with one hand and his phone with the other, and you slipped your arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Ready to go, baby?"

"Yeah." His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, let's go."

The car was waiting — a sleek black sedan with tinted windows, booked privately through the service Riki always used when he didn't want the company van's driver to overhear whatever half-coherent conversation would inevitably happen on the ride home. You climbed in first, pulling your earmuffs off and shaking out your hair, and Riki followed, immediately reaching for the partition button to close off the driver's compartment.

Then you were on him.

Not in a sexual way, not consciously, but in the way you always were when you'd been apart from him for more than an hour. You pressed yourself against his side, your cheek finding the curve of his shoulder, your fingers walking up the front of his puffer jacket to fiddle with the zipper pull. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another to the spot just below his ear, and you could feel the way his pulse jumped under your lips even though his posture remained carefully, deliberately relaxed.

"I missed you," you murmured against his skin. "The event was so, so long, baby. I kept looking over at you."

"Did you?" His arm came up around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against the curve of your arm. The gesture was affectionate, automatic, but there was something in the rhythm of it that felt… off. Like a metronome that was slightly out of time. "I was watching you too."

"Were you?" You smiled against his neck, your nose brushing the collar of his sweater. "Did you like how I handled the Barneys buyer? I think I got them to commit to the spring line—"

"You seemed pretty busy." The words were casual. Too casual. The kind of casual that was constructed, deliberate, a mask placed over something sharper. "With that guy."

"What guy?" You pulled back just enough to look at him, your brow furrowed. Your glasses had slipped down your nose again, and you pushed them up absently. "Oh—you mean the installation designer? He was super sweet, Ki! He helped me fix my clip, and he had really interesting things to say about textile architecture. Did you know he studied under—"

"He was flirting with you."

The car took a turn, and the glow of a streetlight swept across Riki's face, illuminating the hard set of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the way his eyes were fixed on the window instead of on you. You stared at him, blinking.

"He was what?"

"Flirting. With you." Each word was clipped, precise, like he was biting them in half before they could escape. "He touched your hair. Your face. Your shoulder—three times. He was leaning in so close I could practically see his dental work."

"Oh." You sat back slightly, processing this information the way you processed most social cues with a delay long enough to be endearing and a little bit tragic. "He was... flirting? With me? But he was just being nice. He fixed my glasses, Riki. Who fixes someone's glasses if they're not being nice?"

"Someone who wants an excuse to touch your face," Riki said flatly. "Someone who sees an opening and takes it because you're too sweet to notice that he's not being nice, he's being interested, and there's a difference, and you—"

He stopped himself. Exhaled through his nose. His jaw worked, the muscle there jumping, and you watched the tension ride through his frame like a current, shoulders rigid, fingers flexing against your arm, the tendons in his neck taut. He looked like he was physically holding something back, and the realisation hit you like cold water.

"Baby," you said softly, reaching up to touch his face. "Hey. Look at me."

He did. His eyes were dark in the low light of the car, the amber of the passing streetlamps catching in them intermittently, and there was something raw there, something unguarded that made your chest ache. You'd seen Riki walk for ten thousand people. You'd seen him navigate boardrooms and red carpets and interviews with the ease of someone who'd been trained to be likable since he was fourteen. 

But this — this was different. 

This was your Riki, the one who got sulky when you ate the last mochi, the one who practiced his confession in the mirror for three days before actually saying it, the one who was sitting in the back of a black sedan with champagne-warmth in his veins and jealousy sitting heavy and obvious in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you said, and you meant it. You were sorry — not for being friendly, because that was who you were and he'd never ask you to change, but for not noticing, for making him sit through that, for being the kind of person who could have a man practically draw her a map to his intentions and still think he was just being polite. "I didn't realize. I would've—I should have—"

"It's not your fault." He said it quietly, firmly, and his hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing your palm against his skin like he needed the warmth. "I know that's just how you are. I know you don't see it. That's not—you're not the problem, okay? That bitch is the problem. I just—" He exhaled again, sharper this time, and his eyes fluttered shut. "It drove me insane. Standing there, watching him touch you like that, and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't just walk over there without it being a whole thing, and I knew if I said something it'd be everywhere, and—"

"Ki."

"—and he just kept touching you, and you were smiling at him, fuck, and I know you didn't mean anything by it, but you're mine, and—"

"Riki."

He stopped. Opened his eyes. Looked at you with that expression you'd only ever seen in the privacy of your shared spaces, hungry and soft and a little bit desperate, like he was standing at the edge of something and needed permission to fall.

"I'm yours," you said simply. "You know that."

"I know." His voice was rough. The champagne had loosened something in him, stripped away the careful composure, and what was left was raw and wanting. "I know. I just—need to remind myself."

The rest of the drive was quiet, but it wasn't the comfortable kind. 

It was the kind of quiet that hummed with tension, that filled the space between your bodies like static electricity, that made every point of contact, his hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on the inside of your wrist, feel charged and significant. 

You pressed more kisses to his cheek, leaving faint traces of lipstick like signatures, and he let you, his eyes half-closed and his jaw still tight, and the offness you'd sensed earlier crystallised into something you could finally name.

He was jealous. He was jealous, and he was tipsy, and he was holding himself together with the kind of restraint that was fraying at the edges.

The house was warm when you walked in, you'd left the smart thermostat on before you left, and the heat had been cranking for the past four hours, turning the space into a cocoon against the winter chill outside. 

You kicked off your boots in the entryway, your feet finding the hardwood in just your tights, and you were reaching for the zipper of your jacket when Riki's hands found you.

Not your jacket. 

You. 

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his face pressing into the curve of your neck, and his entire body folded into yours like a building collapsing in slow motion. 

He was heavy, taller than you by nearly a head, broader across the shoulders, all long limbs and lean muscle, and when he let go, he let go, his weight sagging against your back until you staggered slightly under the pressure.

"Whoa, hey—"

"You're mine." The words were muffled against your neck, damp and warm, and his arms tightened around your waist like he was trying to press you into himself, eliminate any space between your bodies. "You're mine, and he was touching you, and I couldn't—I wanted to—"

"I know, baby. I know." You turned in his arms, your hands coming up to cradle his face, and he looked at you with eyes that were glassy and dark and so painfully honest that it made your heart crack open. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've noticed, I should've—"

"Don't apologize." He shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead in that way that always made you want to push it back. "Don't. It's not—it's not your fault. You're too good. You're too good and people take advantage of it and it makes me—"

He broke off, his throat working, and something shifted in his expression. 

The whine was still there, the babyish, I-need-complaint pout that he wore when he was feeling small and wanted to be coddled, but underneath it, something else was surfacing. 

Something harder. Hotter. The jealousy that had been simmering all evening was reaching its boiling point, and the warmth from the champagne was fanning the flames.

"Enough." His voice dropped. Not angry, never angry with you, but firm, decided, the kind of firm that brokered no argument. "I've been patient all night. I've been good. I've smiled and shaken hands and let that man put his hands on what's mine without saying a word, and I'm done being patient."

Your breath caught. "Riki—"

"I need to mark you." He said it like a confession, like something he'd been holding behind his teeth all evening and could finally release. "I need to mark you, doll. I need to see my marks on you so that the next time someone thinks they can touch you, they'll see them and know."

