addythecow

[addythecow]

cw: size kink, pussy drunk! bokuto, unprotected sex, overstimulation, manhandling, reblogs and comments are very appreciated!!<3

“Fuck—‘m sorry, baby, I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Bokuto’s voice was wrecked, his breath hot against your skin as he slammed into you, holding you down like you’d disappear if he let go.

His massive frame caged you in, thick arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he fucked into you with desperate, hungry thrusts.

You were already so fucked out, legs shaking, body limp beneath him, but Bokuto—Bokuto wasn’t done.

“T-too much—‘Koutarou—!”

“Nah,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes wild, blown-out and glassy. “Feels too good, baby. So tight—fuck, I swear you’re getting tighter—”

A deep, broken moan ripped from his throat, his hips shuddering as his fat cock dragged against your sensitive walls, hitting spots so deep they made your toes curl.

“S’too big, ‘Ko—!” You sobbed, your hands gripping his biceps, fingers barely able to wrap around the thick muscle.

“You can take it,” he panted, voice dripping with something dangerously sweet. “Know you can. My good girl—always takes me so well.”

He pulled out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, making your back arch off the bed.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah,” Bokuto whined, his voice breaking as he ground himself deep, rolling his hips like he was trying to mold you to his shape. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good—gonna make me cum so fast—!”

His cock throbbed inside you, his thick veins pressing against your walls, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. You felt so full, stretched to your limit, your stomach bulging just slightly from the sheer size of him.

Bokuto groaned at the sight, pressing his palm to the little bump, feeling himself inside you.

“Shit, look at that,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. “Splitting you right open, huh? Fuck, baby, you were made for this dick—made for me—”

Your walls fluttered around him, and Bokuto gasped, his grip on your hips bruising.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck—don’t do that, baby, fuck, ‘m gonna cum—”

His pace stuttered, thrusts turning erratic, desperate, his breath ragged as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he moaned, his voice breaking. “Gonna make you so full—fuck, take it—take all of it—”

With a final, wrecked groan, Bokuto spilled inside you, his whole body trembling as his cock twitched, filling you with thick ropes of cum. He shuddered, pressing his face into your neck, still rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts, pushing it all deeper.

“Shit,” he panted, arms tightening around you. “Still so hard—can’t get enough—”

And with the way he was already rutting back into you, his cock twitching, aching for more—you knew he meant it.

AUTHOR‘S NOTE: BOOMSHAKALAKA THANK YOU ALL FOR THE GREAT SUPPORT

[addythecow]

hiiii !! i absolutely love your meanie!simon writings. it’s like you’ve taken ideas from my head, it’s tewww good.

i was wondering if you would do a john price writing including the same type of icky dad kink you have in your meanie simon stuff ? i feel like it would go so well with your ditzy!reader writings with john price

Untitled Unmastered | cw: 18+ mdni, smut, dad bf!John, daddy kink (icky), ditzy!reader, a bit of overstim, mating press, creampie, spit, John thee degenerate, age gap (reader mid 20s, John 30s)

John Price who’s been desperately trying to send you subliminal messages all night that he intends to fuck you stupid.

But he forgets sometimes that it just won’t come to your pretty little brain unless he tells you directly. You give him that small confused face and smile it off. Back to your conversation about your favorite show. So he comes behind you to hold you close after doing his end of the dishes (washing) while you put away the last few dishes on the drying rack. His growing chub presses into your ass ever so nicely as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

His large hands reach find their way under your yellow undershirt to your lower abdomen and waist, gently rubbing his hands in the area.

“Price?” Your breath hitches as his hands reach the bottom of your thighs.

“Yes lovie?”

You gulp, hands gripping onto the counter and sink, his hands go from the bottom of your knees, to your inner thighs. Just barely gracing over the growing wet spot in your panties. “A-are you gonna fuck me tonight?” And it sounds so crass coming from your plump lips. The older man lives for it.

He gives your shoulder a soft kiss, he chuckles from his stomach, “I’d like to.” He sucks in a breath, watching you squirm as he runs his hands all over you.

“Can I?” He asks so innocently. Leaving another kiss to your shoulder. this time a bit higher. “Dad just wants to treat you nice dovie, hm? Won’t you let me?”

He asks but he knows the answer, has to hear it from his sweet babies lips himself everytime they get intimate.

“Yeah, I-I want you to treat me nice.”

That’s truly all it takes for a John to scoop you up in his arms, give his a snog out of a 50s movie while he makes his way up the steps of his home and soon enough, having you dripping around his big and curved cock.

John likes to fuck you deep and slow (doesn’t he always).

The man likes you really feel every thrust and every inch of his member that hes willing to give you. Price is thick and big, stretches you out even more so and makes your sweet pussy take it, even till she’s sore with your juices dripping onto the mattress.

John will hold you still, brushing your curls out of your face. Giving your soft lips a few pecks. “You’re okay baby,” he coos, jackhammering his way into your syrupy walls. “Takin it so well, fuck- always take me so well.”

You mewl, hands clawing at his hairy back “it’s so much, feels- mmh- feels so good Daddy.”

“Feels good for me too sweetheart,” he shivers as you tighten around him. He gently squeezes your cheeks together, “open.” You do, opening your mouth Just enough and his spits inside. He closes your mouth, making sure you swallow.

He groans at the sight of you, disheveled and doing what you can to keep, hearts practically forming in your iris’ “That’s my girl.”

The older man folds you in half, putting your legs over his broad shoulders and holding you down by your thighs so they’re burning, quivering as he fucks into you deeper than be for. A sob escapes you at the pleasure, his cock kissing your cervix. Bullying your cunt with every deep roll of his hips. You’re sure if you looked down, you’d be able to see him moving in and out of you.

“My precious fuckin baby, thaaats it love. Take it for dad, you’ve got it.” He purrs in your ear, swiping his tongue around it before sucking it.

Tears start to escape your eyes, keening, “Dad! So much! I- I can’t- aaangh- can’t!“

Your words are opposite of your actions though, your back arches off the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull his closer, rubbing your nipples against his hairy chest, your walls clench around him, such a little slut.

“Yes you can precious, don’t run, give it to me.”

His mouth finds yours, giving you a sloppy kiss. Slipping his tongue in your mouth and letting the two get tangled together, his beard brushing against your face. The loud sound of your wet pussy squealching and his balls smackining against your ass.

You unravel with a squeal against his mouth, you don’t even realize what’s happening. Your walls spasm around the brute, only the sound of John’s praises as he gives you a few more thrusts, cumming right in your womb. Making sure you get every spurt from his leaking tip.

You look at him with those big pretty brown eyes, catching your breath as you both come down from your highs.

“Can we still have- the dessert Daddy? It’s on the stove.”

There’s a moment of silence, before John erupts into laughter, his eyes crinkling. You’re so damn cute.

“Of course darling.” And he gives your forehead a kiss.

Maybe you’d have a piece of that pie you’d made, and John could get a taste of that mess he made in between your second set of lips.

a/n: we have fun around here, don’t we? So was so icky, I live.

most recent masterlist

[addythecow]

┌─ ⟢ HAIKYUU PORN LINKS

𐔌─ cw. porn links. don’t like just scroll. inspired by this post i wrote !

