21-06-1996 - Tumblr blog

[21-06-1996]

𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 : hinata shoyo.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. no matter where he goes, no matter who he's with — he always shines the brightest. he's so warm, so radiant — a star, a sun. pulling everyone around him into orbit. and you love it. adore it.

but it's also because he's so full of that fiery heat and light, that you sometimes find yourself doubting what you have with him. it's nothing he did — he's perfect, and always has been, to you — but rather, it was your own insecurities that formed out of realizing just how different you were from him.

he's outgoing no matter who he's talking to, easily blending in while still somehow standing out, and people love him — you know more than a few others that seem to adore him the same way you do.

and you, being someone of the peaceful, subdued twilight between day and night — have no idea how you ended up with someone like him.

and even more so, you have no idea how he fell for someone like you.

because he — he sparkled, and he shone, and he was everything anyone could ever want, he could have won the heart of anyone he ever wanted. he could simply ask for a heart and he’d have it handed to him on a silver platter.

and you? you don’t shine or glow. in fact, you’re a little dim, if we’re going to talk about metaphors of light. and despite how incredibly happy you are together, it sometimes gets to you.

"hey," shoyo calls you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you look up at him, still surfacing from all your musings, tracing your gaze over his muscled form, his hair and eyes that stand out so bright, tangerine and honey against his sun-bronzed skin. he tugs at the hem of his plain white tee, patting the pockets of his navy shorts to check for his phone and wallet.

it's barely an hour since the sun rose, and you think hinata is so much brighter than the light coming through the doors and windows.

he's about to leave for another practise match, and you're seated in your shared living room, morning coffee unfinished on the table in front of you.

he’s beautiful, you think. bathed in the morning sun, there he stands at your front door. japan's pride and joy, ninja shoyo. him, falling in love with you?

he'd told you that his people back home had cried bitterly over their loss when he left, deciding to return to brazil and play for a brazillian team rather than stay with his people in japan.

he'd told you with a mischievious glint in his eyes and a rogueish smile spread across his face, and the slightest hint of a blush tinting his cheeks. "but hey, they’ll get over it! and … i came back partly so i can be with you, you know. together, like this."

and that had melted your heart. just those words had brought you home the stars and the entire sky — but you also sometimes wonder. if he stayed there, would he be happier? would he be happier if he had chosen those other things over you?

if he were with someone else?

after all, you weren't anyone special, and he wouldn't be getting anything particularly worthy from you — apart from all your love and adoration, but whether that was worthy or not wasn't for you to decide. was it?

"hey, hey?" shoyo repeats, and you blink, standing up. you walk over to him, plucking a strand of curly orange hair off his shoulder and patting the creases away from his chest. "sorry, i was just thinking."

"hm," he tilts his head to a side, picking up his sports bag and pulling it over his shoulder as he does. you know he's not convinced.

the clock ticks past 7:30 AM, and you're glad you don't have any places to be today. you're tired, and you wouldn't be able to see shoyo off like this if you were rushing around getting ready to go out.

shoyo watches you for a few seconds, brows furrowed together ever so slightly. "you okay, baby? looking a little tired. wanna come to the beach with me?"

you smile, noticing how his portuguese was still on the simpler side — and shrug your shoulders as an answer. "that'll just distract you." you tell him in japanese.

lies. nothing can distract shoyo when he's in a game.

all that'll happen is that you'll get to see him in action, eyes somehow glowing brighter than before, sun turning his skin rosy, hair getting peppered with sand as he flies up, kicking his legs back and slamming the ball across the net. an enthralling sight. and then—

"i'll give you a kiss for every point i score." he grins, taking your hand — and all of a sudden, everything you've just been thinking about stops making sense.

"mhm?" you nod, and he licks his lips, thinking. "a kiss for every point, and if my team wins — i'll take you out to eat something good. come, it'll be good for you."

"and if you lose?" you ask, and he only grins wider. "i won't. trust me."

trust you? with my life, shoyo. with my everything. the things you've been thinking about stops making sense — because hinata shoyo is dazzling. he shines bright, he's radiant and he's like the sun. and in that same sense, his passions and desires and his love — they shine, too. it's clear that he adores you as much as you adore him.

with that mutual adoration present and so tangible even to you, though you sometimes feel as if you don’t deserve it, what more was needed?

"shoyo," you still ask, because hearing it from him makes it all better. "you love me, right?"

he looks confused for a second. "yeah? i love you. i love you more than anything."

and again, he plucks out the jewels of the sky and hands them all down to you in one fell swoop, with his words that glimmer and drip with the radiant sincerity of his feelings. "huh, is this what you're thinking about? it's in your eyes, i can see it."

"what do you see?" you ask, but then you forget everything because he's gripping your hand tighter and pulling you closer, for a kiss.

"i love you, mkay? we're together. forever. you know i wanna be with you forever." he says it against your lips, and you almost taste the essence of his words. "i love you, and i'm glad to be with you."

you almost tear up, he's so sweet and so sincere, how could you ever doubt him? 

how he understands what you're thinking so easily, how he says exactly what you want to hear without trying, you don't know — but you appreciate it, and you offer him a smile in return to the way he makes you feel so good, so light, inside. "i love you, too. i love you with all my heart."

"then let's go?" he steps back a little to look at you, bright orange curls framing warm, puppy eyes as he gives you a pout. “please? i wan’ you to come today.” you glance out to the street waiting outside your shared house, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you nod. "give me a minute, i'll go change."

he gives you a grin that could harness all the power of the sun in it, letting go of you so you can go pull some better clothes on — and you catch his hand before it can fall to his side.

he turns back to you, inquiring, and you answer with a tug at his arm that lets him draw close enough for you to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "i really do love you."

and the blush that spreads across his face as you turn around and retreat to your room, is more proof that he loves you.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. he's the sun, he's the stars, he's the galaxy, and he's everything anyone could ever want. and he loves you.

loves you the way the sun carresses the moon, the way the rays of it kiss the shadows of the twilight at dawn and at dusk.

he's the pride and joy of japan, everyone loves him and he could have anything he had passion for, and anything he desired. and to him, that was to be a player of the sport that brewed and set alight his passions.

and to him, what he desired was you.

note: i was going to say it's crazy that i haven't posted much sfw shoyo content on here, but then i remembered that every time i write something like this about him it gets sooo personal 💔 this is a piece i wrote in 2021 but it comes out now because i say so ! thank you for reading !!

[21-06-1996]

── 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 : hinata shoyo.

content: fem!reader. public sεx in the back booth of a cafe. dirty thoughts, teasing, fingering, a little overstimulation, shoyo is a liiittle mean but he's just so eager to have you!! mentioned pussy eating at the end.

— . ｡˚ ♡ you just can't wait to have shoyo's fingers in you. and neither can he.

one of the first things you notice about hinata when you meet up with him after his years away in brazil, is that his hands are big.

he'd already been growing taller and filling out when he left — but that was nearly three years ago, and seeing him for the first time after so long felt like a dream — because despite looking the same, he also looked just that different. it wasn't just his hands, really — he was big. 

his neck was thicker, the expanse between his shoulder and neck offering much more space for your arms than it used to, as you wrapped them around his neck in a hug. his arms, his chest, his stomach, as they press against yours in the embrace, they feel bigger, more muscular than you remembered.

but what you notice the most, what would be a subtle change compared to everything else — is that his hands are so big. maybe because you hadn't seen his hands properly in any of the pictures he'd sent you, but it was the most surprising change about him.

his fingers that just used to be long and lithe, are now thicker — knuckles tough and edges calloused, the backs of them rosy and tanned and the palms hard and smooth, pink at the rounder points.

and as he holds your hands in his, gives you a smile that pours love and longing and happiness and tender adoration into you as he tells you, “hi, baby. i missed you.” — all you can think about is that you want your pussy stuffed with those fingers of his.

and eventually — because he is after all, your beloved shoyo that would do anything for you — you tell him.

hand in hand, walking the distance from your place to the café you used to frequent together, you tell him that his hands are so nice. 

his fingers are so thick (“look! see how big they are compared to mine?”) and then while you're talking to each other over cups of coffee, you finally tell him — albeit slyly and mostly as a tease, you admit that you want his fingers in your cunt.

what you don't expect is for him to immediately oblige.

you're sitting together at the very last booth of the small, cozy little cafe, away from all the windows and concealed from clear view — and you'd thought it'd be cute to fluster him with a dirty little comment, and get him hooked for when you both get home.

but when you tell him, “they'd feel so nice curling deep into my pussy, don't you think?” hinata stares at you for only a few seconds — before he has you pressed against the back of the booth, one legged hooked over his knees and the other dangling over the edge of the seat as he forces your legs open.

“mhm,” he giggles at your wide eyed, stunned expression, wrapping a muscled arm around you and adjusting your position so effortlessly, as his other hand slides past the waistband of your skirt to palm at your clothed cunt. “let's see how it feels, then. oh — pretty pussy's wet already, huh? missed me much?”

you're too dazed by the contact and the delicious feel of his touch on your clit to form words and tell him yes, yes yes you missed him so fucking much, more than he knows — but you think you missed him more than even you know.

his eyes are brighter than you remember as well, you see as you blink up to meet his gaze— 

his body language, his confidence, it's so different compared to how he was before.

you'd only gotten together in your third year of highschool, and really you'd only fucked once before he left for brazil — but you'd loved him long enough to know.

this isn't the same hinata that you kissed good-bye at that train station years ago.

correction: he is the same — but he's also more. 

you stare, stars in your eyes — and he gives you a handsome, rogueish grin as he slips two digits under your panties and into the slick mess of your hole, like he knows every single thing he's doing to you right now.

to your body, to your mind, to your soul.

it's overwhelming enough, to have the love of your life return home to you after more than two years of being so, so far away from you.

overwhelming enough to see that he has changed so very much, to see that suddenly the sunny, sweet boy you'd fallen in love with has become a fire, a hot searing flame that's ready to sweep you off your feet and singe you, burn you with his kisses and his touch.

but right now, you can't even think clearly about it all — because fuck, fuck, fuck, he's sliding his fingers into you, and it feels even better than you thought it would.

“sh—shoyo,” you whimper, cheek pressed to his chest as he shields your body with his, just in case. “wait, wait — didn't mean right now, i—”

“hush,” he hums into your ear, thumb gliding up to find your clit, and when he presses into the sensitive bud, you can only obey and hush — pressing your lips shut tight to prevent the gasp of pleasure that builds in your throat from getting away.

the café had been pretty quiet and peaceful when you'd both walked inside, and even as you ordered from the counter and brought your trays to the back booth — but suddenly, you're so afraid that people might come and see. afraid that a waiter might come over and see.

“sho—” you try, but he shushes you again, and you feel so hot, it's all so sudden you can't think.

“couldn't wait, sunshine, 'm sorry.” he mumbles into your hair, pulling you even closer, and you feel a little cramped as he tugs your legs even further apart, fingers sliding knuckle-deep into you. “was thinking things the whole time, you're so gorgeous now, can't wait when you're so hot.”

“i—” you whimper again, grabbing his shirt and curling it in your fist. “me too, shoyo, me too.” there's an impatience in the both of you that was hardly satiable when kept apart from eachother, but now, with the two of you like this, there's no way to keep it at bay.

the stretch of his fingers in your cunt is impossible. so much compared to your own fingers, so hot and hungry compared to the toys you use (ones he'd bought and sent home to you during his time in brazil).

he fucks his digits into you like he's been dying to do this to you, like he's desperate to hear those pretty sounds you make in his ear again, like he's been thirsting to make you cum like this forever.

you're going to hit your orgasm so quick, you can already feel it.

you're going to cum slumped in the back booth of this little café, that you'd visited so long ago on your first date with hinata. this little café where you'd first kissed him. this little café where you'd had a valentine's day brunch with him, just two months before he left.

“shoyo,” you can't help the moan that slips out, pussy only clenching around harder his digits when you see the way his eyes cloud with lust upon hearing your voice. “shoyo, shoyo — gonna cum.”

you hope nobody hears you — and you hope that if they did, they'll stay the fuck away and mind their own business, and let hinata take care of you.

you need it. he's so warm, so hot, and he's fucking you so good with just his fingers — thumb rolling your clit just fucking right while he curls his fingers into your velvet walls, giggling under his breath when your pussy squelches messily each time. 