He kissed you then, not the soft, reverent kisses from the car but something deeper, harder, his teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging until you gasped into his mouth. 

His hands were everywhere: cupping your jaw, tangling in your hair, sliding down your back to grip your hips and pull you flush against him. You could feel the heat of him even through the layers of your jacket and his puffer, the hard line of his body pressing against yours, and the champagne on his tongue was sweet and sharp and made your head spin.

"Up," he muttered against your lips, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck and held on as he carried you down the hallway to your bedroom.

He kicked the door open, not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough that it bounced off the wall, and laid you down on the bed with a care that contradicted the urgency of his movements. You sank into the duvet, your hair fanning out across the pillows, and he stood over you for a moment, chest heaving, eyes dragging down your body like he was committing every detail to memory.

"Keep the tights on," he said, and his voice was hoarse.

You blinked up at him. "What?"

"The tights." He sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, his hands finding your ankles and sliding up reverently over the smooth fabric dotted with tiny white polka dots. "Keep them on, baby. I have... plans."

His fingers traced the pattern, pressing gently into the sheer fabric, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath. The polka dots were like Braille under his fingertips, tiny raised dots that he read like a language only he knew. 

He pushed your mini-skirt up, baring the expanse of your thighs, and the sound he made, low, guttural, somewhere between a groan and a growl, sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"God, these tights." He pressed his lips to your knee, then to the soft skin above it, the fabric of the tights a whisper-thin barrier between his mouth and your skin. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me tonight? Walking around in these—looking like that—and then letting some other man put his hands on you—"

"I didn't know—"

"I know you didn't, doll. That's what makes it worse." He kissed the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed and hot, and your breath hitched. "You're so trusting. So sweet. You think everyone's just being nice, and meanwhile I'm standing across the room watching some guy memorize the shape of your body through these—" He bit down. Not hard enough to hurt, not yet, but hard enough that you felt the pressure of his teeth through the thin fabric, and you let out a startled, breathy sound that was half gasp and half moan.

"Riki—"

"He touched your shoulder three times." He bit down again, harder this time, and this time there was no mistaking it, he was leaving a mark, his teeth indenting the skin of your inner thigh through the polka dot tights, and the contrast was devastating: the delicate pattern of dots, the dark fabric, and the red bloom of a bruise rising underneath. "Three times. I counted. I counted every single time his hand made contact with your body, and each time I wanted to break his fingers."

"Baby—"

"Three." He bit down again, higher up on your thigh, and you arched off the bed with a cry that you muffled against the back of your hand. The pain was sharp and bright, but it faded almost immediately into something warm and throbbing, and when you looked down, you could see the mark already forming, a dark, mouth-shaped bruise against the polka dot fabric, the white dots like witnesses to the claim.

"Two." Another bite, on the other thigh now, and his tongue swept over the mark after, soothing and wet and obscenely hot through the tights. You were trembling, your fingers twisted in the duvet, your glasses askew on your face, and he hadn't even taken off a single piece of your clothing.

"One." The last bite was the hardest, placed high on your inner thigh where the skin was softest and the tights were stretched thin, and you felt the sting of it all the way down to your toes. He pulled back to admire his work, and the sound he made, low, satisfied, almost predatory, made heat pool in your stomach. Three marks. Three whole ass bites. One for each time that man had touched you, each one a brand that would darken over the next few days into deep, mottled purple.

"Perfect," he breathed. His fingers traced the marks, pressing lightly, watching the way your breath stuttered. "You look so pretty with my marks on you, angel. So pretty. And everyone's gonna know. Not that they'd see these—" He dragged his thumb over the bruise on your inner thigh, and you whimpered. "But I'll know. And you'll know. And every time you move your legs tomorrow, you're going to feel them and remember that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whispered, and you meant it with every cell in your body.

He smiled at that, not the sharp, possessive smile from before, but something softer, something that cracked through the jealousy like sunlight through clouds. "Yeah," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hands were still pressing bruises into your thighs. "Yeah, you are."

He reached for the waistband of your tights then, hooking his fingers under the elastic and dragging them down your hips slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of newly exposed skin. The tights peeled off like a second skin, the polka dots sliding away from the bruises he'd left, and he tossed them somewhere over his shoulder without looking. 

Your underwear followed, a scrap of black lace that he pulled down with his teeth, and the visual of it, Riki on his knees, his eyes dark and fixed on your face, his mouth dragging lace down your thighs, was enough to make your breath come in shallow, desperate pants.

"Ki, please—"

"Please what?" He settled between your legs, his breath warm against your inner thighs, his lips ghosting over the marks he'd left. "Tell me what you want, doll. You have a mouth for a reason."

"Your mouth. Please—I need—"

"What do you mean by please?" He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him, and his tongue darted out to taste the mark he'd left. 

The sensation was electric, warm and not nearly enough, and you squirmed beneath him, your hips lifting off the bed in silent pleading.

"I need your mouth on me. Please, Ki. Please, baby."

"Good girl." The words vibrated against your skin, and then his mouth was on you, and you stopped thinking entirely.

He was thorough. 

He was always thorough, Riki had never done anything half-heartedly in his life, and that included this, but tonight there was an edge to it, a hunger that bordered on desperation. His tongue was hot and precise, mapping every fold and curve with the focus of a cartographer charting new territory, and when he found the spot that made your back arch off the mattress, he stayed there, circling and pressing and sucking until you were making sounds you didn't recognise.

"Riki—oh god—Ki—"

He groaned against you, the vibration of it shooting through your body like a shockwave, and his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises alongside the bite marks. 

He was making noises too, low and guttural sounds that were half-moan and half-growl, the kind of sounds that came from a man who was losing himself in the taste of you, who couldn't stop even if he wanted to, who was drunk on champagne and jealousy and the sweetness of your body on his tongue.

"You taste so good," he murmured against you, his voice wrecked. "So fucking good, angel. My doll. Mine."

"Yours—ah—yours, baby, I'm—"

He didn't let you finish the sentence. His tongue flattened against you, broad and wet and relentless, and he licked into you with a determination that made your vision blur. Your glasses were completely fogged now, the lenses clouded with heat and moisture, and you reached up blindly to pull them off, tossing them somewhere on the nightstand, and the world went soft and dark at the edges. Not that you needed to see. You could feel every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips, every sharp inhale he took between your legs like he was breathing you in.

The orgasm built slowly, a tightening coil in your lower belly that wound tighter with every stroke of his tongue. You could feel it approaching, cresting, your thighs shaking around his head, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even though closer was physically impossible—

And then he stopped.

You made a sound of protest that was embarrassingly close to a sob, your hips chasing his mouth, but he pulled back just out of reach, his hands pressing your thighs down against the mattress. "Not yet," he said, and his voice was steady even though his lips were swollen and glistening and his chest was heaving. "You don't get to come yet."

"What—why—"

"Three." He said it simply, and the meaning crashed over you like cold water. Three. Three edges. Three denials. One for each time that man had touched your shoulder, one for each moment Riki had watched from across the room and done nothing. This was the reckoning.