𐔌─ characters. bokuto. osamu. suna. iwaizumi. atsumu

— BOKUTO KOUTAROU and passionate, almost desperate sex.

bokuto and his breeding kink | him shoving his cum back into you | bokuto is just so much bigger than you | this sums up bokuto koutarou in one video

— MIYA OSAMU and laid back possessive sex.

he’s the only one who’ll ever fuck your ass | osamu loves pussy jobs | an ass person through and through | his favorite video you guys ever made | possessive kisses

— SUNA RINTAROU and lazy, teasing, “you’re mine” sex.

make out sesh with suna is the best type of foreplay | you definitely sent this to his annoying ex after you were done | sunarin’s lazy self love to make you ride him | suna pounding you after you complain that you always do all the work

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME and frustration-fueled sex.

you can’t handle the way iwa fucks you | having a personal trainer as a bf definitely has its perks, his stamina and strength is unmatched | iwa loves looking at your face crumble as he fucks you | ridin iwa’s girthy cock after an argument

— MIYA ATSUMU and teasing, ‘we shouldn’t be doin this’ sex.

atsumu n you doing a quickie in the car right before practice | best friend atsumu stretching you out n filling you up before sending you on your date | he can’t help teasing his whiney baby | tsumu loves filming you

[addythecow]

How would Jeff react to being praised during sex? Imagine how rough he is with a reader beforehand in bed, then all of a sudden they began praising him

๑ Warning: Vaginal, rough sex, dirty talk, praises

── .✦

Jeff’s headboard is knocking against his bedroom wall, letting everyone within a mile radius know exactly how deep he is inside you, and just how fast he’s pulling back out.

You’re riding him like you’re starving for it—like nothing else matters but the scorching stretch of his cock against your clamping walls. Every slap of skin a brutal reminder of just how heavily his tip is slamming against your cervix.

Jeff’s hands are bruising your hips, dragging you down hard enough to make your thighs burn. He’s saying all the things he knows you love—filthy, cruel, possessive words that have your eyes rolling back. His grin is wicked, split wide, head tilted just enough to let those sharp eyes watch you unravel.

If he digs his nails any further into your skin, he’ll be sure to spill blood.

“Fuck, look at you. So needy you can’t even think straight, huh?” he growls, eyes flickering to where your bodies meet. “Knew you’d be like this. Knew you’d lose it on my dick.”

You whimper—because he’s right. But then, something shifts. It’s all overwhelming, and you can feel your stomach start to knot and twist with that familiar heat. A breathless sound escapes you, and you lean in suddenly, cupping his face and dragging your lips across his with breathless whines and heavy lidded eyes.

“You’re so good,” you breathe against his mouth, barely able to speak between kisses. “God, Jeff, you’re making me feel so good. No one else can do this to me. No one but you.”

He stiffens.

For a beat, his hands stop moving.

You don’t. You’re still clinging to him, praising him between kisses like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. You say his name like it means something, like he’s more than just a means to your end. And that—that—is what shakes him.

“You’re fucking me so good, baby. You feel so good.”

Jeff’s brow furrows, lips parting slightly as if to interrupt, but nothing comes out. His usual confidence wavers, just a flicker. Your praise worms under his skin in a way pain or submission never has. It confuses him. Disarms him.

Even still, your hips don’t stop. Even when it takes a second for his brain to catch up and grip back onto your thighs, your cunt is sheathing him over and over again.

The smirk returns—but it’s weaker, unsure. “The hell are you doing, huh?” he asks, voice gruff but quieter now. “You trying to mess with my head or something?”

But you keep going. Stroking through his hair, kissing the scar on his cheek, whispering how perfect he feels, how much you love it when he loses control like this. And Jeff… doesn’t stop you.

His grip turns less punishing. One hand slides up your back. His breathing is heavier, mouth brushing yours again—not out of hunger this time, but like he’s unsure how else to respond.

And for once… he doesn’t have a cruel word to say.

He just holds you to his chest, arms wrapping tight around your waist and digging his heels into the mattress below. He picks up where you left off, fucking up into your cunt until you’re both gritting your teeth and crying out into each other’s mouths.

꩜ .ᐟ

[addythecow]

𝓼ukuna is a savage in bed but he still always looks out for you.

sex with sukuna is just about the best thing you've ever experienced. he is a wild, rough, and ruthless man, the filthiest words spilling from his lips as he fucks himself into you. he'll smirk at the way you beg for him, at the way you're crying by the time he's pulling out the nth orgasm from you, at the way you whine his name so cutely — it gets his dick even harder and throbbing inside your gooey walls.

but there was one thing that had you... befuddled. whenever he'd have you in missionary, his hands would trap your head, palms covering the top of it. when he did it the first time, you didn't think too much of it. by the umpteenth time though, it had seemed to become second nature to him. while it didn't truly matter — because, after all, he would still leave you trembling and whining beneath him — it was just something peculiar to you.

so, one random day, you just decide to ask him.

"ryo," you trill as you crawl atop his lap. he merely replies with a tiny grunt, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. you straddle him, fingers gently twirling his pink hair which makes him sigh contentedly. "can i ask you something?"

"what is it, dollface?," he asks, hands slowly running up and down your sides.

it takes you a few moments to figure out how to word the question. after a deep breath, you finally ask, "why do you always keep your hands on my head when we have sex? like this?" and you demonstrate it for him — an action he finds incredibly adorable.

his cheeks turn a soft pink hue but he does his best to try and remain nonchalant and don his infamous frown. he clears his throat and says in an uncharacteristically meek voice, "just cause. why you asking such odd questions?"

your lips curl into a teeny pout, and you nudge him, wanting to egg him on. "c'mon," you whine, continuously jabbing your fingers into his chest. "tell me! i know there's a reason! c'mon, c'mon, c'mon! tell me tell me tell me!"

he puts a hand to your mouth, muffling your voice. you furrow your brows together and he can feel you utter a tiny 'hmph'. he rolls his eyes at your persistent behaviour, knowing you would not let this go. he huffs, still keeping his hand to your mouth as he says to you lowly, "okay woman. i'll tell you. but you better not laugh or anything. otherwise you're gonna get it."

you nod, holding on to his hand and waiting eagerly for his answer. he looks at you, a twinge of what seemed like embarrassment etched on his face and cheeks turning an even darker pink. his eyes look everywhere except you, wishing that maybe you would drop the matter but of course you wouldn't. with one heavy sigh, he says in a hushed voice, "'s so you don't get hurt."

you tilt your head curiously, removing his hand away from your mouth. "hurt?," you say, gently intertwining your fingers with his. "how do you mean?"

he sighs once more, lightly squishing your sides before going on. "i know i can be really rough in bed. and... i remember you banged your head once and you said it really hurt. so... i put my hands there so it doesn't happen again," he confesses, his face completely flushed and circling the pads of his thumbs over your doughy tummy.

you smush his cheeks together and pepper his face with sweet kisses. he makes a displeased noise but in reality, his heart flutters whenever you do it. "ryo! that's so cute!," you coo, planting multiple smooches to his lips and giggling to yourself. he tries to put on a frown but a small smile replaces it instead, his hands coming to rest on your supple thighs.

"you are such a softie," you tease, fingers tracing over the black ink that's tainted on his face. he draws his brows together, letting out a deep huff — he didn't particularly like being called a 'softie', but because it's you he'll let you off. though not so easily.

he flips you on to your back, your body bouncing slightly at the sudden impact. you let out a little squeak and he climbs on top of you, capturing your lips with his. he kisses you with this primal hunger, little deep grunts erupting from his chest. your hands come up around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, his body completely trapping yours underneath.

"am not a softie," he grumbles while his hands slip under your shirt, kneading your breasts firmly. you want to believe him but the way he's jutting his bottom lip out, oh you can't help yourself for thinking he's so adorable.

sukuna is a guy that's rough around the edges — buff, gruff, and tough. he tends to speak in this brusque tone and his mannerisms can be rather brawling. with you however, it's a completely different story. he's soft, gentle, and tender, and even when he is being rough, he'll always make sure you're never hurt.