“that's right, baby,” he coos, kissing your hair. “cum for me. nice and hard, mkay? else we might hafta try again.”

his voice cracks so well at just the right moment as he says it — and you don't know if it's the zap of need that courses through you at the sound of his voice breaking, or if it's just the bliss he's giving you with his fingers that makes you cum instantly, but you do.

your pussy wraps around his fingers so tight — your own hand flying up to clamp over your mouth and muffle your cry, as your body finally unfreezes and you crash into your high.

knees knocking together and squeezing hinata's arm between your legs, you fall lax against the leather seating of the booth — cushioned by his body because he still has his other arm secured around you — and you cum. “fuck, shoyo.”

“that's good,” hinata encourages, his whisper hot in the shell of your ear. “fuck, so messy. so messy, baby, how do we clean you up?”

you can't help it — and he's making it worse, curling his fingers in, knuckles digging into your walls as he tries to go even deeper, never relieving the pressure he's out on your clit, god— “shoyo, fuck, fuck.” you’re afraid you might shatter into a million pieces right there on the damn seat. you haven’t had someone else touch you in a long time, and getting an orgasm ripped from you like this is almost too much. “sho—shoyo, please.”

“please, what?” he giggles, still unrelenting, like he’s missed having you like this, like he really can’t be a good boy and wait until you get back home before he eats you up and makes you his girl all over again, for the first time in years.

“not here,” you say breathlessly, gulping down the cry of pleasure that springs up your throat when he lets go of your clit for a moment, only to flick his thumb at the ravenous bud again. “not here, please. i can’t—”

“can’t what?” he asks, almost impatient. he bites at your ear, and you feel so fucking hot, so dizzy with pleasure, but you can’t. not in the back booth of a god damn café, where you could just be caught with MSbY’s newest outside hitter fitting his fingers into your starving little cunt.

you grab his wrist and tug, giving him the most serious look you can with all the stars in your eyes. “can’t be like this, shoyo. not here. please? wanna go home. want you in me. at home.”

his lips pull downwards into a disappointed pout, but he only presses his body closer to you, hot and heavy, his weight so new on you. “you promise t’ let me fuck you like this in your bed then?”

the fact that he can make you blush harder with a few words even as he’s got your pussy full of his fingers is astounding, really. but you feel your face heat up as you nod, telling him you promise. you need it more than him. you need him so, so fucking bad.

with a delighted laugh, shoyo pulls away, almost too quickly and you’re forced to stifle the needy whine you want to let out because you know he’ll be on you again in no time if you act like that. he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking on your slick, eyes dulling with lust as he gets a taste of you. “let’s go, then. we can have this date later.”

“wh—what about our food?” you can’t even ask before he’s getting up and pulling you to your feet. he gives you a quick kiss, and your eyes widen when you taste yourself on him. god, it’s almost embarrassing.

“i’ll pay for it now, we’ll tell them we’re coming back in a bit.” he grins at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you up against him. “i can think of something else i’d like to eat right now.”

by the glint in his eyes and the lingering taste in your mouth, you know exactly what he means the instant he says it. and you can’t help but blush again. god, he’s such a fucking charmer. “mm, alright. let’s go then.”

“that’s my girl.”

[21-06-1996]

𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 : hinata shoyo.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. no matter where he goes, no matter who he's with — he always shines the brightest. he's so warm, so radiant — a star, a sun. pulling everyone around him into orbit. and you love it. adore it.

but it's also because he's so full of that fiery heat and light, that you sometimes find yourself doubting what you have with him. it's nothing he did — he's perfect, and always has been, to you — but rather, it was your own insecurities that formed out of realizing just how different you were from him.

he's outgoing no matter who he's talking to, easily blending in while still somehow standing out, and people love him — you know more than a few others that seem to adore him the same way you do.

and you, being someone of the peaceful, subdued twilight between day and night — have no idea how you ended up with someone like him.

and even more so, you have no idea how he fell for someone like you.

because he — he sparkled, and he shone, and he was everything anyone could ever want, he could have won the heart of anyone he ever wanted. he could simply ask for a heart and he’d have it handed to him on a silver platter.

and you? you don’t shine or glow. in fact, you’re a little dim, if we’re going to talk about metaphors of light. and despite how incredibly happy you are together, it sometimes gets to you.

"hey," shoyo calls you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you look up at him, still surfacing from all your musings, tracing your gaze over his muscled form, his hair and eyes that stand out so bright, tangerine and honey against his sun-bronzed skin. he tugs at the hem of his plain white tee, patting the pockets of his navy shorts to check for his phone and wallet.

it's barely an hour since the sun rose, and you think hinata is so much brighter than the light coming through the doors and windows.

he's about to leave for another practise match, and you're seated in your shared living room, morning coffee unfinished on the table in front of you.

he’s beautiful, you think. bathed in the morning sun, there he stands at your front door. japan's pride and joy, ninja shoyo. him, falling in love with you?

he'd told you that his people back home had cried bitterly over their loss when he left, deciding to return to brazil and play for a brazillian team rather than stay with his people in japan.

he'd told you with a mischievious glint in his eyes and a rogueish smile spread across his face, and the slightest hint of a blush tinting his cheeks. "but hey, they’ll get over it! and … i came back partly so i can be with you, you know. together, like this."

and that had melted your heart. just those words had brought you home the stars and the entire sky — but you also sometimes wonder. if he stayed there, would he be happier? would he be happier if he had chosen those other things over you?

if he were with someone else?

after all, you weren't anyone special, and he wouldn't be getting anything particularly worthy from you — apart from all your love and adoration, but whether that was worthy or not wasn't for you to decide. was it?

"hey, hey?" shoyo repeats, and you blink, standing up. you walk over to him, plucking a strand of curly orange hair off his shoulder and patting the creases away from his chest. "sorry, i was just thinking."

"hm," he tilts his head to a side, picking up his sports bag and pulling it over his shoulder as he does. you know he's not convinced.

the clock ticks past 7:30 AM, and you're glad you don't have any places to be today. you're tired, and you wouldn't be able to see shoyo off like this if you were rushing around getting ready to go out.

shoyo watches you for a few seconds, brows furrowed together ever so slightly. "you okay, baby? looking a little tired. wanna come to the beach with me?"

you smile, noticing how his portuguese was still on the simpler side — and shrug your shoulders as an answer. "that'll just distract you." you tell him in japanese.

lies. nothing can distract shoyo when he's in a game.

all that'll happen is that you'll get to see him in action, eyes somehow glowing brighter than before, sun turning his skin rosy, hair getting peppered with sand as he flies up, kicking his legs back and slamming the ball across the net. an enthralling sight. and then—

"i'll give you a kiss for every point i score." he grins, taking your hand — and all of a sudden, everything you've just been thinking about stops making sense.

"mhm?" you nod, and he licks his lips, thinking. "a kiss for every point, and if my team wins — i'll take you out to eat something good. come, it'll be good for you."

"and if you lose?" you ask, and he only grins wider. "i won't. trust me."

trust you? with my life, shoyo. with my everything. the things you've been thinking about stops making sense — because hinata shoyo is dazzling. he shines bright, he's radiant and he's like the sun. and in that same sense, his passions and desires and his love — they shine, too. it's clear that he adores you as much as you adore him.

with that mutual adoration present and so tangible even to you, though you sometimes feel as if you don’t deserve it, what more was needed?

"shoyo," you still ask, because hearing it from him makes it all better. "you love me, right?"

he looks confused for a second. "yeah? i love you. i love you more than anything."

and again, he plucks out the jewels of the sky and hands them all down to you in one fell swoop, with his words that glimmer and drip with the radiant sincerity of his feelings. "huh, is this what you're thinking about? it's in your eyes, i can see it."

"what do you see?" you ask, but then you forget everything because he's gripping your hand tighter and pulling you closer, for a kiss.

"i love you, mkay? we're together. forever. you know i wanna be with you forever." he says it against your lips, and you almost taste the essence of his words. "i love you, and i'm glad to be with you."

you almost tear up, he's so sweet and so sincere, how could you ever doubt him? 

how he understands what you're thinking so easily, how he says exactly what you want to hear without trying, you don't know — but you appreciate it, and you offer him a smile in return to the way he makes you feel so good, so light, inside. "i love you, too. i love you with all my heart."

"then let's go?" he steps back a little to look at you, bright orange curls framing warm, puppy eyes as he gives you a pout. “please? i wan’ you to come today.” you glance out to the street waiting outside your shared house, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you nod. "give me a minute, i'll go change."

he gives you a grin that could harness all the power of the sun in it, letting go of you so you can go pull some better clothes on — and you catch his hand before it can fall to his side.

he turns back to you, inquiring, and you answer with a tug at his arm that lets him draw close enough for you to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "i really do love you."

and the blush that spreads across his face as you turn around and retreat to your room, is more proof that he loves you.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. he's the sun, he's the stars, he's the galaxy, and he's everything anyone could ever want. and he loves you.

loves you the way the sun carresses the moon, the way the rays of it kiss the shadows of the twilight at dawn and at dusk.

he's the pride and joy of japan, everyone loves him and he could have anything he had passion for, and anything he desired. and to him, that was to be a player of the sport that brewed and set alight his passions.

and to him, what he desired was you.

note: i was going to say it's crazy that i haven't posted much sfw shoyo content on here, but then i remembered that every time i write something like this about him it gets sooo personal 💔 this is a piece i wrote in 2021 but it comes out now because i say so ! thank you for reading !!

[21-06-1996]

“So, your patron is the God of Death?” Yeah. “So, are you a necromancer? A great Warrior?” …Nah, I’m a Doctor.

[21-06-1996]

── 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 : monkey d. luffy

content: fem!reader. unprotected & rough sεx, semi-public(?), multiple orgasms, once again a lot of cum, spitting, mean dom luffy except he's not doing it intentionally, use of the word ‘cunny’ lmao + a lil manhandling, one mention of anal. note: crawled out of hell to get this done for me & @kingofthe-egirls + the rest of us luffy lovers<3!

— . ｡˚ ♡ luffy seems to like it a lot when your pussy talks to him.

one thing about luffy is that he likes you loud. 

he likes you loud, and he’s demanding about it. demanding, greedy, and sometimes even a little mean. it's almost an unbelievable thing. imagine — your sweet boy, empty-headed and as dumb as a nut, mean.

you don’t think he even intends to do it, but sometimes when he’s got you flat on your tummy, back arching as he fits his dick in you and slides in all the way, the way he grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks together in his grip—telling you blankly, “louder. wanna hear ya.”—you can’t help but shiver a little. 

and sometimes it’s not even your mouth that he wants to hear. it’s your cunt.

“shhh,” he cups a hand over your mouth, stifling your whines as he keeps up that dizzying pace of his. “ya don’t want the others wakin’ up, princess.” 

the deck is empty and the others are all inside, and thankfully, the night is dark enough and the sea rough enough to let the two of you go about your little tryst without bothering the others. 

but he's embarrassing you with the little quips and you want to complain, tell him that with how sharp the slap of skin against skin between your bodies is, there’s no fucking way the others are still asleep. but the next knock of his cock against your favourite spot has you going mindless, the words dissolving on your tongue like sugar, his bliss being the only thing that fills your head.

your pussy squelches with each thrust of his dick inside, wet and hot and messy, but luffy seems to think it’s not enough.

he straightens up for a bit, and you want to whine again because it’s nicer when he’s all pressed up and heavy against your body—but then the glob of his spit hits your ass, the sound of him gathering it in his mouth and spitting again, again and again covering the momentary quiet—and you deliriously wonder what the hell it is that he wants. 

he’s already cum inside you, and he’s made you cum all over him twice over. it’s definitely wet enough.

but luffy spits once more before he’s satisfied, and with a little grunt he leans back over you, body hot and slick with sweat when he presses his chest to your back.

“y’re cute like this.” he comments, and it’s so silly how that’s what makes you blush. just a casual remark, when he’s literally balls-deep in you, on a bunch of messy, patchy sheets laid out on some corner of the ship. “really fuckin’ cute. do ya think i’m cute, baby?”