"Riki, I can't—"

"You can." He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, gentle and reassuring. "You can, and you will. Because I asked you to. Because you're mine, and you're going to take what I give you, and you're going to be good for me. Can you do that, doll?"

Your eyes were stinging. Your body was thrumming with unresolved tension, every nerve ending screaming for release, and he was asking you to hold on, to wait, to endure. But the way he was looking at you, soft and dark and so full of love that it made your chest ache, made it impossible to say no.

"Yes," you whispered. "Yes, I can be good for you."

"My good girl." He smiled, and then he was moving, shedding his puffer jacket and pulling his sweater over his head, revealing the lean lines of his torso, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and the faint definition of his abs. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful, but like this, dishevelled and hungry and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, he was absolutely devastating.

"Come here," you whispered, reaching for him, and he went.

He kissed you as he settled over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and strange. His hands worked at the remaining pieces of your outfit, the jacket, the scarf, the mini-skirt, until you were bare beneath him, your skin flushed and dotted with the marks he'd already left, and he pulled back to look at you again.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "So fucking beautiful, and you're mine. Say it again."

"I'm yours, Ki."

"Again."

"I'm yours. Only yours. Always yours."

He kissed you harder, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, his touch feather-light and burning. "This body," he murmured against your jaw. "This body is mine. Every inch of it. Every curve. Every mark." 

His lips found your breast, his tongue circling your nipple, and you arched into the wet heat with a broken moan. "He can look all he wants. He can fix your glasses and adjust your clips and touch your shoulder until his fingers fall off. But at the end of the night, this—" He bit down gently on the swell of your breast, and you keened. "—this comes home to me."

"Yes—yes, baby, always—"

"Open your mouth for me, doll."

You did, without hesitation, without question, because you trusted him with every fibre of your being and because the look in his eyes right now, the raw and naked need, made it impossible to do anything but surrender. 

He shifted, his knees bracketing your shoulders, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he freed himself from his jeans, the hard length of him bobbing heavily against his stomach.

He was big. 

You'd never gotten used to it — the first time you'd been together, you'd actually laughed, because what else were you supposed to do when confronted with something that looked like it belonged in a textbook? He'd been mortified until you'd explained, and then he'd been insufferably smug about it for approximately five weeks. Now, though, there was no laughter — only hunger, only want, only the desperate need to feel him in whatever way he'd give you.

"Tap my thigh if it's too much," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hand was shaking where it gripped the headboard. "Okay?"

"Okay."

He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, and you opened wider, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of him, and the sound he made, a sharp, bitten-off groan that he tried to swallow and failed, sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. 

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, and you felt the stretch of him, the weight, the girth, the way he filled your mouth until your jaw ached with the effort of accommodating him.

"Fuck," he breathed. His head fell back, the long line of his throat exposed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Fuck, doll, your mouth—"

You hummed around him, and his hips jerked forward, pushing himself deeper, and you fought your gag reflex bravely, your throat fluttering around the intrusion. He noticed, he always noticed, and his hand came down to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek in a gesture that was so tender it made your eyes water.

"You're doing so good," he said, and the praise washed over you like warm honey. "So good for me, angel. Taking me so well. My perfect girl."

He started to move then, shallow thrusts at first, letting you set the pace, but gradually deeper, faster, his hips rocking into your mouth with a rhythm that was steadily losing its restraint. 

The sounds he was making were obscene: low, rumbling moans that came from somewhere deep in his chest, punctuated by breathless curses and fragments of your name. He was vocal always, had been since the very beginning, the first time you'd been together he'd been so loud that his neighbour had pounded on the wall and he'd just laughed, breathless and unashamed, but tonight, with the champagne stripping away his inhibitions, he was practically singing.

"Ah—fuck, yes—just like that, doll—your mouth feels so—god—"

His hand fisted in your hair, not pulling, just holding, and his thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged, and you could feel him getting close, the way his muscles tensed, the way his moans pitched higher, the way his thighs trembled against your shoulders. 

But he pulled back before he could finish, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet sound that made you both groan, and he was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut like he was physically holding himself together.

"Not yet," he said, more to himself than to you. "Not like that. I need—I need to be inside you when I come. Need to feel you."

He moved down your body, settling between your legs again, and this time when he kissed you, it was slow and deep and tasted like the two of you mixed together. 

You could feel him hot and hard against your stomach, the slick of him smearing across your skin, and you reached down to wrap your hand around him, but he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head.

"Patience," he murmured against your lips, and you whimpered because patience was the absolute last thing you had right now.

"I've been patient," you protested, and your voice came out wrecked, raw and hoarse from his cock in your throat and the moans you couldn't stop making. "Please, Ki—I've been so good—"

"You have," he agreed, and his free hand was sliding down your body, over the curve of your hip, between your legs, and his fingers found you dripping and swollen and so achingly sensitive that even the lightest touch made you jerk. "You've been so good for me, baby. My perfect, perfect girl. You deserve a reward, don't you?"

"Yes—please—"

He entered you in one long, slow thrust, and the sound you both made was identical, a broken, desperate moan that harmonised in the quiet of the bedroom. 

He filled you completely, the stretch of him bordering on too much and then settling into something that made your eyes roll back in your head, and he held himself there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.

"Feel that?" He rolled his hips, a slow grind that pressed against every sensitive spot inside you, and you sobbed. "That's mine. You're mine. Say it."

"I'm yours—fuck—I'm yours, Ki—"

He started to move then, really move, and the pace he set was punishing. Deep, hard thrusts that drove you up the mattress, each one punctuated by the slap of skin against skin and the wet sound of your bodies moving together. He was relentless, his hips snapping forward with a precision that spoke of barely contained control, and each thrust hit something inside you that made your vision go blank.

"This is mine," he gritted out, his hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "This body—this pussy—all of it. Mine. Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine."

"Yours—only yours—baby, please—"

"Please what?" He shifted the angle, hitching your leg up over his hip, and the new position let him sink even deeper, and you heard yourself make a sound that was barely human, high and thin and desperate. "Please let you come? Is that what you want, doll?"

"Yes—yes, please, I need—"

"You need to wait." He thrust into you hard, and you screamed, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth, his tongue sweeping past your lips in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. "Three, remember? You've had one. You need two more."

"I can't—I can't take it—"

"You can. You will." He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes dark and molten, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "You're so strong, doll. So perfect. So beautiful. You can take anything I give you, and you'll thank me for it. Won't you?"

"Yes—yes, I'll thank you—thank you, Ki—"

"Good girl."

He kept moving, and you kept climbing, and just as the coil in your belly was about to snap for the second time, he pulled out. Stopped out of nowhere. 

The emptiness was unbearable, your body clenching around nothing, your hips chasing the friction that had been so cruelly denied, and the sound you made was a full-bodied sob that echoed off the walls.

"I know," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hands were shaking. "I know, baby. I know it's hard. You're doing so well. Just one more."

"One more," you repeated, like a prayer. "One more. I can do one more."

"My good girl."