[addythecow]

CUM FIRST, EAT LATER!

You’re always late to dinner, whether it’s taking too long to do your makeup or wanting to squeeze in a quickie first. Luckily, these men just can’t say no to you.

tldr: when your desperate need to get fucked comes right before fine dining.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 1.7k

content: fem!reader, est. relationships, unprotected sex, semi-public/car sex (toji), riding him, degradation & praise, spanking, hair pulling, face-licking (choso…), choking, overstim, creampies, drooling

SATORU

”Your slutty pussy’s gonna get us in trouble again,” Satoru sighs, flipping you onto your back with ease before fucking into you again.

Your dress is bunched up to your ribs, and your legs are wrapped around Satoru’s waist, heels still on.

“Mmh! Shut up,” you gasp, hands clawing at the sheets. “You’re the one always—fuck! —begging for a quickie.”

He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and grinds real deep and slow into you. His other hand is busy rubbing tight, merciless circles into your clit. “Not before having dinner with your parents.” 

Your head falls to the side, unable to even look straight anymore as Satoru pounds into you. The angle has your breath catching, the coil in your belly tightening so fast it’s humiliating. 

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, grabbing your face. “Wanna look my dirty girl in the eyes when I make her feel good.” 

When you don’t respond, too fucked out to form words, Satoru squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Gonna come all over my cock before dinner? You wanna sit in that restaurant full of my cum, don’tcha?” 

You’re drooling now, lipstick as fucked up as you. Satoru’s grin is feral, his blue eyes wild at the sight. 

“So sweet and polite while I’m using this messy little cunt,” he groans, thumbing your clit harder. “Gonna give you so much cum you’ll stain those Michelin-star seats.”

SUGURU

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless. Your eyes are teary, drooping, lips parted from the effort of just enduring it. He kisses you again anyway. Wet and possessive, lips dragging across yours like you’re his favorite indulgence.“You asked for this, you take it,” Suguru says with a hint of amusement as he thrusts into you.

He’s got you on your stomach, his chest pressed to your back, one large hand holding your wrists together. The other snakes under your body, gripping your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you still as his mouth hovers right beside your ear.

“Too much,” you whine, voice wrecked and airy. Your thighs are shaking and your poor cunt is raw from already cumming twice. “Only wanted—mmmh!— a quickie.”

“That’s funny, baby,” Suguru laughs, releasing your neck just to grab you by your jaw. His hair brushes along your cheek as he leans in, dizzying you with his scent. 

He plants a wet kiss on your lips. “You know it’s never quick with me.” 

Suguru’s pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets rougher, sharper, until your whole body jerks with each thrust.

“You said we had time,” you moan, voice warbling through clenched teeth.

“We did,” Suguru murmurs, kissing your temple now. “You’re the one who came twice in ten minutes.”

“You made me!”

He grins, unrepentant, loving that you’re ruined. “I know, sweetheart. And you’re still not done.”

The hand around your wrists moves to your ass, gripping the flesh before spreading you wider, drilling into you with a growl low in his throat. “Not ‘til I say.”

You try to look at the clock, blinking through the blur. Suguru doesn’t care. He kisses the side of your face, slow and sweet and devastatingly gentle in contrast to the way he’s fucking you into the mattress.

“Next time you ask for a quickie,” he purrs, “remember how this ends.”

KENTO

“You know I hate being late, darling,” Kento sighs as you unzip his dress pants. 

Your smile is sickeningly sweet. “But you hate saying no to me more.” 

He can only watch, defeated, as you take him into your mouth.

“Oh, baby. So fucking needy you want to ruin the reservation I made.”

“You really think five minutes is enough?” he continues, already breathless himself. “You’re going to make me show up late to a restaurant full of people who booked a month in advance—just because you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You pull back for just a second, spit-slick lips curling into a smirk. “Can’t help it. You know how I get.”

His hand tangles in your hair, gentle but commanding. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling.”

Then he presses your mouth back down, because despite the watch ticking behind him, despite the fact that he loathes being even a minute late—he can’t bring himself to stop you. 

By the time he bends you over the table, you’re breathless and soaking. The brand new dress he bought you just for tonight is wrinkled and hiked up around your waist.

The table creaks. Your thighs shake. Your phone buzzes with a text from the restaurant:

Reminder: Your table is ready. We will hold your reservation for 10 minutes.

Kento sees it and lets out a sigh—but he doesn’t stop. He pulls your hips toward him, addicted to the sound of his skin meeting yours.

“They can wait,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck while you squirm. “I have something far more important to finish.”

TOJI

“Better make it worth it, girl. I’ve been craving that lobster all night long,” Toji grunts against your neck, hands under your thighs as he bounces you on his lap in the backseat of the car. 

His suit jacket’s on the floor, shirt untucked, belt undone and hanging useless from a belt loop. You hadn’t even made it inside the restaurant before you dragged him back into the car.

He’s trying to make you cum quick.

You’re straddling him in that little black dress he told you not to wear unless you wanted trouble—and look at you now. Moaning, eyes glassy, lipstick smudged from sucking him off in the parking lot before whining for more.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait,” you pant, clenching around him as he drives up into you harder. “Said I looked good enough to eat.”

“And I meant that,” Toji grins, all teeth and grit. “But I also meant the lobster.”

His hand wraps around your ass, palm smacking it once—hard enough to make you jolt. He groans as you clench tighter in response.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You better cum fast, princess. If I miss my goddamn steak and lobster special ‘cause this pussy can’t get off quick enough—”

You shut him up with a moan, leaning forward to kiss his jaw, arms tight around his shoulders. “Then maybe you shouldn’t fuck me like you wanna miss it.”

He laughs—loud, low, filthy—and slams you down harder, the entire car creaking beneath you. Windows fogged. The smell of sex already thick in the air.

“Little brat,” he mutters, slapping your clit just to punish you. “You like ruining my plans, huh? Wanna be the reason I’m late to an expensive dinner?”

You look him dead in the eye. “Pull out then.”

“I’m hungry,” he grits out through his teeth, rutting into you deeper. “Not an animal.”

You toss your head back, laugh breathlessly, and grind down harder just to be spiteful.

“Coulda fooled me.”

SUKUNA

“Woman,” Sukuna grits out, jaw clenched, “if I don’t get my fucking steak in the next hour—”

“Be quick, then,” you say with a smirk, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Better be worth it,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous. “I’ve been looking forward to that ribeye all week.”

You roll your hips slowly, just to be bratty. “Then eat fast.”

That’s all it takes.

Sukuna growls behind you, hand wrapped around your throat from behind, pinning you against the mirror as he shoves your panties to the side. You gasp, barely able to breathe from the way he presses you flat to the cold glass.

“Say please,” Sukuna growls, already rubbing the thick head of his cock along your slick entrance.

“Please,” you moan, already melting and pushing your hips back.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he snarls, pushing in slow, cruel. “Acting like you can tell me what to do. Like I don’t own this pussy.”

You claw at the mirror as he starts fucking you rough and deep, your own ruined reflection taunting you with every thrust.

“My makeup,” you whimper helplessly.

He laughs. 

“You should’ve thought about that before walking around here with your ass out like a little slut,” he hisses, pulling your hair back so you can watch yourself come undone. “Go on. Watch how dumb you get just from my cock.”

Your thighs are shaking, mascara smudged from the way your eyes won’t stop tearing. You reach back for him, but Sukuna grabs both wrists in one hand and pins them to the mirror above your head.

“Nuh-uh,” he growls, biting at your shoulder. “You started this. Now take it like a good girl.”

You’re already cumming, and he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. The mirror fogs with every panting breath as he fucks you through it—brutal, relentless.