“mhm, i do.” you mumble, and he giggles as he grabs your hips and pulls you up into a position more comfortable for him and a little less comfortable for you—but you can’t care about that when he rolls his hips into you and has his cock pushing at the sensitive, bruised velvet of your walls all over again. 

the new slick of his spit is enough to get your pussy to make an embarrassing amount of noise as he fucks you, and luffy is laughing again like he loves how it sounds.

“cunny likes how i’m makin’ her feel, eh?” he coos, voice high and giddy with sex-induced ecstasy, loving how your walls tighten up around him when he presses the pads of his thumbs into the flesh of your ass, rubbing circles into your skin as he stretches your asshole out for his viewing pleasure.

“how about here?” he wonders almost to himself. “mmm?”

“lu—captain, no,” you moan, unsure if you’ll be able to hold back, going all dumb with the pain and pleasure so it just turns luffy on even more, if he tries to fuck your ass tonight. “n—not this time.”

“hmmm?” luffy groans, voice cracking, and you know his eyes are squeezed shut, teeth clenched, hands groping you harder as he drives himself closer to his next high. “and what if—what if captain orders it, princess? will ya defy the captain’s orders?”

“luffy—” you try to warn, but he clamps his hand back over your mouth, cutting you off as he snaps his hips into you in an especially mean thrust—and he laughs when your reprimand fluidly changes into a breathless moan right in his palm. “shhh, baby—pussy’s talkin’ to me.”

his other hand winds past your waist, fingers climbing down your inner thighs, searching for your clit through the mess he’s made between them. “she says she wan’s more.” and when he finds your clit, pearly little thing throbbing in anticipation for his touch, the cry you let out says that you want more, too. god, he just makes you feel so good without even trying.

luffy is merciless—and he doesn’t even know it. he pushes past the folds of your pussy and takes your clit between two fingers and pinches, like that isn’t going to send you to a spiritual plane that feels like both heaven and hell. your body rocks against his, but his hand is still over your mouth and you can’t do anything else but cry into it, wordless and incoherent. “mmmm!” 

and all he does in response is fucking laugh. he giggles again, playing with your clit like it's a fidget toy, the pace of his cock in your cunt getting faster and faster as he tightens you up and feels your body quiver underneath him, like a wire about to snap, the perfect thing to empty his load into. “louder, princess. y’r cunt talks better than y’r mouth—ah!”

he cums without warning. 

hot, thick and messy into you, catching even himself off guard. it was probably the way your cunt squeezed him, the relentless toying of his fingers at your clit forcing an orgasm out of you, a pulsing, continuous wave that makes you shudder and cuts luffy off and makes him choke up over you. 

you feel it fill you up and drip out, trailing down your thighs, and you feel luffy’s hot gasps at the back of your neck as he finally stops, wrapping his arms around your waist and falling on top of you like a dead weight. it would feel uncomfortable if you weren’t all tingly and numb.

there is a moment of silence, of shared breaths and body heat, before luffy giggles. “was that good, princess?”

“yeah. i—” your mumble is cut off by another “shhh!” that makes you curl up in his arms, afraid somebody was out and about to catch you both.

but then, you feel luffy’s grin against your own cheek. “quiet, ‘m talking to the cunny, not you.”

“monkey d. luffy. get your ass off me, right now.”

[21-06-1996]

𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : mikage reo.

if there's one thing reo loves doing for you, the one and only love of his entire life, it's using all his money and all his privilege to spoil you silly. for someone so rich and so educated and so esteemed, reo is so incredibly rogueish and sweet. and he saves most of it for you.

he seems to know exactly what you need when you're having a bad day. he surprises you by popping up at your door with flowers and your favourite snacks, often takes you out on late night rides in his car, calls you by the sappiest petnames like 'bunny', 'angelface' and 'sweetie-pie'. oh, and his camera roll is full of dumb pictures he's taken of you. he refuses to delete any of them, because you're just too cute in each one of them.

and he's so attentive, too! always asks you if you're okay or if you're enjoying yourself, and somehow always knows when you're in need of a ride. his chauffeur is your best friend at this point. and he makes time off his busy schedule to personally pick you up from work every day, and brings you both an umbrella and a raincoat when it's raining.

and oh, he loves taking you out on the fanciest and most lavish of dinner dates. the two of you take turns — you take him out on a little picnic to a park, or you introduce him to the delights of hopping between one street-food stall to the other for an entire evening, and the next night he'll introduce you to a fancy restaurant that's even richer than the ones he took you to before.

you tell him tonight, that you feel out of place surrounded by all these filthy rich people, getting served dinner on a set that looks like it costs more than all the furniture in your bedroom combined — but reo assures you that you're perfectly fine.

because you're so fucking beautiful, seated across from him in the pretty satin number he'd bought for you specially for tonight, so cute as you look around awe-struck at the chandeliers hanging above, your lips painted softly to match the colour of your dress, your eyes bright and your hair lovely — reo thinks you look like royalty.

and a restaurant like this one isn't exactly the place for public displays of affection — but reo wants to slide into your booth, press you against the new-leather seat and kiss you senseless.

he pulls himself together though, leaning on his fist and giving you that slow, wide smile of his. "how's it here, bunny?" he asks. "you like this place better than the last?"

"how am i supposed to choose?" you laugh, taking a sip from the drink you've been served. "it's beautiful here, and everything is so — so expensive looking, and the drink is great!"

your eyes soften as they meet reo's, and he thinks he'll melt if he holds your gaze for too long. "thank you for bringing me here." you say, and he can't hold himself back from stretching across the table to give you a little kiss. the inside of your mouth tastes sweet, and he so badly wants to have some more. but that can be saved for later.

right now, he has to admire you. he has to watch how the gentle lighting plays over your skin, how the dress accentuates all your curves and lines, how you close your eyes to enjoy your drink. you're so pretty, reo feels overwhelmed.

the date isn't even over yet, and he's already thinking of where to take you next.

you look up, see him watching you with such a loving look in his twilight eyes, and when your gaze flutters away, your cheeks warm and your lips twitching in a shy little smile, he thinks he could empty out all that he's worth to take you out like this every night and treat you like the royalty that you are to him, just to see you smile like that again and again and again.

he'll never get enough of you. and he hopes desperately that you will never get enough of him, either. a lifetime of you and him together, always in love and always wanting more, more, more — more time spent together, more kisses to eachother's lips, more love poured into your hearts. reo wants that so bad.

he sits there and continues to watch you, wondering if tonight is the night where he'll finally man up and present to you the ring he's been keeping in his pocket for the last two weeks.

maybe. maybe not. he's not entirely sure yet.

the second time you catch him staring, you're more prepared. tucking a stray curl of hair behind you ear, you give him a teasing smirk. “something on your mind, baby?”

and reo feels the way his face colours and heats up, even as he smirks back. “just admiring my pretty bunny. why?”

you laugh, the sound of it like music in his ear, and fuck. you make him so nervous. maybe he'll be keeping the ring in his pocket for another two weeks.

yeah. he swallows, reaches for his own drink and takes a sip from it, never breaking eye contact with you. he'll do it later. you're going to be around for that, no matter how long it takes — aren't you?

“sweetheart,” he grins, eyes sparking with mischief. “do ya love me?”

“of course i do, reo.” you respond seriously, and it warms his heart. you always take that question so seriously. “i love you so much. it’s why i've been tolerating your ass for years now.” he rolls his eyes towards the end of that sentence, and it makes you giggle — but the next sip of your drink was barely down your throat, and it makes you choke.

shit, shit—

reo nearly spills his own drink as he leaps out of his seat and rushes to your side, clapping your back for you and offering you a napkin, shielding your frame from the rest of the room as you sputter into the napkin, giggling even as you're choking and your face is reddening with stress.

“what's so funny?” reo mutters, amusement laced in his voice as he rubs your back and offers you the glass of water a waiter brings for you. you drink from it and cough again, giggling and trying to tell him that he's such a worrywart — and when you finally pull yourself together, you smile at him and say, “you know, you're such a keeper.”

he ignores the feeling of the ring box digging into his hip as he straightens up and kisses your forehead. “what's that mean, huh?”

“hmph.” reo gives you a playful frown, reclaiming his seat across from you and adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “so does that mean you'd say yes if i asked you to marry me, mm?”

“it means you're so caring and sweet to me.” you muse, wiping your mouth with the napkin and setting it down. your lipstick is now faded, and reo makes a note to himself to help you with it once you're both back in the car, so you can mark up this dress shirt of his, too — the way you've marked up every shirt he's ever worn on a dinner date with you. it's a tradition, at this point.

you carry on, unaware of his musings. “you're so gentle and loving — husband material. look how worried you got just cause i choked on some wine!”

“yeah.” your answer is so quick, it stuns him. it's your turn to offer him a mischievous smile. “so?”

fuck, fuck, fuck — he's too nervous. he can't do it tonight. not tonight. so instead of pulling out that ring and getting on one knee for you, reo smiles back and gives you a wink. “so, bunny, i hope you'll refrain from choking on your wine again and keep yourself alive for the near future.”

and when he sees the way your eyes widen as the meaning of his words sink in, the way your shoulders lift and your lips part in a little gasp — reo is sure that despite how nervous he is about this matter, his adoration and passion for you is soon going to overturn his anxiety.

he'll be putting that ring on you soon enough. and then you'll be his precious lover, all for him to spoil silly and wake up next to every morning, forever and ever.

note: i'll be honest — if this makes no sense it's because this is just me rambling about how very deep reo's love runs. how affectionate and passionate he is. how badly he wants to be someone's number 1. how badly he wants to have someone for himself. yeah.

rbs & feedback are highly appreciated! and of course, feel free to send me an ask if you'd like to chat<3 i am very starved of interaction :P

[21-06-1996]

──── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓 : kurokawa izana.

content: gn!reader. dοm reader & sub izana hehe<3 use of a bυtt plug, hand jοb, overstim, masοchistic behavior & dirty talk, dacryphilia, a lil degradation, teasing, multiple οrgasms (m), one slap on the thigh.

— . ｡˚ ♡ there's so many things about izana that people have no idea of.

kurokawa izana is something of a sadist. you know that. he's violent, a little (very) sick in the head, has so much blood on his hands and he's out for even more. he doesn't hesitate to start a fight, and he breaks people's bones and rids them of their lives with gleeful conviction. 

he'll kill a man and go home and hold your hands and kiss you like his hands aren't sticky and his lips aren't bitter with the slightest hint of blood.

kurokawa izana is a sadist and a ruthless emperor, and he's feared. everyone knows that. but what people don't know about him, is that he fears you.

better said, he fears being on your bad side. or what one could call your ‘bad side’, because really, your darling izana could never get on your bad side. he's just too precious to you for that.

the bad side he fears is the side of you that is so, so mean and merciless to him in bed. 

another thing most people don't know about izana is that he's a crier. his eyes fill with tears the moment you say something mean to him. he pouts, pleads and cries his eyes out for you every time you punish him for being a little brat.

or for being too careless, too reckless when he runs around the city killing everyone that gets on his nerves. it's deserved, after all, isn't it? you have to put him in his place sometimes. what would you do if the cops got him? the world would love to snatch up a criminal as renowned as yokohama tenjiku's one and only.

but then again, maybe he likes the punishment. maybe he likes crying for you, likes being fucked into a mess and turned into a stupid little doll in your arms.

you see the way his eyes roll back, pretty violet blurred with tears, mouth open and tongue out as he moans, sobbing your name, squirming in your arms and curling his toes while you milk his balls dry. yeah, definitely.

it seems kurokawa izana is also something of a masochist.

“open your mouth.” you say when he bites his lip, head tipping back as he cums into your fist again, legs twitching helplessly as you wrap an arm around his waist and hold him down, his bare back pressed to your chest. “open your mouth, ‘zana baby.”

he opens his mouth then, a little “mm, fuck— hah,” before his lips part and his little pink tongue is out for you again. 