He pushed back in, and this time the thrusts were slower, not gentler, not by a long shot, but more deliberate, more controlled, each one a calculated assault on your senses. His hand found the spot between your legs, his thumb pressing in tight circles, and the sensation of him inside you and his fingers on you was too much. You were shaking, tears streaming down your temples into your hair, your hands fisted in the sheets so tightly that your knuckles were white.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said, and his voice was reverent, worshipful, like he was looking at something holy. "All teary and desperate and mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody. Not the designers, not the buyers, not the men who think they can put their hands on you at events. This—" He thrust deep, grinding against you, and you keened. "—this shit is mine."

"Yours—only yours—Ki, please—"

"Please what?"

"Please let me come—I can't—I'm going to—I need—"

"Not yet." But his voice was strained, his own control fraying, and you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his thrusts were becoming more erratic, the way his moans were pitching higher and more desperate. 

He was close too, you could feel it in the tension of his body, the way he was fighting his own release alongside yours, and the realization that he was denying himself as much as he was denying you made something hot and tight twist in your chest.

"Ki—"

"One more, doll. Give me one more. You can do it. I know you can."

He changed the angle again, deeper now, impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix with each thrust, and the pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. You were beyond words now, beyond coherent thought, reduced to a creature of pure sensation, every nerve ending firing, every muscle trembling, your entire being focused on the point where his body met yours.

He pulled out again.

The third denial was the worst. Or the best. You couldn't tell anymore. You were sobbing openly, your body wracked with tremors, your thighs shaking around his hips, and when you reached for him, your hands were so weak that you could barely grip his shoulders. The orgasm that had been building for what felt like hours was hovering just out of reach, a wave that had crested but hadn't yet broken, and the frustration was so acute it was almost its own kind of pleasure.

"I can't—" you wept. "Ki, baby, please—I can't take another one—please, I need to come—I need—"

"I know," he said, and this time his voice broke on the words. "I know, doll. You've been so good. So perfect. So patient. You took all three so beautifully. My good girl. My perfect, perfect girl."

He thrust back in, and this time there was no stopping. No pulling out. No denial. Just the relentless, punishing rhythm of his hips and the pressure of his thumb on your clit and the sound of his voice in your ear, low and rough and so full of love that it made your chest hurt.

"Come for me," he said, and it was a command and a plea and a prayer all at once. "Come for me, doll. Let go. I've got you. I've always got you."

You came.

It hit you like a wall of light, blinding, all-consuming, every muscle in your body seizing at once as the orgasm that had been denied three times finally, finally crashed over you. 

You were aware of screaming his name, of your nails raking down his back, of your body arching off the bed so violently that he had to pin you down with his weight, and the pleasure was so intense that for a long, terrifying moment, you couldn't see or hear or think, you could only feel, every cell in your body exploding and reforming and exploding again.

He followed you over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering, his breath catching, and then he was spilling into you with a groan that seemed to come from the very marrow of his bones. 

You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of him inside you, the way his body shuddered with each wave, the raw, animal sound of his release, and it triggered another smaller orgasm in you, your walls clenching around him in aftershocks that made you both gasp.

He didn't pull out. He couldn't. His body had given out the moment the orgasm hit, and he collapsed on top of you with his full weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps that you could feel against your sweat-damp skin. 

You held him, your arms wrapping around his back, your fingers tracing the scratch marks you'd left, thin red lines that would be visible tomorrow if he took his shirt off, and you pressed kisses to whatever part of him you could reach: his temple, his hairline, the shell of his ear.

"I love you," you whispered, and your voice was wrecked—raw and hoarse and barely audible. "I love you so much, Ki."

"I love you too." His voice was muffled against your neck, thick and slow and sleepy, the champagne and the orgasm hitting him all at once. "I love you more than anything. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"Good." He pressed a lazy kiss to your pulse point, and you felt him smile against your skin. "Mine."

"Yours."

The silence that followed was warm and comfortable, the kind of silence that could only exist between two people who had just dismantled each other completely and were now lying in the wreckage, too spent to move but too content to care. The heater hummed in the corner. The snow was falling outside the window, visible in the glow of the streetlight, and somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off and was ignored.

Eventually, Riki shifted, just enough to lift his head and look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and soft and so full of affection that it made your heart do something embarrassing in your chest. 

"Hey," he said.

"Hello to you too."

"Are you okay?"

"Mm." You stretched, wincing at the soreness that was already settling into your muscles, and you shifted your legs experimentally, and that was when you saw them.

The marks.

What the fuck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at your body, and the sight that greeted you made your breath catch. 

Your inner thighs were a patchwork of bruises, the bite marks from earlier, already darkening into deep purple and blue, overlapping and intersecting like some kind of abstract painting. 

Your hips were fingerprinted, ten small crescents where his hands had gripped you. 

Your breasts bore the faint impression of his teeth, and your collarbone — well. It looked like you'd been attacked by a very determined vampire.

"Oh my god," you breathed.

Riki followed your gaze, and the satisfied smile that spread across his face was entirely unapologetic. "Oh my god?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"

"Riki, there are—there are marks everywhere."

"That was kind of the point, doll."

"I know, but—" You shifted again, wincing as the bruises on your thighs pressed against the mattress, and then a thought struck you that was equal parts mortified and relieved. "Oh, thank god it's winter."

Riki raised an eyebrow. "Thank god it's winter?"

"So I don't have to head out in shorts twenty-four-seven," you explained, gesturing at the constellation of bruises decorating your thighs. "I mean, can you imagine? I'd walk into the office and my team would think I'd been attacked by a wild animal."

"A very handsome wild animal," Riki corrected, and you laughed.

"A very handsome wild animal who can't control his teeth," you amended.

"I control them just fine. I placed every single one of those marks with intent." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the mark on your collarbone, his lips warm and lingering. "And besides, baby, you won't need to worry about shorts. I just washed and prepared your maxi skirts, especially the denim one your mom reworked, so thank me later."

You stared at him. "You did what?"

"Washed your maxi skirts." He said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn't just confessed to doing your laundry — which he never did, not because he was unwilling but because you were particular about the way your garments were handled and he'd once shrunk a cashmere sweater and you'd made a face so tragic that he'd sworn off laundry duty entirely. "The denim one is hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I air-dried it like you showed me. And the grey wool one is in the closet, third hanger from the left."

"You, Nishimura Riki, washed my skirts. By hand. And air-dried them."

"Yes." He blinked at you, all innocent and earnest, like he wasn't lying there with love bites covering his throat and your lipstick still smudged on his jaw. "Is that... is that weird?"

"No." Your voice came out thick, and you realised with a start that you were getting emotional, over laundry, of all things, but it wasn't really about the laundry, was it? 

It was about the fact that this man, the same man who had marked you like a territorial wolf not fifteen minutes ago, had also spent time carefully hand-washing your skirts because he knew, somehow, that you'd need them. That he'd thought ahead. That he'd taken care of you in ways that were quiet and domestic and so fundamentally him that it made your eyes sting again. 

"It's not weird," you said again, softer this time, and you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, slow and deep and full of a love so enormous that you couldn't possibly contain it. "It's the opposite of weird. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Now who's being dramatic," he murmured against your lips, but he was smiling, and you could feel the way his chest expanded with the kind of quiet pride that he'd never admit to out loud.

"Thank you, Ki."