He smirks, smacking your ass. “You better fix that makeup quick when I’m done with you. I’m not taking you anywhere looking like that.”

CHOSO

He tried to say no and remind you that it was time to leave. Really, he did. But the moment you pulled up your dress and showed him how wet you were—nothing underneath, slick shining between your thighs—he knew he couldn’t ignore his duty to satisfy you as your lover.

“You’re gonna make us late,” he murmured, even as you climbed onto his lap.

“I’ll make it worth it,” you promised.

Now you’re riding him on the couch, purse thrown aside. He’s got his head tilted up, mouth latched onto your tits while you're bouncing on his cock like you can’t get enough. The only thing he loves more than you is sucking on your tits whenever you’re on top.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, sucking soft bruises into your chest. “Always so pretty for me.”

“Choso,” you whine, trying not to fall apart too fast. His hands grip your ass, helping you move, his touch always firm but worshipful.

And then, for no reason at all except that he’s fucking weird and in love with you—he licks up the side of your face. From jaw to cheekbone, slow and messy.

You freeze.

“Choso!” you gasp, smacking his arm. “My makeup!”

He blinks at you, wide-eyed and too honest. “You still look beautiful.”

You groan, burying your face in his neck—but your hips don’t stop. Neither does his dick. He wraps his arms around you tighter and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll fix it after. I promise.”

And he does. He holds your bag while you reapply your lipstick. Offers you his sleeve to blot the smudge. Choso tells you you're perfect even with mascara under your eyes and his cum dripping down your legs.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[addythecow]

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๑ jeff the killer

Jeff can’t help but keep going. No matter how pitiful you get, no matter how sloppy his hips move, he just can’t stop. He just needs you to shut up before you wake the whole mansion.

You’ll come when Jeff fucking lets you come.

Jeff thought taking you to a concert would be fun. But when you get a little too drunk and handsy, he pushes you into the bathroom and show you exactly what he thinks of that.

Jeff likes you desperate, covered in slobber, and fully satisfying him.

Jeff’s gonna show you just what a bratty mouth gets you. Full of his cum, that’s where.

Jeff couldn’t wait to come see you. He snuck in through your window, cornered you in the bathroom, and pulled aside those pretty panties. Make sure to be quiet, though, you don’t want to wake up your roommates…

๑ ticci toby

How is Toby not supposed to touch you when you fall asleep like that? He’ll try to be gentle… try.

Toby can’t help but push your back down further, seeing just how far you can arch for him.

Toby loves when you push back on him. When you fuck him like you want it. He’ll make sure you feel so good, you don’t even need to worry.

Toby loves cumming inside. Your noises, the way you grip him, the way it all spills out afterward. He can’t get enough.

Toby is exhausted. But you just look so good laid in bed, legs tangled up in his sheets. Maybe just a quickie to knock you both out…

Toby doesn’t believe how good you feel. How has he gone so long without fucking your wet little cunt? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to turn back now.

๑ eyeless jack

Jack fucks messy. If you’re not covered in his cum, then you’re not finished.

Jack knows you can take all of him. You’re just not trying hard enough. He’ll make it fit.

Jack will spend hours fingering you loose just so he can fit all of himself inside. He can hardly wait until you’re sobbing and begging for him to just fuck you already.

Jack can smell you. Every time you walk past him, he can’t hardly stop himself from jumping you. Are you in heat? Cause you just smell so good, so sweet, so delicious. He needs to have a taste…

You went down in the basement to get some wounds treated after a nasty fight. So, how did you end up flipped over on Jack’s medical table begging him to go faster?

Jack wasn’t lying when he said you’d feel him right here as he pressed his finger into the middle of your belly. He’s not smug, but he did tell you so.

๑ masky (tim wright)

Masky couldn’t wait until you got back to the mansion. He needed you right here, right now.

Masky can’t get close enough. No matter how deep he gets, it’s just not enough.

Masky gets back from a long mission, and he can barely make it up to your room before he’s unbuckling his belt and tearing your clothes off. He’ll make sure you know exactly how much he missed you.

Masky knows he’s big. But you take him so well. Don’t cry, you feel so good.

You think you’re funny? Running your mouth all day and expecting Masky not to fuck the attitude out of you? That’s cute.

Masky doesn’t think two rounds in the shower was enough. He needs to feel you cum on his cock just one more time…

๑ hoodie (brian thomas)

Hoodie forcing you to take his camera. Ordering you that if you look away from the lens, he’ll stop. He wants to watch you fall apart over and over again later.

Hoodie cannot be blamed for what he does when you wear that sinful skirt around him.

As if all the teasing wasn’t enough. Now, Hoodie won’t give you an inch of satisfaction until you prove you’re desperate enough for it.

Hoodie can’t believe how small you are under him. You take him so well, it’s a wonder he doesn’t split you in half.

Hoodie promises it’ll just be the tip. He gives you his word. But why does it feel so good? And why can’t he stop his hips from just pushing further and further in?

Hoodie told you not to run. This is what you get when you don’t listen to orders. Maybe getting fucked stupid will teach you a lesson.

๑ ben drowned

Ben couldn’t believe when you strolled into his bedroom wearing the outfit he bought you as a joke. But don’t worry, he won’t let it go to waste.

You wanted his attention so bad, what happened? Ben even paused his game just for you. So lay here and take it.

Ben hardly thinks it’s fair when you get to walk around in those stupid little panties. They’re dumb, so why is he so hard?

Ben is a little preoccupied with his match of whatever stupid game he’s been obsessed with. He gets thrown for a loop when you climb his lap and start begging for attention.

Ben will make sure to fuck you so good you’re seeing stars by the time he’s through.

Ben knows his fingers feel good. So what if he made you put on that stupid outfit? You’ll do whatever he says if you want to cum.

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[addythecow]

Under the Table

✦ One-Shot

Reader x Atsuya Kusakabe | 18+ MDNI

cw: public teasing, slow burn tension, thigh touching, handjob under the table, silent desperation, hotel sex, restrained dom!kusakabe, pinning, deep kissing, subtle possessiveness, aftercare, clean-up

⸻

The mission had been clean. Unusual, given how these things usually went.

Which is why the higher-ups gave everyone permission to “relax.” An unofficial team dinner in a private room, good drinks, over-ordered sushi trays. Even Gojo was tolerable. Barely.

You were seated across from Nanami, next to Ijichi, and directly beside Kusakabe—who, as usual, hadn’t said much since sitting down.

He sipped his beer quietly. Didn’t laugh when Gojo cracked some crude joke. Barely reacted when Utahime teased him about being “the one adult left in the building.”

But when your bare knee brushed his under the table?

He flinched. Just a little. And said nothing.

So naturally, you did it again.

And again.

Until finally, he leaned in—so subtly you almost missed it—and muttered under his breath:

“Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

You smiled, voice low. “Maybe.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move his leg away, either.

You started slow.

Just your hand resting on his thigh beneath the white linen tablecloth.

His chopsticks paused mid-air. You felt his muscles tense. He didn’t look at you—but his hand on the table clenched.

“Not here,” he said under his breath, still not facing you.

You leaned in, your hand sliding slightly higher.

“But you look so calm. No one would suspect a thing.”

He let out a small, barely audible groan.

“Your friends are talking,” you whispered, teasing your fingers over the seam of his pants. “You gonna be rude and ignore them?”

“I’m two seconds from dragging you out of here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His head finally turned to look at you—eyes dark, jaw tight.

“Try me.”

You didn’t even make it to your hotel room.

Kusakabe shoved you inside the first open door on the quiet hallway floor—some spare service room, dark, private enough—and pressed you against the wall before you could even smirk.