“keep it open.” you say, knowing he wants you to spit in his mouth, deciding not to do it. you'll toy with him a little tonight. “keep it open and be loud. you know i like you loud.”

he's too fucked out to think up a proper sentence to reply to you with, so he just moans — and you'd slap his thighs red and raw to punish him for that, if only he wasn't so fucking cute like this.

the plug in his ass hums quite softly, but you know it's vibrating deep inside him and teasing his most sensitive spots while you're busy overstimulating his dick — the little sighs he lets out every now and then, shifting his position to dig the plug a little further into his ass, it lets you know he's enjoying it just fine.

his cum trails down your fingers, silky and translucent, making the movement of your fist up and down his poor, overstimulated cock even wetter, even faster. you watch it, watch the way his cock jerks up when you flick his sensitive head, smile when his moan turns into a pitchy cry. he's so cute.

“gonna be louder than that, princess?” you lean in and whisper into the shell of his ear. “or do i have to tie and gag you up and do something that'll really hurt you?”

the shiver that runs up his body is electric, and it makes his bronze skin rush with goosebumps. 

even you feel his instant arousal. he curls up in your hold, grabbing your wrist in shaky hands and whines, “no, ‘m being good! please— i'll be loud, fuck — i promise!.”

you trail your free hand up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm as you go, wrapping your fingers around his throat and squeezing. “you promise?”

”i—i promise,” he chokes out, eyes rolling into the back of his head, hips bucking into your fist as you tighten your grip around his spent dick. “please. don't wan’ you to hurt me—” you cut him off with a sharp slap to his thigh, and the moan that slips shamelessly past his lips gives him away. 

you don't rub the sting of it away for him, and he squirms again, his own hand hurrying to caress the burn. oh, baby.

he wants you to hurt him. wants you meaner. 

“pretty little pain-slut,” you scoff, taking his cock in your hand once more. ”dont lie to me. you want me to take that little plug out of your ass and fuck you good, hm? fuck you till it knocks you out?”

“uh huh,” he nods, looking up at you with wet, hazy eyes. you brush his hair aside, tucking the stray strands of pale hair behind his ears, kissing his sweaty forehead before you give him a smile. “uh huh? gonna take what i give you? like a good boy?”

“uh huh,” he repeats, trying to stay attentive but getting distracted by your hand that's inching down his body to tug at the plug still in his ass, teasing him and making him clench around the buzzing toy. “fuck. wa—wanna get fucked so bad, please.”

maybe just this once, you'll quit being too mean and give izana what he wants. he's being good right now, anyway. and of course — kakucho doesn't appreciate it when he comes home and finds out you've been messing your princess up a little too much while he was out.

“alright.” you decide, pulling izana in for a kiss. “i'll fuck you just the way you like. and then you'll behave for me?”

“hah— i will!” he begs, and he's just so pretty it makes you oblige. you know he won't behave. he knows you know. you both know he'll end up in bed with you like this again, give or take a couple of weeks.

but it's a cycle you both just cannot get enough of <3.

[21-06-1996]

.˚⊹ ꔫ — 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !!

content: gn!reader. fluff. perhaps slightly suggestive. established relationship / implied marriage if you squint. characters are written as adults. hinted final timeline but not explicitly! ... note: so glad this one's done lmaoo i hope you like it! squeezed in all my faves hehehe<3

— ⊹˚. ♡ his voice always goes soft when he calls your name.

° 𐐒𐐚 . HANMA SHUJI. BAJI KEISUKE. SANO SHINICHIRO.

"babydoll," he hums, voice low and saccharine as he slides over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back to his chest. his voice is husky with sleep, hair messy and eyes lidded, as he hums a good mornin' into your ear and kisses the back of your neck.

you're in the cute little apron he'd got for you, fixing him a breakfast of waffles and coffee, currently in the middle of making the homemade jam you once came up with that he likes so much. "'s breakfast for me?" he asks, repeating the little petname, leaning down and pooling his weight onto your back as he rests his chin on the crook of your neck.

his shirtless chest is warm, and he smells good — sleepy, smoky and of fresh sheets because you'd both changed the bedsheets last night before tucking in. "it is for you, baby." you say, grinding berries into the little bowl you've got your hand around. "go brush your teeth and take a shower, m'kay? so you can have a nice morning meal before you leave for work."

"ain't it the weekend?" he sighs, not wanting to move off you. you're so soft, so sweet-smelling and so comforting to the touch. "fuck work. i'll stay home with you t'day."

"you can't, it's not the weekend. and it's not like you have weekends off anyway." you laugh, dropping the little glass pestle down and taking hold of his chin, tilting his face so you can kiss him on the cheek. "go on. and if you woke up earlier, you'd have more time to cuddle me before you leave."

he smiles at your little chide, and the lines of his cheek press into your lips. "what if we just cuddled now, hm?" his grip around your waist tightens. "right here, on the kitchen counter. prop you up like this, 'n kiss you here, there—"

he pushes the plates and bowls aside and lifts you up onto the counter easily, but just as he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss, there's a clink! and before either of you can react, the little bowl in which you'd been preparing his jam for him rolls off the counter and shatters onto the floor.

"fuck—" you exclaim, trying to jump down but he pushes you back and skirts some of the porcelain away with the bottom of his slipper, looking sheepishly down at the mess. "look what you did now!"

"uh," he runs a hand through his hair, stepping back and glancing at the broom before he looks back at you — teeth flashing as his lips pull into an apologetic grin. "sorry."

"no cuddles for you. and no nice morning meal of jammy waffles and hot coffee either, it seems." your own lips draw themselves into a tight line, unimpressed as he makes a big show of getting the broom and wet rag to clean up the berry goop and broken glass.

"aw, babydoll. don't be so fuckin' mean." he grumbles, jutting his bottom lip out in a fake pout. but as he finishes sweeping and clears the spill, his expression softens again — and he walks over to you, placing a gentle hand on your knee as he leans in for a make-up kiss.

"g'nna get you a real grinder, a'right? one of the fancy fuckin' ones from the department store. 's what my babydoll deserves." he mumbles against your lips, and you can't help but relieve your frown and smile. "in my favourite colour?"

"mhm," his voice cracks just a little as he hums, smiling back into the kiss. "in your favourite colour."

° 𐐒𐐚 . KISAKI TETTA. KAKUCHO. HAITANI RAN.

"honey," he calls, shutting the door behind him and waiting for the beep of the automatic lock before he lets go of the knob and walks into the house. "i'm home."

for a moment, there's no answer and only a serene sort of quiet emanates from beyond the front hall — and he wonders if you aren't home. but then, he makes his way upstairs and hears the sound of your voice, muffled by a closed door that stands between him and you. you're in the bath, he realizes, a little wave of relief washing over him.

"honey," he knocks on the bathroom door before opening it a crack and peeking in. "i'm home."

"sweetheart!" you look up and see him at the door, and he has to pause and stare for a moment because you're so lovely, covered in soap suds and with your wet hair slicked back, the pretty silver lights he'd got for you hung up on the ceiling and bathing you in a dim, ethereal glow. "you're home!<3 come here, baby."

you pat the edge of the bath tub, and though he's in a suit because he'd had to attend an event (a tiring one) today, he takes his socks off and walks into the bathroom, sitting on the edge as you'd asked him to before leaning in and sliding a hand into your wet hair, pulling you in for a soft, lingering kiss. "missed you today."

"hmm," you muse, tilting your head to a side and reaching up to cup his cheek in a wet palm. "more than usual?"

"more than usual," he agrees, and you notice the wear in his eyes, in his expression. your thumb caresses the lift of his cheekbone for a moment, before your hand slides down to his shoulder and presses against his chest. "come join me in the bath, baby."

"hm?" he mutters, having nearly dozed off sitting in the bathroom, your hand gentle and comforting on his person and the warm air of the bathroom that was so unexpectedly nice after the heavily air conditioned meeting room he'd been sitting in for hours and hours on end. "what did you say, honey?"

"come join me in the bath." you say, reaching out with your other hand to hook a finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it and letting him breathe a little. he frowns a little, as if hesitant to agree, and you jump back in — "it'll be good for you to relax, baby. i'll wash your back 'n your hair. please?"

and it's not that he doesn't want to get in the bath with you, it's that the tub isn't really big enough for the two of you— but the pleading look you give him and the weariness in his body that lulls him downwards along with the insistent tug you give to his elbow, is all enough to convince him.

"alright," he sighs, standing back up and sliding his suit jacket off his shoulders with a shrug, slipping his arms out the sleeves and hanging it on the hook meant for his towel. you watch as he undresses, welcoming him into the tub with a kiss to his shoulder when he squeezes in.

you end up seated on the edge of the tub yourself, letting him relax in the soapy water as you use the showerhead to run water through his hair and over his back. he sighs, shutting his eyes and feeling so thankful as a wave of relaxation washes over him via your gentle hands and the warm, fragrant water.

“thank you, honey.” he mumbles, voice low with wear.

you give him a smile and kiss his wet hair. “it's no problem, baby. i love taking care of you.”

° 𐐒𐐚 . RYUGUJI KEN. HAITANI RINDOU. KUROKAWA IZANA.

“princess,” he waves to you from across the street, seated on his motorcycle and leaning on the handlebars. your friends start giggling as you jump and spin around to look for him, fighting your blush.

his eyes are droopy as he meets your eyes from the distance, and he'd look bored if you didn't know him better. but you know he's just taking his time checking you out. and he's looking so good but also being so embarrassing, calling you cutesy names like that in public.

you nod to your friends, cheeks hot because they're winking at you and swooning over how perfect of a boyfriend your man is, and with a quick good-bye you hurry to the other side of the street.

he leans in and waits expectantly, and you give him a kiss on the cheek before climbing onto the back of his motorcycle. he takes your helmet from where he'd slung it on one of the handlebars, and you stand beside him feeling all pampered while he fits it carefully over your head and fastens the strap under your chin for you.

“you're embarrassing, baby.” you chide, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek on his shoulder as he drives off.

“me? embarrassing?” he scoffs. “and how am i embarrassing? don't want me to come pick you up from work anymore?”

“no, it's not that!” you protest, and you see the grin that flits to his lips from the motorcycle mirror. rolling your eyes, you give him a pout that he won't see but knows is there on your pretty little mouth.

“then what is it, princess?” he chuckles fondly, and you twist your lips indignation before you continue.

“it just makes me shy when you call me that in public.” you confess, the heat returning to your cheeks again as you think about it. his voice just sounds so nice in your ear, and it reminds you of something else sometimes, when he calls you those names.

hearing it makes you feel hot in your cheeks and in your chest and in your stomach all in one go. “when i call you what in public, huh?” he asks, the smile on his face once more. you punch his shoulder gently, leaning back and shaking your head a little to free as much of your hair in the wind as you can with the helmet on. “that.”

“i don't know, princess, i'm not a mind reader.” he shrugs his shoulders, teasing, knowing exactly what you mean.

“you just said it again!” you cry out, as he starts to laugh. “when you call me princess! it makes me shy!”

he chuckles again, relaxing around your hold as you wrap your arms around him again, letting out a little hmph! that hits the back of his neck and sends a shiver down his spine.

“now princess,” he deadpans, slowing down and looking to the side as he makes a turn. “don't make a fuss.”

and ugh, it's just too easy for him to tease you. “baby!”

[21-06-1996]

ushijima loves to look at you,, during random times like you're just eating or doing the laundry and hes looking at you with the SOFTEST eyes,,

but it applies in bed too 👀

he loves seeing how you lose it, the way your brows furrow as you try to take his cock, the way your eyes flutter when you get close, how you throw your head back when he fucks u into oblivion ❤️

content: gn!reader, established relationship, unprotected + soft sex, size kink, body marking, slight breeding kink (thoughts), implied multiple rounds. note: thank you so much for sending this in hehe<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ wakatoshi just adores so much, no matter what you're doing.

sometimes, ushijima can't fathom it. he thinks about it all the time — how someone so pretty, so sweet, so gentle and soft and perfect, can belong to him. and sometimes, he just can't believe it.

he takes his seat at the table every morning, waiting for you to walk over and give him his morning kiss before you go back to fixing him his breakfast, and he just watches you the entire time, enamoured.

you hum under your breath sometimes, a song you'd been playing on the radio the other day. squinting at labels on bottles and smiling in satisfaction at the warm, delicious smell of your cooking as you breathe it in. dressed in the little apron he'd picked out for you in your favourite colour, a splotch of syrup on it from when you'd done a taste test and dripped a little onto your chest.

he wants you to take another taste and go “mmm~” again because it was so incredibly adorable how you did it. he wants you to turn around and give him a smile, ask him if he'd like to test the taste for you. because he knows you'll giggle and tell him ‘you always say that, toshi!’ when he simply tells you that it tastes good.

you're just so cute, ushijima can barely handle it sometimes.

and his innocent thoughts about how pretty you are, how cute your voice is, how soft your hips and waist are as he pulls you in for a kiss, how slender and small your fingers are, how dewy your lips are and how lovely your eyes are—

they build up throughout the day, filling him to the brim and pulsating inside him, turning him into a ravenous, needy, love-filled force of nature by the end of the day. which is why he's so glad you help him let it all out when you go to bed for the night.