"You're welcome, baby." He shifted, pulling out of you with a wince that matched yours, and the absence of him left you feeling empty and cold and aching in ways that were both physical and emotional. 

He reached for the duvet, pulling it over both of you, and gathered you against his chest like you were something precious and breakable and infinitely worth protecting.

"Hey," you said, your voice muffled against his skin.

"Hm?"

"Next time someone flirts with me at an event and I don't notice, you have my full permission to come over and be insane about it."

He laughed, the kind that shook his whole body and made the bed creak. "You're going to regret saying that."

"Probably." You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "But at least I'll have the maxi skirts to cover the evidence."

"The denim one especially," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "Your mom did a great job on it. The hem is perfect."

"You’re so weird."

"You love it."

"Yeah." You pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest, right over his heart, and felt it beat steady and strong against your lips. "Yeah, I really do."

Outside, the snow kept falling, blanketing the city in white, and inside, under the warmth of the duvet and the weight of each other, you fell asleep to the sound of his breathing and the knowledge that tomorrow, when you pulled on that reworked denim maxi skirt, the marks on your thighs would press against the fabric like a secret — yours and his and nobody else's.

When Riki handed you your glasses from the nightstand the next morning, his fingers lingering on the frames just a moment too long, you thought about the way he'd looked at you when you'd put them on the night before, like you were the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, and you smiled, and you didn't bother wondering whether the man from the event would reach out, because it didn't matter. 

None of it mattered. 

The only hands that would ever touch you like that, the only hands that had the right, were the ones currently reaching for the coffee maker, still clumsy with sleep, still wearing the scratch marks on his back like a badge of honour.

"Hey, baby?" Riki called from the kitchen, his voice rough with morning and fondness.

"Yes?"

"The tights—are they hand-wash only? Because I may have like… thrown them on the floor last night, and I want to make sure I don't ruin them when I pick them up."

You laughed, bright and so full of love it hurt, and you padded barefoot into the kitchen, your bruises hidden under the oversized sweater you'd stolen from his closet, and you kissed him until the coffee went cold and the snow outside melted into slush and the whole world narrowed down to this: his mouth on yours, his hands on your waist, his heart beating against your palms.

"Hand-wash only," you murmured. "Cold water. Lay flat to dry."

"I'll add it to the list," he said, and he smiled, the one that was just for you, and you thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that you were the luckiest woman alive.

And the polka dot tights, when you finally retrieved them from the bedroom floor, were perfectly fine, ready for the next event, the next outfit, the next time Riki would look at you across a crowded room and know, with absolute certainty, that you were his.

Just as he was yours.

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

标签 : @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @yejisair777 @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie @starboyhee @prettygirlthings-world @jaesim @luv4dani @perristar @bkatarina @fialtorelle | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙

💿 ࿐ . . moonlight by kali uchis

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

[mayoeinase]

How it feels to read a fanfic and discover a kink I didn't even know exist

[richossanceee]

❮❮❮❮ F1!CHOSO situationship

< prev Part 4! night out and pizza. ᡣ𐭩 next > Summary ৻ꪆ : You and Choso have been childhood best friends for years, and you both refuse to admit your in love with each other, but everyone knows. Even now that Choso has made it big, he's still loyal to his "biggest fan." featuring. yuji ! (brief introduction of characters this chap 👀

Ps ; idk why the time is 9:41 ✌️

I also saw fanart chosos phone is in light mode and he cant turn it off so it pisses him off so he asks yuji to help him and i thought it was funny so i put his pov in light mode.

tag list!!

@genesisssv @cursedkatana @heavennkknows

@kiyaner @thl3c @jocelyn-jupiter @s1xeyes4em1ko

@mangayeager @emmiewemmie88

[auelisse-deactivated20260603]

fam bonding

jjk men texts with their teenager!child

various!characters, sfw with caution; profanity, smau, comfort, gojo’s teen is literally megumi, toji’s a different kid to fit canon (sorry), married!au, no you appearance except choso’s, the kids refer you as “mom” (-megumi), the kid’s point of view, yuji x ozawa (choso), angst in toji (child has school problems).

ⓘ 𝓪ll rights reserved, auelisse on tumblr.

[melancholiclace]

HI I SAW YOUR POST ABOUT L LAWLIET X HYPERFEM READER WHOS SMART LIKE HIM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO IT IM ON MY KNEES AND IM BEGING YOU PLEASE

Sorry but I'm frothing at the mouth at this idea lmao. Btw I read your fics for Jinshi and Gyomei with his wife and loved them both! I'm legit in love with your writing. Thanks in advance if you do this and if not, totally fine, have a good day and remember to drink water!

a/n: i didn't know ppl would be frothing at the mouth for this idea, this is like the fifth message in my inbox about it😭 tysm everyone for all the love and excitement on this little obsession of mine! i hope you have fun reading this one (it's def not proofread well) <3 reqs r still open for other fandoms and death note btw! also anon ty for all the love it means a lot to me that you enjoyed my other work <333 i hope you have a lovely day!

୨ৎ contains: reader is portrayed as someone who enjoys hyperfeminine style and characteristics, and as a genius detective similar to L (really embracing my INTJ mbti archetype with this one😔); childhood friends to sweethearts; L is clingy as hell and a perv; not really opposite attracts trope but it's like loser-boy!obsessed!genius x angel-girl who has her shit together; nsfw themes of masturbation, penetrative sex, oral, cockwarming, noncon hidden cams (not like camgirl but he hides cameras in ur rooms, ifykyk), & he also has a things for your tits and ur body (reader's midsize bc idk about u but i'm always catering my writing to me and other not-so-skinny-but-in-between-plus-size hotties); btw potential spoilers for death note anime/manga bc even though it's been out forever ik some ppl are still going through it

l lawliet/ryuzaki x hyperfem!genius detective!midsize!f!reader - she's always been his fixation

L Lawliet—Ryuzaki to his colleagues, Ryu and other less formidable nicknames to you—was a peculiar man. Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he was either brilliant, a freak, or a brilliant freak. At Wammy's, when he was still being fleshed into the notorious brainiac he was at present, he was evidently isolated. He not only preferred to be alone but to be enriched by himself because that was the only person who made sense to him, who made him feel understood—his own ego and id.

Well, himself and you.

You were this pink, soft, kind bundle of everything L wanted out of a partner—and he realized that at a remarkably young because of you, and was reminded of how you qualified to be in his circle quite frequently because of how you were just... you. Girlish, lovely, compassionate, an overthinker. Always carrying around some stuffed animal and bombarding him to take a break from encyclopedias in order to join your murder mystery tea party (it was always a trick, the murderer was either you or him every single time). While he was hoarding toys and reading in corners and hiding in the quiet parts of the courtyard, you were right beside him.

And then you grew into a full-fledged woman, still as adorned in femininity and princess-ish attributes, and you saw all the strange things he did at seventeen, all his struggles, the whole past it took for him to become the man he was—and you never strayed from his side.

To be honest, you were in the same boat as him because you didn't find any of the other kids appealing, and no toys or games stimulated you the way those things would the average child. You two were both extraordinary, so in recognition of that you stuck together. Watari, while assisting L in grooming his skills, did the same for you, and at the ages other young adults were earning degrees, growing their family, starting their lives, you and L were renowned consultants for some of the most eccentric, gory, and complicated crimes.