“Think that was funny?” he growled, dragging your hips into his. He was already hard. “Touching me like that with Nanami sitting across from us?”

You gasped when his knee forced your legs apart.

“I was bored,” you said, breathless. “And you’re always so… composed.”

His hand slid under your shirt.

“You wanna see what I look like when I’m not composed?”

You moaned as he bent you slightly forward, one hand tangled in your hair while the other slid your panties to the side. His breath was ragged now—hot and low in your ear as he pushed himself in slowly, groaning your name.

And when he started to move—hips slamming into you, the wall rattling behind you—you knew you’d won.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If anyone hears you, I swear—”

But you weren’t quiet.

You whimpered every time he hit that deep spot, nails scratching at the wall for balance, as he fucked you slow but hard—like he was working out every second of frustration he’d ever bottled up around you.

“I wanted to fuck you since Kyoto,” he growled. “You knew that, didn’t you? Wore that damn uniform tighter every mission just to make me crack.”

You gasped. “And now you did.”

“Not yet,” he muttered.

Then he pulled out, turned you around, and lifted you—legs around his waist, lips crashing into yours—slamming you back onto the utility table, your hoodie falling off one shoulder as he buried himself in you again.

You came hard this time, head falling back, body trembling.

And when he finished—grinding deep inside you with a quiet groan—he didn’t let go right away.

Just held you.

His forehead against yours. Breathing in sync.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly, voice back to that calm tone again, a hand gently rubbing your side.

You nodded, smiling against his jaw. “You’re not as composed as you look.”

“Apparently not.” He kissed you again, slower this time.

Then helped you fix your hair and clean up before anyone could notice you were missing.

You said goodnight with a smile and a light touch to his arm. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that hinted at the way he’d just had you bent over a utility table with your thighs shaking.

And still, Atsuya Kusakabe stood outside your hotel room door for ten full seconds after it closed.

Staring. Thinking.

Then turned on his heel and walked away with a quiet sigh, heading toward the side exit and the cold night air.

He lit his cigarette beside the rear courtyard stairs, tugging his coat tighter with one hand. Just one smoke. One minute to breathe. One minute to not think about your voice still ringing in his ears or your nails still on his skin.

“Figured I’d find you out here.”

It was Shoko, leaning against the railing with a glass of something that looked far too strong for a hotel bar.

Kusakabe gave a noncommittal grunt.

A second later, Higuruma stepped out with a soft nod.

And of course, Nanami appeared too, loosening his tie, hands in his pockets, quiet as ever.

They all stood there in silence for a while. A shared cigarette break, all of them bruised in one way or another. Shoko’s expression unreadable, Nanami gazing into the dark like it might answer him. Higuruma, on the other hand, turned toward Kusakabe with a faint smirk.

“You look tense, Atsuya.”

“I’m not.”

“Right.” Higuruma exhaled, long and slow. “They say you can’t run from your own hunger. It’ll follow you home.”

Kusakabe scowled faintly. “What kind of proverb is that?”

“One I just made up,” Higuruma said, then tipped his glass with a wink. “But I think it applies.”

Nanami glanced at Kusakabe, eyebrow twitching slightly. “Is he drunk?”

“No,” Shoko muttered. “That’s just his poet mode.”

Kusakabe rolled his eyes and flicked his cigarette away, hands deep in his pockets now. “I’m going back inside.”

“Goodnight,” Higuruma said—pointed.

He didn’t go straight to bed.

He meant to. He really did.

He didn’t plan to knock. Until he did.

But just as he reached your floor—halfway there—he ran into Nanami again. This time accompanied by Geto, who was idly walking the hall with a quiet smirk.

They both slowed when they saw him.

Geto tilted his head, smirk widening as he subtly looked from Kusakabe to your door down the hall. “Well, well.“

Nanami sighed. “This isn’t the way to your room, Atsuya.”

Kusakabe paused. Looked at them both flatly.

Then, dry as ever, said, “Goodnight.”

And kept walking.

Geto snorted softly. “He’s so obvious.”

Nanami just frowned, shook his head, and kept going.

You were curled in bed, half-reading something on your phone, still wearing that damn hoodie of his when you heard it.

Knock knock.

Two slow, tentative raps.

You smiled before you even got to the door.

When you opened it, there he was—still in his coat, hair slightly mussed, expression tight with something unreadable.

“…Hey,” he said, a little lower than usual.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He looked down for a second. Then back at you.

“I didn’t say everything I wanted to say earlier.”

You stepped aside, opening the door a little wider.

“Then say it now.”

You leaned against the doorframe. Smiling.

Bare legs bare, hoodie loose, light from the hallway softening your silhouette as you tilted your head and said—

“Couldn’t sleep, or just couldn’t stop thinking about it?”

Kusakabe didn’t answer right away.

His jaw clenched. His gaze dropped—once, twice—like he was checking that yes, you were still just in his hoodie. And no, this wasn’t a dream.

“I’m not the emotional type,” he muttered. “So don’t expect some long speech.”

You raised a brow. “What should I expect then?”

He stepped in.

One hand on your waist, the other shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“You teasing me again?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher. “That what this is?”

You shrugged, innocent. “You look like you liked it.”

“Yeah, I liked it too much,” he muttered, pressing you back against the wall now, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “That’s the problem.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, already finding the heat waiting for him.

You gasped.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

You bit your lip. “Still thinking about the table.”

He groaned—low and broken—and dropped to his knees.

Before you could tease him again, your panties were pushed to the side and his mouth was on you, fast and greedy, like he’d been thinking about this the entire walk down the hallway.

Because he had.

Tongue deep, fingers teasing, his hands tight around your thighs to keep you still as he devoured you like he needed it to survive.

You moaned, fingers tangling in his hair. “Atsuya—god—”

He didn’t stop. Not even when your legs started to shake, not even when your hips rolled up into his face. He held you there, pulled you apart with his tongue until you came with a choked little cry that had his cock twitching in his pants.

He stood—fast. Eyes glazed. Breathing ragged.

“Turn around.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

“I said turn around.“

And when you did—when you braced your hands against the wall and looked back at him, smirking over your shoulder—he growled so softly it gave you goosebumps.

Pants undone, hoodie pushed up, panties still off to the side—he didn’t bother stripping you. Just pressed his chest to your back, kissed the nape of your neck once—and slid inside you in one rough, fluid thrust.

You gasped. He groaned into your skin.

And then he moved.

It was filthy.

Hands gripping your hips, breath in your ear, thrusts hard and deliberate. The wet sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet hotel room.

“You have no idea,” he panted, “what you do to me.”

You clenched around him and he whined—actually whimpered against your shoulder.

“I think I do,” you whispered.

“Brat,” he muttered, fucking you harder. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Like?” you teased.

He pulled your hair gently. Just enough to tilt your head back.

“Wanna say something smarter?”

You moaned instead.

Good choice.

When he came, it was deep—thrust buried to the hilt, body wrapped around yours, your name escaping his mouth like a confession.

After a beat of silence, still pressed to your back, he whispered

“…I’ll stay.”

You turned your head, smiling.

“I knew you would.”

You both stayed like that for a while.

You—pressed to the wall, breath soft and uneven.

Kusakabe—still buried inside you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, chest heaving like he’d just been pulled from deep water.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Just held you there, as if letting go would make it all disappear.

“…Atsuya?” you whispered, after a minute.

He blinked, slowly coming back to himself. “Shit. Sorry.”

He pulled out gently—both of you shivering at the mess between your thighs—and slid his hands up to your sides, grounding you. His voice, when it came again, was quiet.

“I didn’t mean to be that rough.”