“hn—ngh! toshi, toshi!” his name rolls so pretty off your tongue, so soothing in his ear as you moan, your legs kicking out around his waist as he folds you in half, your knees to your chest as he slowly, steadily slides his thick, angry cock into you in one go.

you wrap around him so tight, the sticky warmth of you so good ushijima thinks he might go insane— but he holds steady, rolling his hips gently into you and holding back the heavy groan that wells at his throat when you clamp up around him, and you dig your nails into his muscled back. “toshi, so big!”

you tell him that every time. the same way he tells you every time that your cooking tastes good.

and just the same way he knows you love it each time he tells you that, he loves it when you whine so sweetly into his ear each time, that he's so big you can hardly take him.

“hah—” he grunts hoarsely through gritted teeth, meeting his hips to your ass with a little slap! that makes you throw your head back and moan. “take it, darling. you can take it.”

you're so full — so full and so stretched out, his cock pushing at every throbbing, tingling part of you, making you go dumb and dizzy just by bottoming out into you.

he moves back a little, a shiver coursing up his spine as he hears the wet, sloppy sound of his cock sliding out of your entrance, before thrusting back in— and your legs jerk up again, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his face closer to yours as you cry out his name.

he wants to be patient with you and let you adjust before he quickens his pace — but oh, he just can't wait. he wants to fuck you to bits, fill you all up.

the only warning you get is the way he adjusts his hold on your body, wrapping those big, beefy arms around your thighs and pushing you into the mattress with his weight as he towers over you—

and with the next snap of his heavy hips against yours, you're sent to the edge almost immediately. “ah! toshi—”

“good, good little thing for me,” he hisses, eyes narrowing as he fucks into you and the pleasure seeps into his bones, cockhead kissing your sweetest spots just right, making you spasm around him so fucking well.

he watches as your eyes lose focus, face flushed and body coiling up around his strength and girth as he fucks you into a mindless mess without even trying. oh, he loves you so much.

he kisses you, a touch of his lips to your skin for each thrust and your mouth falls open, lashes fluttering as you cry his name out, squeaky little toshi! toshi! toshi!’s spilling from your parted lips as he fucks his cock deeper and deeper into you, wanting you to feel so, so good as he makes you cum before filling you up.

“close, aren't you?” he mutters hazily, groaning as you drag your nails down his sweat-slicked back, the sharpness of them sure to leave marks on him. he can feel your orgasm coming. sees it on your pretty little face, the way your brows furrow and your eyes roll back into your head, full of anticipation.

“mmm,” you moan, arching your back and meeting the thrust of his cock as he pushes into you, letting out another pitchy “ah!” as he hits just fucking right — and the pressure, the stretch of his cock, the stars in your eyes, it all overwhelms you and pushes you over the edge.

”toshi!” you gasp, and ushijima knows your vision is going white. he loves what he's doing to you. “don't stop, toshi, ‘m cumming, god—”

and before you can even finish your sentence, he gives you one last thrust and lets out a hoarse, barely audible curse— and gives you a stuttered confession of his love before he comes to a stop and empties his hot, thick load into your hole. “fuck.”

there's another sharp, wet sound of skin hitting skin as he falls into your warm embrace, and he breathes in, smelling himself on you as he kisses you, feeling his cum fill you up and spill out, making a mess between your bodies and on the sheets. “hnngh, toshiiii,” you whine his name, fucked out just by the first round.

he kisses you again and again, loving how pretty you are and how pretty the space where his body connects to yours looks all messy with your cum and his, loving how you tangle your arms and legs around him, whining his name over and over like a precious little toy.

oh, how ushijima loves looking at you. you're just so lovely to him. especially when you're under him like this.

[21-06-1996]

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐒 + 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 !!

content: gn!reader. sfw — fluff. slightly suggestive in shidou's part. featuring: bachira meguru, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, michael kaiser. some of these hcs were suggested to me by other tumblr users! they are credited separately under each part<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ he thinks of these special moments whenever he's feeling down, and it helps him get right back up.

° 𐐒𐐚 . bachira meguru + painting date!

credit to @katasstrophy for the idea! the bachira family has a little art studio built in their house, owned by bachira's mom. he takes you there one time, and though you'd been doing your best to keep things clean for his mother's sake, the two of you end up making a huge mess.

you're intently dabbing brown and yellow paint on your little canvas, looking back at the mental image you've conjured of your boyfriend sitting in a field of flowers and smiling at you, when you hear shuffling behind you.

"baby, baby," is all bachira says in warning. "look this way!" and you turn around, wide-eyed and inquiring as you finally look away from the canvas on which you've been meticulously painting a picture of your rogueishly adorable boyfriend—

only to be met with a splat of bright pink paint across your face. "m—meguru? what the hell?" it's on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth that had been open in question to bachira's urgent request for you to turn around, and it's nearly in your eye. "god i could've eaten that shit!"

the sound of bachira's unapologetic giggling fills the quiet studio as you get up and pluck a wad of tissues from the box on the table nearby, wiping your face off with it. while your back is turned, he flicks his paint-sopped brush at you again, and you feel the paint hit the back of your neck. "don't do that!"

you stand up straight and turn your back to your easel, squaring your shoulders and doing your best to protect the painting.

"it's—" bachira's laughing so hard now, he snorts in between his words. "it's even worse now, baby — it's all over your face!" and you know that. because you can feel the paint smear down to your chin as you wipe. oh, you think, he's so fucking cute right now, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkly as he giggles.

but that's not going to stop you from retaliating. meguru, you're about to get it.

his mother chewed him out and made him clean the place up afterwards, but bachira would do it again and again and again, just to see your pretty smile and hear your pretty laugh, your eyes lit up as you tried to stay angry with him while the two of you made a mess of yourselves and the studio once more.

° 𐐒𐐚 . hyoma chigiri + poetry analysis date!

credit to @yakshasslut for the idea! chigiri gives you a book of his favourite love poems to read while he's away, and by the time he comes back home, you're brimming with tender feelings for him and he flusters so sweetly when you express it. ever since, it's been a tradition to share and mull over novels and poems together.

not many of chigiri's friends or teammates are well-versed in poetry or literature in general, but there is one novel of prose that each and every one of them can name and recognize within an instant — and it's a book that you gave your boyfriend as a gift, years ago.

it doesn't have much of you in it — it's a collection of poems that express the joys and pains of long distance love, and the only hint of you in it is the lipstick kiss on the front page, with a "for hyoma, my one and only<3" written on it in your handwriting.

he takes it everywhere. flicks through the pages while he's on the plane, while he's resting in his hotel room, and sometimes even takes it with him to games.

he takes so much care to keep it safe and in good condition, but it's quite worn now— he can't bring himself to shelf it, though. it's his most prized posession, almost.

he reads it and keeps in mind that while he's away, you're reading the new book that he had gifted you before he left, and he smiles to himself, imagining how you underline and draw hearts around your favourite lines and write little pencil notes about how "this is you @ me!"

don't get it wrong, chigiri loves being on the field. he loves the glamour, the adrenaline, the fire of scoring a goal — but at his heart, he's soft. domestic.

he hopes fondly for the day he'll get to lay in bed with you again (he's only going to be away for two weeks. but it feels like two months, or even years, sometimes) and have a cozy little date where you just sip on warm coffee and share sweet cakes while mulling over poems together.

it's comforting. it's home.

he thinks about the worn book of poems that sits on your shelf, back at your place. the one he gave you.

the one you read all the time, leaving new annotations bookmarked for him to find each time he picks the book up for a read.

if he ever actually tired of football, chigiri thinks he might just become a poet. for you.

° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo + picnic date at the beach!

credit to anonymous! reo is a rich man, and he's so used to fancy dinner dates, luxury trips, first class service, all that. so when you take him on a cute little beach date, getting him to help you cut sandwiches and bake brownies and cookies earlier in the day, it was a new experience for him. and he loves it.

“reo, what about here?” you ask, turning around to look at him as you hop in your cute little sandals on the sand. he's carrying the picnic basket and you have the blanket folded under your arms — and he's been following you across the pretty beach for about fifteen minutes now.

though you ask him if he likes the spot, he knows from the look in your eyes that you actually like this place, and it's nice! the sand is soft and there's not a lot of rocks or seaweed under foot, the shore is a short walk away, and the sunset spills so pretty onto your skin and into your eyes.

he's almost lost in the sight — but when you call his name again, sounding a little concerned as you ask, “reo? you okay?” he snaps out of it and gives you one of his signature, wide and adorable grins. “yeah! here is fine, baby.”

he doesn't know but even his eyes are lit up, the violet of them beautiful and tinted gold in the light of the setting sun, and you can't help but cup his face and kiss him as he puts the basket down and sits on the blanket beside you.

“isn't this fun?” you giggle against his lips, and he hums in agreement, taking your waist in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss. the evening has just started, but he already knows that he'll remember this moment fondly, forever. “mhm, it is fun.”

“you sure?” you ask, tracing his cheek with your thumb, and it's almost a softer, warmer feeling than that of the sun kissing his face. “it's not your usual scene, i know. we can always go to a—”

”no,” reo cuts you off, taking your hand. the smile he gives you is prettier, brighter than any he's ever given you before. it takes your breath away. “it's not my usual scene, yeah.” he chuckles. “in fact, i've never had a picnic on the beach in my life until now. but it's... nice. i love it.”

he says it so softly, and it's rare, coming from your bubbly, bright and ever-so-forward lover. and that's how you know he's telling you the truth.

“alright then.” you kiss his cheek, pulling away and sitting back, dragging the basket closer so you can take the food out. it's just a little kiss, the same as any other kiss you've given his cheek — but somehow, it holds a different sort of warmth, and it comforts him. makes him feel so softly, gently beloved.

and he swears he'll hold this warmth to his cheek, to his chest, to his heart — forever.

° 𐐒𐐚 . michael kaiser + homemade spa date!

credit to anonymous! off days with kaiser are the nicest spent indoors. you go on outdoor dates (and on dates overseas) so often, that it's a nice change to stay at home once in a while and spend some sweet, domestic time with him instead.

“mikka,” your tone is scolding as you cradle his face in your palms, stopping him from wiggling around as you try to stay balanced in his lap. “can you stop moving? the serum is getting in your hair!”

kaiser laughs, the lift of his lips making him look all the more prettier, and hence all the more fucking distracting, as you try to wipe the residual bits of the face mask you'd just peeled off your boyfriend's face, replacing the thick, opaque cleanser with softly translucent moisturizer.

he taps your palmful of moisturizer with an index finger, and with a quick move of the digit he swipes the blob on your nose, making you flinch back and blink in surprise.

“mikka!”

ah, there it is. mission successful. kaiser almost wishes he could go to sleep forever and in his dreams, listen to you calling him by that sweet little petname for the rest of his life. almost.

because he wishes more than that to kiss you all the time. like right now. he leans forward, the smile stretching his mouth giving away his intention to you, but not in time for you to escape. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, kissing you with soft, sweet and swollen lips that you'd just finished exfoliating with sugar and honey.

“baby,” your eyebrows furrow, but you still kiss him back and it makes him chuckle because oh, for all the fuss you make and all the scowling you do, you love him so. “we'll never get to the manipedi by movie time at this rate.”