Neither of you wanted to admit it but through your closely shared childhood and aversion to being away from each other for too long, you perhaps had accidentally nurtured an unhealthy codependent relationship and a bad case of separation anxiety—but as stated, neither of you wanted to say that aloud.

L especially didn't want to admit to you that he had grown almost obsessive over you. He loved you, he very much did, yet he never explicitly told you that he inexplicably thought of himself as your romantic counterpart. He was under the impression it was stated in the air, unspoken and solid. Any time someone flirted with you, showed the slightest interest into anything besides platonic or professional relation, he was there, demanding some tedious, extreme task, demoting them, doing something to get rid of this stranger who thought they could stake a claim in you...

Used to his habits, you hardly paid him mind. It was cute to you, really, how protective it was. It didn't become clear that he believed himself to be your automatic boyfriend until he acted oddly about the news that you had a date once.

At times, you worked cases separately and usually traveled a lot (much to L's displeasure), so when you had time to be stuck at the hip again, you babbled about everything you could think of, and he sat at his desk, twiddling his toes, eating an exotic sweet, half working and half listening—calm, collected, until—

"A date?" he'd asked. "What do you mean a date? A fake one, you must mean—because why do you need to go out on a date? Is it to get information for your case?"

"No?" You laughed, a strand of hair looped around your manicured nails. An open file sat in your lap for your light reading pleasure. "It's with a guy I met at a coffee shop. He asked for my number and called me pretty, so—"

"Cancel it," L had demanded without missing a beat, eyes back on his too-bright computer screen already.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked for your number at one point. I tell you you're pretty all the time. I can take you on a date. Statistically, I'm the most suitable man you know. I meet the criteria you most likely have for a suitor, so I'll take you out if you really want to spend your time like that. Watari can find a restaurant and show somewhere."

You'd shook your head with a sigh, then cancelled your date within the next hour. And you were glad to, because part of you was definitely secretly hoping he would turn a tad possessive and give you some kind of lead on what he thought of your evolved relationship.

When the Kira case emerged, L evidently called your number off his speed dial, not caring whatever the charges were to his bill, if you were in or out of the country, what damn case you were working—he wanted you in Japan on the next available flight ASAP. Not only did he want you close to him because a figureless serial murderer was remotely killing people somehow and the stakes were too high to risk you, he wanted you by his side because he knew he needed an ace up his sleeve to narrow down his suspect list and the parameters of the case—and you were the perfect trick.

Pretty in your mini dresses and heels, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a roster of numerous solved freak cases looming with you, you took L's base of operation by storm. His colleagues and subordinates definitely had a thing for you—not only were they glad to have a woman around, they had a gorgeous piece of eye candy watching over their shoulders as they tried to catch a mass murderer with a suspected god complex.

The one problem—L kept you stuck on his arm. He was a jealous guy, and it was dangerous everywhere, he couldn't let you go off on your own. So at every turn of events and change in the case, he had you by him. While surveilling the Yagami household, you were sat in the floor by his chair, reading or watching the cameras. When he attended university for two seconds to make contact with Light, you waited in his car, entertained by Watari's stories or card games. He kept your legal name locked out, your sensitive information unreachable, your existence totally sealed off from Kira and protected by his obsessed loving hand.

Additionally, when the Task Force building went into the full effective living situation with Misa and Light, L had you planted right in his room. And when you learned you'd be staying with him, you couldn't help but prod him about it.

"Ryu?" You'd leaned over his shoulder as he, of course, stared at a computer and the papers on his desk for the thirteenth hour of the day. Empty cans and plates littered with crumbs sat around the room—you were accustomed to how messy (and akin to a loser college boy...) he could be, but you still scrunched up some at the state of your surroundings.

Tapping your heel against the floor as you waited for him to reply—he always took a moment, you knew to be patient—you snaked your arms over his chair and hugged his head, your jewelry clinking softly. "Ryuzaki..."

When your breasts pressed against the back of his head he instinctually leaned back and let out a comfortable sigh. He was shameless, resting his head on your chest without hesitation. "What is it?"

"Tell me," you said, "if this facility can house sixty plus people... why am I rooming with you?"

He hummed, biting his thumbnail, eyes never moving off the screens. "Safety reasons. You know. And because of conflictions with the suspect list."

You smirked slightly, one hand rubbing his chest absently. "Do you need to survey me constantly like you do Light? Do you think I'm Kira?"

"God no. And you don't think I'm Kira obviously. Do I really have to explain why I put you in the same room as me?"

"Yes, if you're going to keep not cleaning up after yourself."

He paused, eyes half-lidded. Then said, "I'll have a cleaning service come by every weekend."

"Twice a week, Monday and Friday," you said. "And... the cameras in every nook and cranny? In the bathroom?"

"I need eyes everywhere constantly."

"In our bathroom and bedroom, though? What if I need to take a shower or change?"

"You and I will be the only ones to review our room's footage."

"You and I?"

He smirked slightly then. "Yes. Me and you."

There was a sexual element to your relationship with L that was undeniable. He didn't care to ogle at you in public. When you found the time to dawdle around with Misa or indulge in a hobby, he was usually around, gawking at just how gorgeous you were. He frequently sat by your make-up-and-glitter-littered vanity and watched you get ready, calculated how long you would take and predicted what cutesy outfit you'd wear (and what underwear you'd chosen). Besides how he enjoyed your appearance and his obvious half sapiosexual, half lovesick fixation with you, the sexual element shone through in the more explicit instances that eventually occurred between you two.

On countless nights, he beckoned you over, out of bed or away from analysis, and simply felt you up.

Of course he gave you this sad, begging that guilt-tripped asked you if it was all right to touch you, and each time you saw his tired, mopey face staring up at you from his chair you gave up in. You allowed him to sit you in his lap and squeeze your plush sides, for him to leave love-bites on the fat of your biceps and thighs and neck, for him to hum and kiss against the soft, round angle of your chin, all while he murmured praises and worship to you that nobody would expect from the Ryuzaki.

"I needed this so much, darling, you have no idea. Oh God, thank you so much. I'm sorry if you can feel how hard I am, you're just so beautiful and perfect... I can't help myself. Will you let me touch you more?"

Then, after he convinced you to lift your skirt or dress, or to slip out of your pants, he'd rub your clit while quietly begging you to just let him be inside of you—and when you agreed to cockhold him at his desk at night, he was too late resisting the soft moan that escaped his lips.

And for being a big fat virgin, he was a good fuck to you. He didn't look into nude mags or watch porn—typically, when he needed to masturbate he'd pull out a photo of you (you asleep in his favorite pink nightie of yours) and take care of himself in the bathroom. If he was feeling sly, he might steal a pair of your lacey panties with the little ribbons on it and jerk off, then leave them in your laundry hamper. He wasn't sure if you ever noticed those extra stains on your underwear.

After you two ventured into the world of being skin-to-skin and L actually slipping in and out, in and out, in and out of you, he was a goner. He begged you for quickies during any downtime, tried to get you to sneak away when nothing interesting was happening, was down for you every single night, ready to eat you out.