“You weren’t,” you whispered.

That made him pause. Then: “I’m not good with words.”

You turned in his arms and kissed his chest.

“I don’t need words.”

He hesitated. Then exhaled slowly and said the most Kusakabe thing he could manage:

“You’re leaking down your leg.”

You snorted, laughing against his chest. “You really know how to set the mood.”

His lips brushed your temple. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You showered together.

Not for anything sexual—just warm water, gentle touch, the kind of silence that held everything unsaid.

He was careful washing your thighs, thumb brushing over the spot where he’d gripped you too tight. He cleaned you up with warm hands and reverent fingers, brows slightly drawn the whole time like he was focused on getting it just right.

When you tried to touch him back, he pulled your hand up and kissed your knuckles instead.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Let me.”

Afterward, he climbed into bed beside you, towel-dried hair still damp, wearing just his boxer briefs. You were back in his hoodie, clean now, skin still warm from the shower. He slid under the blanket behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, hesitant but sure.

You nestled into his chest.

“…Are you really staying?” you asked, voice soft in the dark.

His hand tightened around you just slightly.

“I told you I would.”

A pause.

Then he kissed the back of your shoulder. Once. Quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You stepped into the hotel breakfast room with still damp hair, clean skin, and a faint soreness in your thighs that made every step feel like a souvenir.

Kusakabe walked beside you.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Wearing his usual deadpan face like he wasn’t currently dealing with the aftermath of railing you against the wall just ten hours ago.

You?

You wore black leggings and his oversized black T-shirt. The one you’d “accidentally” packed in your overnight bag when he wasn’t looking.

The room was already filled.

Shoko was waving you over with a coffee mug raised like a beacon.

Nanami didn’t even look up. Just sipped his tea and sighed like this was exactly what he expected to happen.

But Geto?

Geto leaned back lazily in his seat at the table, already smiling.

He raised his hand—

And without breaking stride or looking away from you, Higuruma smacked it in a flawless, celebratory high-five.

“I knew it,” Higuruma said, smug as hell, taking his seat.

Geto grinned. “Called it last night.”

Kusakabe’s jaw clenched beside you.

You felt him tense like someone had just handed him a live grenade.

Shoko, from her corner seat, raised her coffee mug toward you and smiled like this was the most normal thing in the world. “You two want scrambled eggs or the full roast?”

Nanami didn’t look up.

He just sighed deeply and murmured, “Knew it too. I just didn’t feel the need to perform choreography about it.”

“Don’t start.”

“Start?” Higuruma echoed. “Oh, no, we’re celebrating. It’s about time you got laid.”

You choked on a laugh.

Kusakabe shot you a look like this is your fault.

Shoko smirked and pointed to the plate of fruit beside her. “Sit here. You can debrief us over pancakes.”

“We’re not—debriefing—” Kusakabe muttered, rubbing his temples as you slid into the seat beside her.

He followed slowly. Sat stiff. Said absolutely nothing.

Geto leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm.

“So, was it a one-time operation or a recurring mission?”

“I will knock over this table Suguru I swear to god,” Kusakabe muttered without looking up.

You sipped your coffee. “He means ‘ongoing with flexible scheduling.’”

Higuruma smirked over his toast. “God, I love a successful assignment.”

“Oh?” Geto asked, eyes twinkling. “Is it a classified mission?”

You took a bite of croissant and smiled. “Very hands-on.”

Shoko raised her brows, sipping her coffee.

Kusakabe looked like he was genuinely debating walking back out.

But then your knee brushed his under the table again.

And he didn’t move.

Later, when the group was distracted talking shop, he leaned in close and murmured—

“You stole my shirt.”

You looked at him over your mug. “I think it looks better on me.”

He didn’t disagree.

Instead, he brushed your knee with his, gaze dropping to your lips for a beat too long.

“…Keep it,” he said. “I’ll wear something else.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

Be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[addythecow]

you always looked fine to me

gym bro!simon x insecure!chubby!reader

ask

wc: 3k

a/n: omg anon this one hit close to home 🥺 literally whenever i go to the gym this is literally me so it was lowkey easy to write 🫶

You’ve been going to the gym for months now. Same time every evening. Same locker in the corner. Same oversized shirts and sweatpants, no matter how hot it gets. Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’re sloppy. But because every time you tried to wear something tighter—something even remotely flattering—you caught a look. A side-eye. A smirk. A whisper.

“If I looked like that, I wouldn’t wear that.”

That one stayed with you for weeks.

You didn’t even finish the set that day. Just left early and sat in your car with your heart in your throat.

Since then, it’s been full coverage. No skin. No curves. Nothing to point at or judge. Just baggy clothes, headphones in, and eyes on the floor.

Still, the comments find you sometimes. Not always mean. Sometimes fake-nice. Sometimes stupid little jokes you pretend not to hear.

“You’re here every day—where’s the progress?”

“Damn, it’s 90 degrees and she’s still dressed like it’s January.”

“Probably just here to feel better about eating later.”

You never react. That’s the worst part. You just lower your head and keep going, even when your face burns and your throat tightens. Even when it takes everything in you not to disappear.

But someone always notices.

And his name is Simon Riley.

He’s hard to miss. Built like a wall. Hood always up. Giant hands gripping weights like they’re nothing. People move when he walks by. Girls preen when he’s near. He never reacts. Never flirts back. Just keeps his eyes on whatever he’s doing and nods at people when they say hi.

He’s never said more than a few words to you.

A quick, “You done with this?”

Once, a low “Need a spot?” when you nearly dropped a barbell.

And one quiet, raspy “You alright?” when you accidentally wiped your eyes too hard after a whisper that hit too close.

But lately… something’s changed.

You feel his gaze sometimes. Not in a creepy way. Not like the others. But like he’s checking—watching. You’ll finish a set and look up and he’s already looking away. You’ll walk past and he’ll move slightly, like he’s clearing the way just for you.

One time you caught him staring after a squat set—your sweats riding low on your waist, your baggy tee damp with sweat—and his jaw clenched like he was holding something back. You told yourself you imagined it.

Until the night he actually waited.

You’d finished your workout, earbuds in, head down, already planning what you’d eat in secret later, and then—

“Hey.”

You turned. He was leaning against the front desk, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you like he had every right.

“Me?”

He nodded once. “You free Friday?”

Your throat closed. “Uh. Why?”

His lip twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Thought you might wanna get food.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to decide if this was some kind of joke.

“You’re asking me out?”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

He just nodded again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Pick you up?”

You nodded again, stupid and flushed and already spiraling.

And now it’s Friday night. He’s on his way. You’ve changed clothes four times. Cried twice. You don’t own anything “hot girl cute.” You don’t even own jeans that make you feel good.

So when he knocks, you answer in your sweats and an oversized tee.

Still thinking maybe this was all a mistake.

And there he is.

Simon Riley. All 6’4 of gym-bro intimidation, in a plain black tee that fits him like a second skin, his arms crossed, hood down, eyes soft but unreadable. He glances down at you—at your flushed face, your bare collarbones, the baggy tee that probably looks ridiculous—and frowns just a little.

“You alright?” His voice is low, warm. The kind of voice that wraps around you without asking.

You nod. “Y-Yeah. I just—um. I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

His brow twitches. “So you picked nothing?”

You freeze.

“I mean—not nothing,” you say, tugging at your shirt, cheeks going hot. “I just… couldn’t find anything I felt good in.”

Simon tilts his head. His eyes sweep over you, quick but careful. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate. It’s messy. You’re a mess. But you step aside anyway.