“movie time can wait, princess,” he sighs against your lips. “all i want right now is to watch you, anyway.”

and his words are romantic, suggestive, and they'd bring a blush to your cheeks for sure — if he hadn't accidentally tipped you off balance in that second.

“mikka!—” you yelp (to his delight) as he grabs you and tries to steady you — but even as he saves you, your hand reflexively flails upwards to curl around his arm for support.

and with a smack, the moisturizer is all over his bicep instead of lathered evenly across his face as it should be.

the upset on your face is apparent, but kaiser only grins expectantly as he grips your waist, adjusts your position in his lap again, waiting.

and you don't disappoint. “look what you've done! mikka!”

[21-06-1996]

⠀⠀──── 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 : kisaki tetta.

content: fem!reader. unprotected + rough sεx, degradation, light bοndage, hair pulling, he is mean! and then very nice. one slap, he has a watch and rings on, one instance of the term 'whοre'. overstim, brief description of svbspace.

— . ｡˚ ♡ kisaki is so very nice and sweet to you, until he snaps.

kisaki prides himself in being a gentleman. he's refined — handsome, calculating, smooth-voiced and so kind to you.

he treats you like royalty. calls you his darling, kisses you good morning and good night. opens doors for you, gets on his knees to put your shoes on for you. pays for everything. and he never, ever breaks.

not until the nights that follow after a day in which things go wrong for him at work. when something crucial goes awry, when a vital plan fails, when there's a group of traitors discovered amongst the underlings. he gets angry.

and for most people, kisaki tetta's anger means death. but you welcome it with open arms<3.

“ha—ah, tetta!” you cry out, chin digging into your pillow, tits and stomach pressed into the sheets so hard as kisaki pushes you down into the mattress as he towers over you, the heat of his body washing over your skin as he fucks you from the back, hard. “tetta, tetta—please!”

“shut up,” kisaki hisses through clenched teeth, readjusting his grip on your wrists that are roped up behind your back by the coils of his pretty, black and beige pencil-striped tie. “shut up and take it.”

and you will. it's not as if you have a choice. you want to tell him his cock feels so good, you want to tell him harder, tetta! and you want to babble sweet nothings about how much you love him so it makes him feel better—

but with each drag of his length past your sweet spot and every forceful kiss of his cockhead at your cervix, all the words on your tongue evaporate and all the thoughts in your head fall apart. he's fucking you dumb.

so you shut up and let him fuck you, lost in the sting of his hips against your ass and the tantalising slap of his balls against your clit every time he slides deep inside enough— pitchy little ah-ah-ah-ah!’s forced out of your wet, kiss-swollen lips with each thrust.

the scent of sweat, cigars and eau savage fills your lungs with each gasp, the taste of it touching the back of your throat— he'd forgotten to take his watch off, and as he maintains his balance by holding onto your body as you lay under him, you feel the metal strap of the watch dig into your lower back, pinching your skin between the little links. “tetta!”

he doesn't relent. it gives him a rush, a thrill to hear his name leave your pretty little mouth with such fervour, such love and such pleasure.

you will never do him wrong. you're perfect.

his dick, pretty and blushed and drooling pearls of precum into you, fits so well into your little cunt. your warm, velvet walls hug him so tight, fluttering around him just right as he fucks you, pace only increasing with the height of his frustration.

you bury your face into the pillow, moaning into it— and he snaps at you, burying a hand into your hair and pulling your head back up. “stay up,” he orders, his usual gentleness gone without a trace. “say my name.”

“mmmh, tetta!” you obey, such a good little pet for him, your pupils nearly going heart shaped as your eyes roll back, the way he pulls you up by your hair while rolling his hips in and fucking his cock into your cunt all the way has you shaking. god, you love it when he's like this.

“again,” kisaki spits, giving your hair a sharp yank— and you moan, throwing your head back and pushing your body back into his mean, sloppy rhythm. “tetta, tetta, tetta! mmm, love you!”

he slaps the back of your thigh as he pulls back, the metal of his rings painful against the plush of your skin — but you can't even give him a whine because he's already sinking his cock balls deep into you, and immediately the pain is forgotten by the overwhelming surge of bliss.

“you love me?” kisaki scoffs, breathless yet so mean. “do you really, huh? sweetheart?”

“mhm!” you nod, half-conscious as you focus on the tightening of your entire body with the impending orgasm, yet so eager to please him. “i love you soo much!”

“‘s that so?” he lets go of your hair to palm your throat, pulling you up and enjoying the way your back arches so lovely as he leans in, turning your face to a side so he can kiss you. “mhm!” you say again, into his mouth.

“turn over, then.” he rasps, and you pause, heart dropping just a little when his tone doesn't change into something sweeter. “turn over, honey.”

“mmm,” you mumble, pulling away and turning over onto your back, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him back in as he kneels between your thighs. “‘m close, tetta,” you tell him, turning your voice as sweet as you can possibly make it. “please don't be mean. let me cum. please?”

“if you loved me,” his eyes glint dangerously behind his glasses, as he corrects them and pushed them up his nose. “you'd be letting me cum first.”

of course! you'll let him do it, you're letting him use your body and your little cunt to vent his frustrations out on, aren't you? your greatest pride and joy is to make him happy at your hands, isn't it?

“mm, cum in me, tetta.” you smile, so pretty underneath him. you lift your ass up a little, grinding your wet cunt against his dick, wanting it back inside you. “want it in me.”

“good girl.” is all kisaki tells you, before he's giving his cock back to you— he hooks his arms around your thighs, pulling your body up and slotting his cock back inside, and he can't help the smirk that tugs at his mouth when you grip the sheets, throwing your head back and moaning his name so well.

“that's it.” he squeezes your hip. “just like that, sweetheart. little whore when you're on me.” and you are. oh, you are.

it takes him only a few more thrusts before he's cumming into you, and the warm, sticky feeling of his cum filling your little hole up and dripping out—

the hot, slippery mess that forms between your bodies as he keeps his pace up, nearly trimmed nails and watch strap digging into your thighs as he holds onto you and fucks every drop as deep in you as he can — it pushes you off the edge, too. “tetta, tetta! ‘m cumming, cumming!”

”mhm,” he smiles at the familiar babble of needy little moans that leave your lips, cock twitching inside you with just a hint of overstimulation as you tighten around him so bad he can barely move. “go on, sweetheart.”

“touch me!” you sob, knowing that your orgasm is going to be overwhelming after what he's put you through, fucking you senseless like that. “please tetta, please—”

his fingers graze your clit then, thumbing some cum off his dick before pressing it into the puffy little bundle of nerves, and the electric pleasure that courses through you at the single, so very needed stimulation is white hot. “cumming, cumming, cumming—”

your legs kick out around his waist, and beyond your ring of blinding bliss, you can hear him laugh. he slows down, the mean cant of his hips getting gradually gentle until he stops. when he slips his cock out of your cunt, it comes out with a wet sound — and as you lift your head, giddy and dazed, you see how pretty and red it's gotten, and a giggle escapes you.

“tetta,” you sigh. “do you love me?”

“of course.” kisaki answers, and your heart warms when you hear the gentle tone to his voice. “of course i love you. you know that, right?”

“mhm.” you smile again as he leans down, tanned chest glowing with sweat as it meets yours, and he kisses you softly, such a lovely contrast to how he was earlier. of course he loves you. “i do know. don't worry.”

when kisaki hums against your lips, you feel his smile, too. “good.”

[21-06-1996]

Hi my name is virtue and i'm plagued (pos) by thoughts of how delightfully vocal hanma is in bed.

content: fem!reader. unprotected sεx, riding dⅰck<3 shuji is loud and talks so much. multiple rounds and οrgasms, overstim, use of the terms daddy and babydoll. manhandling. note: this took me so long i apologizey_y

— . ｡˚ ♡ hanma likes it best when you're just as vocal as he is.

“shuji—” your voice has nearly given out. your body is hot and sore and your skin glows with sweat under hanma's bedroom light. the slap-slap-slap! of skin against skin fills the room, along with your boyfriend's shameless moans and sighs of pleasure.

“say my name again, baby,” he groans, sliding his big hand down your waist to your ass, squeezing at the plush skin before giving it a sharp slap. “fuckin’ say it, and open your mouth—moan pretty for me, yeah?”

you're tired — hanma has been making you ride his cock for what feels like hours, and your legs are trembling, cunt and thighs messy with your slick and his cum, and your clit is begging for relief.

but he doesn't let you stop. “c'mon, dollface. fuck, you look so fuckin' good like this, mm?” he hisses through gritted teeth, hips jerking up to meet your body when your cunt flutters around him, making his dick throb. “tits so good when they bounce like ‘at. gotta— gotta fuckin' see em jump while i cum.”

god, he uses the most embarrassing fucking words sometimes— but you're so blissed out and dizzy on the feeling of his big, big cock inside you, that you can't give a damn. 

“hhngh— shuji, ‘m tired.” you beg, grabbing hold of his arms and using them to hold yourself up, still being such a good girl as you fuck his cock, pussy drooling and pulsing hot and wet all around his girth. “please.”

“keep goin’, baby.” he moans so loud, throwing his head back and exposing the expanse of his throat for you, and you can see red lines from where you'd dug your fingers in and scratched him down the side of his neck— you want to lean in and kiss him there, but you think if you move forward too much right now, you might collapse.

hanma is nice enough to grab your hips and fuck up into you, lightening the effort. “heh,” he smiles, a drunken stretch to his lips — and his eyes lower to his cock, watching the way your cunt stretches out around him as he rolls his body up in slow, languid thrusts.

“was gonna put a— a ring on you for valentine's day, baby.” his laugh is breathy, partially a stuttered moan. he eyes the milky band of cum and slick that sits around the base of his cock, getting thicker every time you sink your pussy hilt-deep onto him— and his smile widens. “but it looks like you beat me to it. look at that.”

your face heats up in a furious blush, and hanma just chuckles at your expense as you shudder in his arms, feeling an orgasm coming but also feeling too exhausted to even tell him about it.

his dark, golden gaze scans you as you try to catch your breath, thinking you're so fucking pathetic and so pretty as you keep going, just incapable of saying no to him even when you're begging him to give you a break.

he knows you love getting fucked on his cock as much as he loves watching you get fucked on it. “talk t’ me, baby.” he coos, patting your cheek before wrapping sin around your throat and gently leading your lips to his.

your hips buckle then, and your ass smacks onto his thighs as you sit down on his dick and whine. “fuck—” he groans, choking on his words as he lets out a string of cusses under his breath. “little cunt did so good f’me, ah?”

“can’t— wanna cum, shuji.” your eyes flutter, rolling back into your head as you exhale and slump into his chest, upset as you feel the stimulation against your clit die down but you've worked enough for one night. 

“kah— you tappin’ out on me?” he grins, squishing your cheeks in his big, big hand and giving your head a little shake. ”c’mon baby, give me a good time.”

“wanna cum,” you beg, tears dotting your lashline now. you wanna please him so bad, but you just cant. “shuji, shuji please. i … i did well already, mhm?”

you're so fucking cute. so damn good, so pretty and all his for the taking, he knows. you've pleased him plenty already, it's true. he's made you ride him and let him watch your tits bounce till he came three whole times into your pretty little pussy— and till you'd come undone, shaking and whimpering in his hands as you struggled to fuck his cock through your orgasm at least four times. 

and hey, isn't valentine's day supposed to be an occasion where the man showers his woman in gifts, affection and love?

“alright, since you're askin’ so sweet.” he chuckles again, and when sin and punishment grip your waist again, they do it firmly and with force.

hanma lifts you off his cock easily, and you don't notice but it twitches, the vein that runs underneath throbbing heavily when you let out a sad little whine like you're sad it's not in you anymore— and he shushes you, pushing you down on your back across the sheets. “let daddy take care of you now, m’kay?” he giggles.

you blush again at the term that you always say is so embarrassing yet makes you so wet and obedient for him anyway — and as you nod, hanma climbs over you, trapping your body under his broad shoulders and between his long, lanky limbs. “just need you to say the words f’me, baby.” he says, taking hold of your legs under the knees and hooking them over his shoulders.

you feel your cunt open up, slick and fluttering in anticipation for him, and the sensation of the cool air washing over the sensitive flesh right before the blunt head of his cock presses over your hole — it has you keening. 

he doesn't even have to instruct you. “please shuji, daddy—” you babble, needing him. “need you to fuck me ‘n help me cum. tired, so tired and i did well for you, didn't i daddy? need you to make me feel good now, please.”

and how could he ever say no?