He especially loved when you let him simply look and touch. Usually when you were tired or didn't want to move, he'd get your permission, undress you while kissing down your entire body and then just grope and grab. Gently of course, though sometimes roughly—at which you whined and tried to push his stubborn paws away. Your hips, tits, ass, throat, thighs. He loved your body and couldn't help but want to explore it.

Your breasts were his favorite. He was a boob man through and through. Maybe it was due to his dire sweet tooth or his oral fixation, but he was over the moon when you let him simply lick and nip at your chest, or let him rest on your bare tits so that he could suckle on you whenever he felt like it.

You were indeed the perfect partner for him, willing to put up with his habits and perverted self and love him through all of the stakes you were put through—and he would forever cherish you for that.

[sadisticslut666]

Choso whimpers so loud

It’s embarrassing, really. The walls in the dorms at Jujutsu High are thin as hell, and everyone knows it. You told him to keep it down tonight even pressed your palm over his mouth the first time he started whimpering. But the second you sank down on his cock, all that self-control evaporated.

Choso’s eyes roll back that instant, “F-fuck—ngh— ahh—!” His hips twitch up involuntarily as your walls clench around him. He’s so deep like this, thick cock stretching you open.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Choso, baby… quieter,” you whisper, even as you roll your hips again,

He shakes his head frantically, black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “C-can’t—ahh—you feel too good—nghh!” The moan that follows is downright pornographic, loud enough that you’re pretty sure Satoru’s room is right down the hall and he’s definitely hearing every single second of this.

Choso’s face is flushed dark red, eyes half-lidded and glassy, tears already clinging to his lashes. Every time you clench around his thick cock he lets out another whimper. “Shit—Choso—Shut up,” you whisper as you slap a hand over his mouth, but he just moans louder against your palm.

His hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into you with shallow, needy thrusts that make the bed creak. “Mmmph—please—don’t stop—” he mumbles against your fingers, voice muffled but still way too loud. You feel his cock throb hard inside you, already leaking, already so close even though you’ve barely started.

You ride him harder, grinding down in tight circles, trying to keep your own moans quiet while you shush him. “Shh—shh, baby, quiet—fuck, you gotta be quiet—” But it’s useless. The whimper that comes out of him this time is even louder, cracking high and pretty as his thrusts meet yours

You pry one hand off his mouth just long enough to grab a pillow and shove it over his face. “Bite this,” you whisper urgently, bouncing faster, the wet slap of skin on skin still echoing way too clearly in the tiny room. “Come on, Choso, muffle it—”

He obeys for half a second—teeth sinking into the fabric with a desperate groan—but then you clench around him again and the pillow does nothing. “Ahh—nghh—can’t—too good—hah—!”

His thighs tremble underneath you, hips snapping up harder as he gets closer. You can feel him pulsing, “Choso—quiet—fuck, they’re gonna hear you—”

Too late.

Choso’s whole body seizes, back arching hard as he cums so loud the pillow is fuckin’ useless. He keeps whimpering through every pulse with little “ah—ah—ah—” sounds that get louder instead of quieter as his hips jerk up in sloppy thrusts.

You finally lift the pillow from his mouth and he immediately lets out one last weak, satisfied whine, nuzzling into your neck

You were both so fucked.

Choso whimpers so loud… and the whole damn dorm probably just heard exactly how good you make him feel.

a/n: hnghh I feel like a horny slut on my period damnnit

[lvrs4nxna]

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ EVANESCE.. ✉️

伏黑惠 — angst, suicide, implied depression, yuji’s twin sister!reader, immortal!itadori twins, takes place in 2086, flashbacks, doomed relationship

According to Japanese folklore, the first-born twin was said to be the younger one. It was wide belief that the second-born, the oldest child, willingly allowed the younger, weaker twin to be born first.

All in an act of protection. Protection from the cold, cruel world that you two would be brought into. The world that thought twins were a bad omen.

So when you came out after Yuji, it was almost natural for people to say that you were more mature than your older brother.

You stayed quiet and reserved, while he was the one that ran around, falling on his face all the time. You lost count of how many lighting mcqueen stickers you had slapped onto his knees, he probably still had three or four boxes lying around.

You didn’t see him as a curse, instead, you saw him more as a built-in best friend. Sure, he could be annoying as shit sometimes (all times), but he was still your brother.

His recklessness did not help at all when you were both roped into the jujutsu world. His goal of protecting others blinded him at times, and the amount of times you had to pull him back to reality was concerning.

He had to learn sooner or later, he wouldn’t be able to protect everyone. He just had to help all the people he could.

You were.. tired all the time. It was like one twin drew the life force and strength away from the other. Yuji always noticed, but you always played it off with something as simple as ‘the summer heat’.

Truth was, you felt as if your existence was grief itself. Being born to an evil ancient sorcerer and a descendant of the king of curses only fueled your guilt further.

You had always been unhappy. The only reason you were alive was because your love for your brother was infinitely greater than the hatred you had for yourself.

He was the one truly living, and you were just something he was dragging along with him.

Even since you were a child, you knew that you were born to live a tragedy. You only hoped you wouldn’t end up taking Yuji with you.

Unfortunately for you, twins always carry the curse of a combined, diluted fate.

Yuji tried his best to make you happy. But you always had that sad, blank expression on your face. He couldn’t remember the last time you smiled at him.

The things he’d do to see it again.

The last time he did was over sixty years ago.

Things were different back then. You were just teenagers fighting for your lives, everyone you cared about was still by your side.

Yuji would even say, the person you cared about the most was still alive. If he ever brought up that person now, you’d probably burst into tears at the thought of him.

Not then, though, never back then.

Your lips would curl up just slightly as you fought back a grin, the blush on your face fully giving you away.

Megumi Fushiguro.

He was calm, rational, stoic- and you fell for him. Very hard.

Yuji’s only wish as a child was to see you happy, but it was like that frown was etched onto your face. It was the result of you taking all the burden off of his back, and placing it onto yourself.

When Megumi came around, it was almost like he brought back the life force you had lost to your brother.

Megumi understood you in a way that Yuji never could. You shared the same thoughts, the same mindset, god- you might as well have been the same person.

You were the person he’d run to if things got too overwhelming for him, and vice versa. You kept each other from the dark thoughts that littered your minds on a daily basis.

Yuji looked back on the memory frequently. It was late afternoon on a summer day, and all of you had just finished up training. Gojo gasped so incredibly loud when he caught Megumi smiling at you after you handed him his water bottle.

The Megumi Fushiguro was smiling.

Maybe that was the effect that you had on each other. You were just two teens who had only pushed through their entire lives for a person they cared about. Your brother for you, his sister for him.

Having another person that understood you like that did help..

But you were both drowning silently in your own shame and pity, something even you two couldn’t save each other from. and it was only a matter of time before one of you lost the other.

You were the one who found Megumi that day.

You found him on the ground of his own dorm, the one you had spent countless nights in, either sleeping or talking, or simply sitting beside one another, enjoying each others presence.

He died in your arms that night, his own ones covered in his blood. You desperately tried to save him, you really did, but he was too far gone.