He steps inside, boots heavy on the floor, and turns to look at you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “So that’s it?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re just gonna tell me you couldn’t find anything,” he says, “and expect me to believe that’s why you were panicking behind the door?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I wasn’t panicking—”

“You were.” His voice is so calm it makes your chest ache. “I heard you trip.”

You let out a weak laugh and hug your arms over your middle. “It’s dumb. I just—”

“You don’t feel good in anything.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He looks at you. Not with pity. Not with confusion. Just with this weird, heavy softness in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

“You look good now,” he says simply.

You stare at him like he just said the sky’s purple.

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I’ve seen you at the gym. You always look good.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Yeah, in my giant sweatpants and hoodie.”

“Exactly.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, steps a little closer. “Not even a bit. You think I’ve just been sitting there watching you squat for fun?”

You blink at him.

He smiles, faint and slow. “Okay, maybe a little for fun.”

“Simon—”

“I like how you look,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “And I like how you carry yourself. Even when people stare. Even when you keep your head down and pretend you don’t hear ’em. I notice.”

You swallow. Hard.

He doesn’t say it like it’s romantic. He says it like it’s true. Like he’s been thinking it for a while. Like it’s obvious.

Then he glances at your couch. “We’re staying in.”

“What?” you blink.

“Not letting you spiral over clothes for the rest of the night.” He moves past you and plops onto your couch, legs spread, one arm thrown over the back like it’s his now. “C’mon. I’ll even let you put on one of those dumb romcoms you pretend not to like.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “You haven’t even seen my Netflix.”

“I’ve seen your hoodie rotation,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Don’t need to.”

You roll your eyes but feel a flutter in your chest.

He pats the cushion next to him. “C’mere.”

You hesitate.

“You’re not hiding,” he says, quieter now. “Not from me.”

You sit beside him, cross-legged, still hugging your arms like a shield. He’s warm beside you. Way too big for your couch, thigh pressing lightly against yours. It feels dangerous. Familiar. Safe.

“You seriously don’t think I look—” you start, then stop.

He turns to you. “Bad? No. Not once. Not ever.”

You look down. “I always feel like I have to prove something. Like if I’m not shrinking, people think I’m lazy or gross or… I don’t know.”

Simon shifts closer. “Fuck ’em.”

“Easy for you to say. You look like you were built in a lab.”

“Still insecure,” he says. “Still hate my reflection sometimes. Still overthink every time I talk to someone like you.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Like me?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Yeah. You’re funny. And sweet. And every time I’ve seen you, you’re kind. Even when people are dicks.”

Your throat burns. “That’s not—”

He cuts you off gently. “I like you.”

You stare.

“You don’t have to say it back.” His voice is quiet now. “Just don’t sit there thinking you’re not worth being liked.”

You bite your lip. “I just never thought… someone like you would want to…”

“Someone like me?” he echoes, brow raised.

“You’re intimidating. Like. Hot intimidating.”

Simon snorts. “You ever seen yourself stretch after a lift?”

Your cheeks go nuclear. “Simon!”

“What?” he grins. “Not my fault you look good with your hair up and those little flushed cheeks—”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, then tosses it aside and grabs your hand before you can look away.

His hand is so much bigger than yours. Warm. A little rough.

“You don’t have to be anyone else tonight,” he says. “Not for me.”

Your chest is tight. But it’s not painful. It’s full. Like he just cracked something open inside you, and now all the air’s rushing in.

You lean into him, just slightly.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in fully.

Your head fits against his chest like it’s been there before. Like it’s home. His other hand rests lightly on your knee, not moving, just grounding you there.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to watch a movie.”

“That’s alright,” he murmurs.

“I just want to sit here for a bit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

And he means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you. The way he settles in, like this is all he wanted.

You exhale slowly, finally letting your body relax against him.

Maybe you’ll wear something cute next time.

Maybe you won’t.

But right now, you’re not thinking about how you look.

You’re just thinking about the weight of his arm, the way his fingers graze your wrist, and how good it feels to not hide—for once.

He notices.

He always has.

☆taglist☆

@poshestpigeon @avgdestitute @eremika104 @lostintransist @little-mini-me-world @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @h0lydrag0ns @trixilove257 @fertilise-me

[addythecow]

Chapter 2: Tangled Hearts in the Night

• Mature Themes: Indicates the story contains suggestive content and emotional intensity that may not be suitable for all audiences.

• Romantic Rivalry: Warns of the love triangle dynamic between Sukuna, Gojo, and Y/N, which could involve tension or jealousy.

• Suggestive Content: Notes the presence of flirtatious and physically close interactions that imply romantic or sensual undertones.

• Emotional Intensity: Highlights the potential for strong emotions, such as conflict or confusion, which might affect sensitive readers.

• No Explicit NSFW: Clarifies that while the content is suggestive, it does not cross into explicit territory, setting expectations.

The campus lights flickered as Y/N stood between Sukuna and Gojo, the air thick with unspoken tension. The lamppost cast long shadows across the pavement, and the distant hum of traffic faded into the background. Her heart thudded in her chest, caught between the heat of Sukuna’s intense gaze and the playful, almost dangerous smirk on Gojo’s lips.

“I said I’ll walk her,” Gojo repeated, his arm still draped casually over Y/N’s shoulders. His fingers brushed against her neck, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Unless Sukuna thinks he can keep up with me.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his tattooed hand balling into a fist at his side. “You talk too much, Gojo. Step aside.” He moved closer to Y/N, his presence overwhelming, a faint scent of leather and cologne enveloping her. His hand hovered near her arm, not quite touching, but the promise of contact was electric. “She deserves better than your games.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt the pull of both men, their rivalry igniting something deep within her. “Guys, please—” she started, but her words were cut off as Gojo tugged her gently toward him, his touch light but possessive.

“Let’s settle this then,” Gojo said, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Y/N, who’s it gonna be? The guy who’ll bore you with his brooding, or me, who can make every moment unforgettable?” He tilted his head, his lips dangerously close to her ear, his warm breath sending a flush to her cheeks.

Sukuna growled low in his throat, stepping forward to close the gap. His hand finally found her wrist, his grip firm yet careful, pulling her attention to him. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. He’s all talk. I’d show you what real attention feels like.” His thumb brushed against her pulse point, a deliberate move that made her heart race even faster.

The night seemed to close in around them, the world narrowing to the three of them under that flickering light. Y/N’s mind spun, torn between the thrill of Gojo’s flirtatious confidence and the raw intensity Sukuna exuded. She could feel the heat radiating from both of them, their closeness stirring a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. The admission only seemed to fuel their determination. Gojo’s hand slid down her arm, his touch lingering, while Sukuna’s grip tightened slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with a promise of something deeper.

“Then let’s find out,” Sukuna murmured, his voice a husky challenge. He leaned in, his lips hovering near her cheek, the tension between them palpable. Gojo countered by turning her face toward him, his own lips brushing the corner of her mouth in a featherlight tease that left her breathless.

The moment hung suspended, a delicate balance of desire and rivalry. Y/N knew this was just the beginning whatever happened next, her heart was about to be claimed in a way she’d never anticipated.

____________________________________________

The air under the lamppost grew heavier as Y/N stood trapped between Sukuna and Gojo, their hands still lingering on her with a mix of possession and temptation. The campus had emptied, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves and the pounding of her own heartbeat. She could feel the heat of their bodies, the unspoken challenge between them pushing the night into uncharted territory.

Gojo’s lips curved into a daring smile as he tilted her chin toward him, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tease. “Why not let me take the lead?” His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her slightly closer, his breath warm against her skin.

Sukuna’s grip on her wrist tightened, a low growl escaping him as he stepped in, forcing Gojo to loosen his hold. “She doesn’t need your games,” he said, his dark eyes burning into hers. He pulled her toward him, his free hand cupping the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. His lips hovered dangerously close, the promise of a kiss hanging between them like a storm about to break.