“anyth—shit—anythin’ for my babydoll.” he hisses sharply, pushing his cock past your entrance and back into your warm, velvet cunt. his hands, the dark tattoos contrasting so prettily against his pale skin as he grips you tight, holding you in place as he thrusts in and slides himself into you in one go.

you cry out weakly, toes curling with the pleasure that rushes through you when he splits you open and his tip bumps your cervix— and he smiles down at you, golden eyes lidded and dopey. “yeah, ya like that? like how daddy can fuck his cock so deep into your little cunt?”

“mhm, mhm,” you nod, by now so blissed out that all you can do is moan and tell him mhm to every question he asks. 

“baby's all fucked out already,” he tuts, giving you another thrust, the schlick! of his cock going in and out so loud it sends the most delicious shiver up his spine. he's going to fuck you so hard. “y’gonna match my energy, doll? gonna moan with me ‘n cry while you cum?”

“mhm,” you nod, mouth falling open as he thrusts harder, and your arms come up to wrap around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. “love you, shuji.”

god, he thinks, giggling into your mouth, biting into your swollen bottom lip. he's going to fuck you so damn hard, when you finally cum this one last time, it'll fucking knock you out. 

notes: interactions, reblogs & feedback are much appreciated! come thirst with me in my asks<3 tagging: @katasstrophy here it is rivvy! hehe<3

[21-06-1996]

FANGS by Billy Balibaly – Chapter 8

[21-06-1996]

— 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐒? : hanma shuji

content: f!reader. sin&punishment tattoos on your tits. he calls you doll and babydoll + playful use of the term 'slut'. he calls himself daddy. size kink, choking, manhandling, tit sucking, body marking, fingering, orgasm denial, begging.

an : god i might actually get these tats on my tits </3⠀⠀⠀

 ⠀⠀⠀ — . ｡˚ ♡ you've always wanted to match tattoos with hanma.

you sit there, wrapped in your towel at the edge of your bed, smelling of soap and hanma's cologne, waiting for him to come home.

it's a little later than usual, but he'd sent you a message ( [18:26] shuji: i'll b home l8 baby ) so you knew to wait patiently. you also knew that as every other time that hanma came home late from work, he'd be tired and needy for you.

hungry to dig his fingers into you, sink his teeth in and relish your sweetness as it meets his insatiable tongue. it's his favourite way of winding down after a long day. and tonight is going to be special — because you've got a little surprise for him ♡.

the house is quiet as you wait, and you hear easily enough when the front door downstairs is opened. a jingle of keys, a click! and then a slight creak, as it swings ajar.

hanma doesn't call out when he comes in. there's no “i'm home!” or “i'm back sweetheart!” with him. he walks in silently, not even bothering to turn the lights on — he's like a panther stalking prey in the dark, as he saunters in and makes his way up the stairs to the bedroom.

you cup your chest with your palms as you listen intently for his footsteps, feeling the supple skin up, thinking of how his hands would feel over them. his big, calloused palms and long fingers — squeezing so harsh and good.

and then you hear his footsteps — heavy, rhythmic steps that thud closer and closer to your door, and you can't help but rub your thighs together, hot and bothered just by the thought of him and the sound of his arrival.

you watch, as the door handle twists so silently, not a single squeak — before it swings gently open.

hanma stands right outside, peeking through the narrow gap — long and lanky figure accentuated by his pinstriped suit, hair falling over one eye in wavy blonde and black locks, the round lenses of his glasses reflecting the light of your room, concealing his gaze.

a thrill rushes up your spine when his mouth eases into that sly, lopsided grin. “baby.” he croons.

he kicks the door open with one foot, stepping in. the door slams against the wall with a bang, and he chuckles in amusement when it startles you — and his grin only widens as he eyes you up. “you feelin’ your tits up, huh? made you wait too long tonight, did i?”

god, his voice makes you go insane. and he's so tall — so big, shoulders so wide and legs so long as he stops in front of you and bends at the waist to lean closer. those lidded eyes glinting gold behind his glasses as he smiles down at you, watching you squirm.

“daddy's home now, babydoll.” he giggles, knowing that it flusters you. “and he's ready to play.”

“shuji.” you breathe, caught off guard by his presence, the heat that radiates from him, his scent of cigarettes and dior invading your senses and rendering you just slightly dizzy — and your hands slip from your chest, towel falling loose to reveal what you've been keeping for him as a surprise.

and there's silence for a minute. you think you hear hanma's breath catch in his throat.

his eyes drop to your tits — to the freshly inked tattoos that stare up at him from the twin swells of your chest — pretty, black and exactly alike to the sin and punishment tattoos he has on the back of his hands.

he stares for a full minute, before he finally exhales, and exclaims with his eyes lit up— “dollface, you didn't.”

he falls to his knees at the foot of the bed, still at eyelevel with you because he's just that fucking big, and places his hands on your knees to push them apart so he can get closer, between your legs. “let me see ‘at, let me see.”

one hand latches at your waist, big and warm as he grips you, sliding his palm up your ribs and sending shivers up your spine. stretching his thumb out, he presses into the tender flesh of your left breast, rubbing a circle into punishment.

“m—mm,” you whine, arching into his touch, all of a sudden realizing that you're sitting on the bed wearing nothing, and that hanma is fully clothed, in his expensive two piece suit. it makes you feel vulnerable — and turns you on even more. “wanted to—to match your tattoos. you know? like a little symbol that shows i belong to you.”

the corners of his lips quirk up at that, as he glances up at your face for a second. his thumb keeps rubbing circles into your tattoo, grazing your nipple ever so slightly each time, and you can feel your patience running thin. “how you belong to me, hm? tch, such a good fuckin’ thing for me. you want to be branded?”

his other hand, that had remained on your right knee, starts to move then. gentle strokes up and down your thigh, slowly moving up to give your hip a little squeeze, digging his nails into the plush skin, before trailing up your waist.

sin waits atop the rise of your right breast, for his thumb to press into the black ink and give the sore skin some release. “look at that,” he grins, watching how your tits dip under the pressure of his thumbs, soft and pliable, newly marked by his trademark tattoos. “looks fuckin’ adorable, sweet doll. like you're all mine.”

his voice is deep, raspy and it cracks in all the right places — you feel hot, and with your legs spread apart like this, you can't even hide how wet you're getting with each passing second.

and even though you know he'll only tease you for it, you can't help but whisper, “shuji, please.”

“ah? speak up, baby.” he smirks, leaning even closer and letting his breath wash over your bare neck, goosebumps pricking up over your collarbones and down your arms.

his lips hover over your chest, just inches away, and you need him to press them into your skin — need him to hurry the fuck up and take a bite out of you already, before you lose your mind over the damn wait.

“need me t’ mark you up a lil more, ‘s that it?” he hums, and you can feel his words ghost over your skin. “make you really mine, yeah? with my teeth over these tattoos?”

“mhm.” you whine, desperate as you feel wetness pool out your cunt. “please, daddy.”

he squeezes your tits in his hands then, and fuck — it feels good, better than you could ever imagine or remember. a moan spills from your lips, body tilting forward — but he suddenly has his hand pressed flat against the middle of your chest, and without warning, he shoves you onto the bed.

the impact of your back against the mattress is cushioned, but the air is still knocked from your lungs in a gasp — and hanma chuckles again, climbing on top of you and tugging the towel away from underneath your body, throwing it aside.

“get down f’me then.” he reaches up for a moment to loosen his tie, and you stare up at sin with hazy eyes, until he's got his hand wrapped around your throat. he pushes his knee between your legs, and the material of his slacks feels delicious against your puffy clit as you grind on him, slick soaking through so pathetically quick. “let me taste you, a’right?”

“need it, shuji. need it so bad.” his smell and warmth overwhelm you — the space between your bodies so minimal, that you can nearly feel how heavy he is as he hovers over you. he's big, so deliciously big.

“fuck—” he groans when you reach over to squeeze at his boner, loving how his cock twitches against your fingers through his pants. he's so receptive, it's so obvious how badly he wants to eat you up.

“ah-ah, naughty slut.” he recovers quick enough, giving your throat a squeeze and clicking his tongue as he lets go, grabbing your wrist and pinning your arm beside your head. his grip is strong, hand so big and rough. “‘s my turn first. yeah? so behave.”

he wraps his hand back around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and gasp for air as he finally bends down and latches his lips around your tits.

“hngh, shuji—” his tongue is long, wet and sticky as he circles the hot tip around the sensitive bud of your nipple, hollowing his cheeks in and letting out a pleasured groan as he sucks at the soft flesh.

“mmm,” he moans, nose pressed to your skin, sucking in a lungful of your scent, tasting your soap and his perfume and you at the back of his throat. and as he takes his mouth off your tits with a wet pop — trailing his lips over to the tattoos, he whispers in a drawl, “say my name again, babydoll. tell me you're mine. should fuckin’ sear it into your head, heh.”

“i'm yours!” you moan — and he rewards you by sliding one hand back down to your hip and giving you another squeeze before cupping his palm at your pussy.

“all yours, shuji. all yours,” you repeat, encouraging — and he laughs into your skin, a low rumble that spreads tingles through your limbs. “of course you're all mine, look how fuckin’ wet you are. just ‘cause i called you a sweet thing ‘nd sucked these tits of yours?”

his fingers slip between the puffy folds of your cunt, dipping into the dripping hole for a moment before trailing slowly up to your clit — and he gives the little pearl a flick, chuckling when he feels your body jerk underneath him in response.

“sh—shuji, don't tease!” you beg, and his lidded eyes glitter with lust and excitement as he meets yours. “hey, let me have my fun now, dollface. y’re my little toy, aren't you?”

and immediately, your face heats up, tongue falling still — so weak to his smooth talk and that heavy stare of his. you look away, squeezing your eyes shut because fuck, he's all over you right now — no matter where you looked, you could still see him and feel him.

“hah,” he smirks down at you. “that's what i thought.”

his dick throbs underneath his slacks as he slides his fingers deeper into your cunt, feeling your walls clench desperately around the thickness and length of his digits. and just as a little treat, he finds that sweet spot of yours and curls his fingers in nice and hard—

“fuck, shuji—” your eyes open up, rolling back into your head, back arching as you scramble to grab at his clothed bicep. “nngh, more. please.”

“aww,” he coos, “all pent up for me, huh? need daddy to make you feel good so bad.”

“yes, need you—” he does it again, laughing when your begging is cut short by another moan. his mouth finds your chest again, front teeth and canines sinking into the plush skin as his tongue laps at your nipple, biting an arch over sin before doing the same to punishment, your pretty gasps and cries of pleasure and pain nearly drowned out by his heavy, strained groan.

“god, baby,” hanma breathes, ignoring the way you whine as he slips his fingers out of your cunt for a moment, leaving you fluttering around nothing as he pops the digits into his mouth and sucks at the slick coated on them. “shit — think i need you, sweet doll. sweet fuckin' thing.”

“give it back,” you beg, needing his fingers, needing him to hit that spot and press into it again, again and again. “please daddy, give it back.”

“a'right, dollface, calm your tits,” he chuckles, but you don't even hear his stupid little joke because he slips his fingers back in your pussy at the same time, and your vision blurs, the ringing in your ears getting so much louder with the increase in pleasure.

he rubs at your clit, letting go of your wrist now so he can watch how you grab at your own tits, feeling the marks he left on them with his teeth as you kick your legs under him and beg mindlessly for more. “little doll wants a fucking so bad, ah?”

“mhm,” you mumble, and he kisses you, his tongue meeting yours and wrapping around it, teeth clicking together as you lean up, wanting more.

“if ya want it so bad,” hanma rasps in between kisses, half joking. “then don't you dare cum just yet.”

“h—” your breath catches in your throat. “why?”