His last words to you?

‘I’m sorry.’

Your blood-curdling scream could be heard throughout the entire school. Sometimes, when nights got too quiet, Yuji would hear your pleads for Megumi to wake up.

You remember standing in front of your bathroom mirror the night after he took his own life, Megumi’s life force still staining your hands and clothes. You cursed yourself for not being able to work your reverse cursed energy on him quick enough.

For not being able to save your only love.

You didn’t cry at his funeral. You spent all of your tears during the few weeks after his death.

Everyone talks about the morning after you take your life, but never the mourning after you take your life.

All signs of happiness just seemed to vanish from your body. You started taking on suicide missions, hoping to feel something. Just anything.

Deep down you knew you were only going on those missions because you hoped, somehow, you’d end up getting killed, and you’d finally be able to reunite with Megumi.

You can’t always get what you want in life.

And now, after sixty years, you were still waiting for someone who’d never return. You and Yuji had been cursed to live forever. Cursed to see everyone you cared about move on, while you’d still be stuck in this hellhole.

You and Yuji had sixty years to master your cursed technique. Your name was feared across the entire country.

Your name used to be special, something only a select few knew. Your name used to be one of the only things you liked in life. Now it was something only used to talk about in conversations of power.

You didn’t even look up when people called out to you anymore. It felt like a title that didn’t belong to you anymore, something that would be reduced to ink in history books-

“[Name]!”

You whipped back faster than anybody could comprehend.

For the first time in years, you had reacted at the sound of your name. All because of who was calling out to you.

You winced at the sound of that voice. The voice you had been waiting to hear for sixty years.

“Miss me?”

He was a fake. You knew it. He couldn’t be alive, especially not now. Everything in you was fighting against the belief that he was back. Finally alive.

Megumi.

“You…” Your lips parted slightly in shock. Everything came flashing back all at once, all the shared laughter, the affection, the memory of him in general- you didn’t even notice the prison realm was there.

What gave it away was the stitches on his forehead. The same ones both Suguru Geto and your own mother bared. Your first time seeing them up close was when Yuta had taken ahold of Gojo’s body in the final battle.

Now they were on the only person you wished would never have to go through the suffering of getting them.

It was a sick sight to see. His body being used for another’s own gain.

He had learnt all of Megumi’s mannerisms, the way he’d tilt his head when speaking to you, even the way he’s hold his neck in his palm.

The only thing he couldn’t replicate was the way he looked at you. Megumi had a certain softness in his eyes he had for no other.

This dupe did not.

Your wrists were bound behind your back, the same way your sensei was all those years ago. History truly moved in such vicious circles.

You felt a single, warm tear drip slide down your cheek as you let out a sad, huffed chuckle. When was the last time either of those things happened?

“I know you aren’t the real Megumi but..”

“At least curse me a little at the very end.”

URGENT REPORT: SHIBUYA STATION, TOKYO. 9:15 PM. NOVEMBER 2ND, 2086: [NAME] ITADORI HAS BEEN SEALED BY MEGUMI FUSHIGURO.

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[hiromisdirtyslvt]

face down, ass up "cowgirl!" (click on the link while reading this)

sukuna punishes you for staying out late with your girls at the club after you told him you would be home at a certain time. it's time he gives you a taste of your own medicine.

The room was hot.

Not from the weather, not from the city lights pouring through the windows

From him.

Ryomen Sukuna lounged against the headboard like he owned the world, one hand gripping your hip while you sat straddling his lap in that tiny club dress that had apparently become the source of all his problems tonight.

"you want to go outside again without texting me back?"

"you know them men and women stare at you. you have a nice ass, pretty ass face and you stayed up until 3 fucking AM?"

"you better ride like a cowgirl on this horse."

you were riding on him, bouncing up and down trying not to cum but he wouldn't let you. but, you decided to take in control since he wants to be a brat himself.

you go faster, wiggling around his 'horse'. you keep going and your letting out loud little whimpers. of course the neighbors heard you guys a lot with MANY complaints.

you moved faster out of pure stubbornness, little whimpers slipping from your lips while your hands gripped sukuna’s shoulders for balance.

“There you go,” he teased with a smug grin. “Knew my cowgirl could listen.”

You rolled your hips harder just to wipe that cocky look off his face, and his grip on your waist tightened instantly.

“Oh?” His voice dropped lower. “Now you wanna act brave?”

The headboard slammed against the wall again, loud enough for an annoyed bang to echo back from the neighbors’ apartment.

You groaned in embarrassment, hiding your face in his shoulder. “They’re gonna complain again…”

Sukuna only laughed softly, dragging a hand up your back.

“Let them.” He tilted your chin up to look at him. “Maybe next time you’ll remember to text me back instead of making me wait all night.”

Your thighs started burning, movements slowing from exhaustion.

next, he picks you up and slam you on the bed face down, ass up.

"okay little brat, you had your fun now time for this horse love,"

he pounds you in HARD, you gasp so hard forgetting how big his dick is. he goes in and out real fast telling you don't cum because your still on punishment. sukuna pulls u up kissing your soft lips while holding your neck.

"don't cum."

"im sorry I feel like I have to. please let me cum baby, please please fuck."

"no."

all you can think to yourself is how the fuck did you let the time slip. 9x out of 10 you would't be gettin fucked through the sheets filled with cum right now itching to come, you touch yourself to please yourself more..

then-

"did you just fucking cum?"

"fuck.."

Sukuna’s grip tightened for a second before he exhaled a sharp laugh against your ear.

“Can’t even follow one order,” he muttered, brushing your hair back as you hid your face against him.

You expected him to tease you harder, but instead he pulled the blankets over both of you, the room still buzzing with heat and exhaustion.

“Next time,” he said quietly, tilting your chin up with a smirk, “you answer your phone.”

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

(LISTEN BABES)

30 mins go by:

you and sukuna are washing the sheets in the laundry room, he sits a chair down while you sit on him with his big t-shit while he's shirtless with just grey sweatpants.

“you know,” you muttered, leaning back against him, “normal people don’t end their nights in a laundry room.”

sukuna let out a low hum, half amused.

“normal people are boring.”

you glanced up at him. “we’re not exactly subtle.”

“didn’t ask to be.”

that earned a quiet laugh from you, soft enough that it didn’t fully break the calm between you.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. just the steady sound of the washer, the dim overhead light, and sukuna’s hand still resting on you like you weren’t going anywhere.

then he tilted his head slightly, looking down at you.

“you gonna keep ignoring me when you go out?”

his tone was lighter now, but there was still that familiar edge underneath it.

you sighed. “I didn’t ignore you. I just...lost track of time.”

“that’s called ignoring me.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

sukuna clicked his tongue, leaning back further in the chair.

“next time,” he said casually, “you answer your phone.”

you nudged his knee lightly. “bossy.”

“and you like it,” he replied without missing a beat.

that made you pause for half a second before you shook your head, trying not to smile too obviously.

sukuna noticed anyway.

his hand squeezed your waist once, firm but calm.

“yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I know.”

[proudgoonette777]

texts with bf ! inumaki

he is so annoying i love him

cw: aged up characters, he can’t go 45 minutes without saying something horny