“heh,” he smiles, showing teeth. amused by the way your eyes widen in shock and how your voice lowers with indignance. “cause daddy said so, dollface. i'm saying you're only allowed to cum on my cock, yeah?”

you want to be good. you really do.

but right now, the fact that hanma is still fully clothed and doesn't even have his dick in you yet — it's driving you crazy.

you'd behave and endure his games, usually. but not this time. how can he expect you to control yourself when he's making you feel so good — just with his hands and his mouth? you need more. “no.”

reaching up, you grab at his jacket and pull him ontop of you — wanting his heavy weight, his heat and his boner on you. “baby,” hanma chides, barely getting his hand out from between your legs before your bodies collide. sympathy dripping from the rasp of his voice. “so fucking needy tonight? did ya drink something before i got home or somethin'?”

“no,” you whine again, too busy enjoying his pressure, the feel of his dick, hard and heavy against your bare thigh, to come up with a good response.

too needy for his cock to tell him properly that you've been wanting this since so early this morning, when you'd gone to get the tattoos as soon as he was out of town for his meeting. that even while the lady was soothing your nonexistent anxieties and talking away while inking the kanji onto your tits, you'd been thinking about him.

about him and about his reaction to your pretty tits being marked by his very own tattoos.

so delirious, you can't tell him you've been wanting him all fucking day, and even before today you've been wanting this to happen all fucking month ever since you got the idea — so you just grab his face, the harsh line of his jaw digging into your palm, and drag him in for another kiss.

“can't take it tonight, shuji. need you too much, 'n i know you're tired, too.” you say into the kiss, hoping the feel of your plush thighs against his dick and your tits squished against his chest will be enough, along with your sweet kisses and your voice, to convince him to reward you rather than punish you.

taking his face in your hands, you pull him back in when he tries to pull away. “please, daddy. just — just want you to make me yours.”

and hanma just can't resist.

“fine, fine.” the groan he lets out into your mouth is in sync with the twitch of his cock. his hands find your waist again — big, big hands feeling your naked body all up before he straightens up onto his knees on the bed, tugging at his belt.

you hook your legs around his waist, cupping your tits and showing them off to him, and he grins, the gold of his eyes wicked.

“wanna be fucked senseless so bad, ah?” he chuckles, throwing the belt aside, taking his jacket off before unzipping his pants and pulling out his big, big cock.

“mhm,” you stare at it, so long and beautifully curved upwards, the tip drooling a pearl of precum that trails down to his full, heavy balls — and you almost wish you could lick it up. “please, shuji.”

and when you look up into his eyes, you know he's about to do everything you'd been daydreaming about, and more.

“yeah.” hanma breathes, giving himself one good stroke, fist around his girth, before taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders.

the triumph you feel at being able to win hanma over, when usually you know that if you begged like that he'd only toy around with you more, sits bright in your gaze as you smile all giddy up at him. “mmm, missed you too much. 'm sorry.”

you say sorry, but there's not an ounce of apology in you. hanma smiles anyway. “don't hafta be sorry, baby. 's how i like you.”

eager to be fucked. such a slut for his cock. even getting his tattoos on your tits, just to be all his and only his. god, hanma loves you.

“and whatever my babydoll wants,” he leans back down to kiss at your chest, tongue lazily licking at the tattoos once more, before he angles himself at your entrance, meeting your lips with his again so he can eat up your whine as he works his tip into your cunt. “my babydoll gets.”

tagging : @b1ackdragon @virtue-and-beneviolence + @haruchiyos (az ik you didn't ask for a tag but i thought you'd like to see the finished product<3)

[21-06-1996]

perv!bachira got me feeling some type of way bro

perv!bachira who bumps into you in hallways, then grabs you and pulls you into his chest — “whoops! you okay?” he gives you the sweetest smile, distracting and adorable. “sorry, almost knocked you down there didn't i?” he acts cute, embarrassed like he didn't mean to do it, when really he just wanted to cop a feel. and he does. slides his hands up your body and squeezes just right — smirking when he feels your breath hitch at his touch.

perv!bachira who invites himself over to your place after class, following you home & pretending he just got carried away walking with you, complaining about his mean professors — says “ah well! maybe we can complete our assignment together, while i'm here!” and you don't deny him, he's cute and so nice! of course you can help him with his work.

so he sits beside you at the desk in your room, barely listening to your recap of today's lecture as he thinks about pulling you into his lap, getting you to warm his cock up for him while he's lazying about with the assignment. listens to your voice and imagines how you'll sound when you whine, whimper and moan while he twists your pretty little body into all the positions he wants and fucks you like that.

he thinks he'll give his fantasies a go — leaning into slide his tongue in your mouth in a sudden, steamy kiss as soon as you finish telling him that he can copy your prettily done notes that he doesn't even give a fuck about.

“hey, how about we take a little break first?” he hums into your mouth, grabbing your waist and dragging you in. “mmm, wanna—wanna have a little snack before i start.”

[21-06-1996]

hanma shuji who makes you ride his fingers till you cum <3 chuckles lowly while you're struggling to angle your hips right, smirks knowingly when you whine in frustration over how the friction of his palm is just quite not enough on your clit. loves feeling your cunt drool over his fingers, slick staining the rings he's wearing. “gettin' tighter, dollface. almost there, yeah?” he encourages, voice so deep and rugged in your ear it makes your clit throb. shows you the aching boner he's got under his slacks, traces his own thumb over it, groaning when pleasure rushes up the impressive length. “make a mess f'me, and i'll let you sit on this cock ♡.”

[21-06-1996]

thinking about the blue lock boys buying you a necklace with their jersey number engraved on it :( and writing your initials on their clear but specifically their dominant foot cause they just feel closer to you that way :( like you’re helping guide him to the goal :(

cw: gn reader. fluff !! — competitive and possessive dynamics. pro football player! characters (they all made it out of blue lock alive alright). + i added a little bonus section at the end, hehe<3

⠀⠀($) — the whole world watches, while he shows you off as his own <3

BACHIRA, REO, YUKIMIYA, AIKU, KAISER.

a necklace with his jersey number dangling on it, like a charm. he gets it custom made for you, in sterling silver or 24-carat gold, depending on your tastes. but he doesn't let you know that he has it, waits for the perfect moment in which he can surprise you with it.

which happens to be right before his team lines up for a final match, on live TV at the big arena, with all lights, cameras and eyes pointing right at you both.

he's getting in line with the rest of his teammates — the commentators and cameras paying full attention to him, the star and powerhouse of the team, going “there he is. the deity of the field!” as he walks onto the field, smile already on his face when he looks up, for the world to swoon over.

he's handsome. you think, standing at the very front row, dressed in the pretty clothes that he'd got for you just last night, matching the colours of his team. he looks the best when he's on the field, fully confident in the fact that he's going to be going home with a new medal around his neck.

what you don't know is that you're about to get something around your neck too, before he wins his game.

“excuse me,” he says smoothly, to the coach and the few staff members that surround him, glancing knowingly at the cameras recording him (and looking into the eyes of all the fans that are watching him on live TV) before he saunters off, heading to the edge of the field where you're standing behind a display board.

it's clear that he's staring at you as he walks over — gaze softening as he meets your eyes, watching how your own eyes widen with surprise and a hint of shyness, as the surrounding audience erupts into whispers.

“sweetheart,” he grins at you, stopping on the other side of the perimeter board — and you blush when the audience gasps, blush when he gives them all another glance, before smirking down at you. “got something for you.”

he holds his hand out and shows you what he has hidden in his fist — a necklace with his jersey number on it, spelled out on a charm.

the crowd continues to get louder, and you can make out some people's cries; are they dating? god he was taken this whole time? and the commentators join in, declaring into the speakers that your boyfriend seems to be taking a minute to give a gift to a little someone special—

and you blush harder as you stand there, almost frozen as he gently puts the necklace around your neck, the metal chain and charm cold but somehow blooming warmth on your skin as it touches you.

“with that outfit, you're matching the whole team, hm?” he smiles at you, so overwhelmingly charming. “so you keep this necklace on for me. let's everyone know you're here for me. yeah?”

“y—yeah.” you try to look down, so fucking shy under his bright gaze and gorgeous smile, but he grabs your chin and lifts your face back up to give your lips a little kiss.

the whole stadium erupts into cheers and screams. he kissed you on live TV. your face feels hot, you think you're dizzy — but you manage to hear him faintly over the buzz in your head and the screaming of the crowd as he pats your cheek before jogging off back to join his team in line. “cheer for me, won't you? i'll win this game 'n take you out for dinner after.”

SHIDOU, KUNIGAMI, ISAGI, RAICHI, BAROU.

has your initials written on the side of his cleats, on his dominant foot. even better actually — he got you to write it for him. he wants it done with your pretty hands and in your pretty handwriting, that's so much better than his own.

thanks you and gives you a kiss on the side of your forehead, when you finish it and hand the shoe to him. you're both knelt together on the floor of your shared place, and the look in his eyes when he kisses you is so tender. “i'll score every goal with you in mind, a'right?”

and every time he's on the field, fire in his veins and the never ending lust and hunger for a full victory in his soul, he gives you a glance as you jump up and down in your special spot in the stands, cheering for him with all you've got — and that's when he zeroes in on the ball.

the look in his eyes is anything but tender then — hyper-focused, bright and vicious is how he watches the ball as it slips from the opposing player's dribble, and it's impossible for anyone, whether from the other team or his own, to make it to the ball before he does.

he lunges forward once he gains control of the ball, a sort of heat already spreading through his dominant leg as he advances towards the goal to shoot — and with your initials on his cleats and your pretty smile on his mind, he thinks he can break the limit.

he's never scored a goal from this distance before. with the game about to close, it's crucial that he doesn't take any risks and ensures that his shot scores a proper goal.

otherwise, his team might lose. failure was not an option.

but with your presence — both physical and emotional — fueling him, he takes the chance. he takes the chance, puts all the force he has in that sculpted, trained body of his, and he shoots.

he shoots and he scores.

the commentators and crowd go wild alike, screaming in joy over the secured win, because with five minutes left on the clock there's no way the other team can catch up any more — and your boyfriend ignores the cheers of his teammates, turning in place to face you.

“he scored! god, he's undefeatable!” the commentator's voice echoes through the stadium, and he thinks yeah, that's right. he cannot be defeated — not when you're there to guide him to the goal every single time.

he turns to you, and you wave your arms in the air, calling out his name and yelling out an i love you! — and with the TV overhead showing the scorer off we he stands on the field, you can't miss the way the corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

i love you, too. he mouths back to you, with every other person watching the game in the world to see it.

NAGI, CHIGIRI, RIN, OTOYA, SAE.

he kisses you after every game that he wins. and he makes sure he scores the final goal.

it's an elaborate contest that he has with himself, and the rest of the world has joined in on it. you sit and wait in your reserved seat in the stands, the smoothie he had ordered for you sitting empty in your hands as you watch your boyfriend weave last defender after defender — the audience and every other player all focusing more and more on him as time ticks by.

the match is currently at a draw — and the other team is fighting with everything they've got to guard him, trying to prevent him from breaking through and scoring that final goal.

but your boyfriend isn't so easily countered.

even when he's playing laid-back, he's a demon on the playing field. he's fast, agile and he doesn't take any chances. and now? with only a few minutes left before the penalty round, he's set to score the winning goal.

“will he break through? will he be able to make it this time?”

he almost spins around to scoff at the camera. of course he's going to make it. he always does. the other team nearly swarms him as he closes in on his shooting range, but what they aren't aware of is that he doesn't need to be in range to make his shot count.

his play style is all about breaking limits. which is what he does, when he shoots from nearly the other side of the arena and watched the ball curve smoothly yet maintaining an impossible speed, past the goalie's reach and into the net. the timer buzzes only seconds afterwards. “and he scores the final goal yet again!”

the crowd cheers, and while the commentators remark to eachother that they all know what's about to happen next, your boyfriend walks over to where you're still seated expectantly, hopping easily over the perimeter boards to get to you.

you get up then, and he curls a hand around your waist and pulls you in, pressing a kiss into your hair as the audience coos in response to the show all around you. he sighs, unresponsive when you chide him for being arrogant, and mutters into the shell of your ear, “mhm. let's go home, baby. 'm tired.”