Y/N’s breath caught, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting desires. The pull of Gojo’s playful confidence clashed with Sukuna’s raw intensity, and for a moment, she surrendered to the chaos. “Both of you… stop fighting over me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and curiosity.

Gojo chuckled, his hand sliding down her arm to interlace their fingers. “But where’s the fun in that?” He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, his lips brushing hers just enough to ignite a spark.

Sukuna’s patience snapped. With a swift movement, he turned her face toward him, claiming her lips in a deeper, more possessive kiss. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her closer as if to erase Gojo’s touch. Y/N melted into it for a heartbeat before pulling back, her cheeks flushed, her heart racing.

“Enough,” she gasped, stepping away from both of them, her chest heaving. The two men stared at her, their rivalry now a palpable force, yet their eyes held a shared hunger. “This… this isn’t how I want it to be.”

Gojo’s smirk faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. “Then tell us what you want, Y/N. We’re not walking away.”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Not until you choose or we figure this out together.”

The night stretched on, the three of them locked in a tense, unspoken agreement. Whatever came next, it would be a dance of desire and decision, one that would redefine their relationships in ways none of them could predict.

[addythecow]

shower time w/ simon n his pretty lil roommate

water beats down at his shoulders, scorching drops pelting down the arch of his arms, down the rippling muscles of his chest. soap lingers on his skin as his hand words quick strokes over his cock, head falling back to let water run through his hair and over his flushed face.

on the other side of the shower curtain there you are, he can barely see the silhouette of your body, can barely make out the soft of your voice. but fuckkkk the mere outline of your plush curves had him in some fuckin trance.

“ugh, i still don’t understand why they couldn’t just come over and watch a movie with us.” you’re speaking of your friends, painting your lips in a cherry, explosive red as you get ready to go out to the bar together. but simon couldn’t focus on anything except the emphasis of us. good god.

he presses his free hand to the striking cold shower tiles, lip stung between his teeth as he chokes back his guttural noises. his stomach rising, flexing and pulling back suddenly taut against his organs, breath ragged.

“si?” you chirp, and he can hear the click of your heels at the edge of the curtain. he can see the slightly sliver of your soft, thick legs. fuck fuck fuck. “would you tell me if i look good in this.”

and he abides, folding his back to the shower wall, hips reeled forward to keep working his hand. and when the beads of water strike his cock, he’s in shambles, jaw dropping and eyes rolling, barely concealing his reaction when his neck rolls and his head hits the cool tile.

his eyes scan you, your sweet dress cuts down into your breasts, accentuating em in a way that they spill into his face. it cuts into the plush of your waist, silhouetting your figure sweetly. and when his eyes drop to your legs, his cock spurts.

“so?” you giggle, giving him a lil spin, before you’re popping a hip in question. “how do i look?”

and simon chuckles to himself, pulling his lip between his teeth to hide the whimper that works itself up his goddamn throat.

“y-you look beautiful, babe.” he chokes slightly, desperate to lick the tang of your red lip off, to have it ringed round the base of him. n his head rolls back, low eyes looking down your dress as he mumbles, “one more spin for me?”

[addythecow]

(NOT MY ART, CREDITS TO THE ARTIST.)

Chapter 1: The Spark Ignites

Warnings: Y/N will be used, no cursed energy AU, College Au!, Nerd Gojo and Bad boy Sukuna, Fluff, they bicker over you, Sukuna x Gojo x you.

The autumn leaves crunched underfoot as Y/N adjusted the strap of her backpack, hurrying across the bustling campus of Tokyo University. The crisp air carried the faint scent of coffee from the nearby café, where she’d spent the last hour cramming for her literature exam. At 6:30 PM, the sky was a blend of orange and purple, casting a warm glow over the students milling about. Little did she know, her quiet evening was about to take an unexpected turn.

Leaning against a lamppost, Satoru Gojo tall, lanky, and effortlessly cool tapped away on his phone, his silver hair catching the fading light. Dressed in a loose “New York” hoodie adorned with quirky pins and baggy jeans, he exuded a laid-back confidence that turned heads wherever he went. A natural charmer, Gojo was the kind of guy who could ace a class with minimal effort and still have time to flirt with half the campus. His sharp blue eyes flicked up as Y/N approached, and a sly grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N,” he called out, pushing off the lamppost with a casual swagger. “Need a study buddy? I’m told I’m excellent at… distracting.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Gojo, I’m trying to pass this exam, not fail it because of your ‘distractions.’”

Before he could retort, a shadow loomed beside her. Ryomen Sukuna stepped into view, his presence commanding attention. With his spiky red hair and a black graphic tee layered with a tactical vest, he looked like he’d just walked off a streetwear runway or a fight club. His tattooed arm flexed as he crossed it over his chest, a silver chain glinting at his wrist. Known for his intense demeanor and a reputation for bending rules, Sukuna was the campus enigma brilliant but dangerous, with a smirk that promised trouble.

“Leave her alone, Gojo,” Sukuna said, his voice low and edged with a challenge. “Some of us actually respect her time.”

Gojo’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed. “Oh, look who’s playing the hero now. Last I checked, Sukuna, you were too busy intimidating freshmen to care about anyone’s schedule.”

Y/N glanced between them, sensing the tension crackling in the air. She’d seen them trade barbs before Gojo with his playful jabs, Sukuna with his cutting retorts but tonight felt different. Their gazes locked, a silent battle brewing, and to her surprise, it seemed to center on her.

“Guys, seriously, I’m fine,” she interjected, stepping back. “I just want to get home—”

“Not so fast,” Sukuna cut in, stepping closer. His dark eyes softened slightly as they met hers. “Let me walk you. It’s getting late, and I’d hate for anything to happen.”

Gojo laughed, a sound that was equal parts amusement and irritation. “Oh, please. I’ll walk her. I’ve got better stories to keep her entertained anyway.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, earning a glare from Sukuna that could’ve melted steel.

The two stood toe-to-toe, their rivalry igniting like a spark in dry grass. Y/N, caught in the middle, felt her heart race not just from the unexpected attention, but from the realization that these two larger-than-life personalities were vying for her affection. In a world without curse energy, where their powers were replaced by charisma and grit, the fight for her heart was about to become the most intense showdown Tokyo University had ever seen.

(This is my first post! I’m sorry if it isn’t the greatest I did try my best it’s been awhile since I’ve wrote anything. This will be ongoing if I can get more ideas. Hope it’s okay!)

[addythecow]

Simon Riley with a wife that loves to cook him lunches. I like to think this is in the same universe as this blurb. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon loves waking up, having a shower, and then coming downstairs to see a plate of breakfast on the kitchen island, and you, in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts as your pyjamas.

Simon loves wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook whatever you're making for him.

And it's not as though he demands it, or expects it. Ever since the two of you got married and you got to work from home instead of in the office, you would make Simon lunch.

It wasn't always in the morning, either. Sometimes you would just show up to the 141 base, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Before handing Simon a still warm container of food.

Simon loved your cooking, but something he loved even more was the ego boost he received from his mates. Johnny especially.

Johnny always commented on what Simon had for lunch. Expressing how good it was and how he wishes he had a 'bonnie lass' at home that would make lunch for him.

Then, Simon made the mistake of telling you about Johnny's words.

Simon had said it in passing while the two of you were cuddling in bed. Chuckling to himself, not even noticing the pout on your lips.

He shouldn't have been surprised when in the morning, he saw two containers, instead of one. One labeled "Simon ‪‪❤︎‬", the other labeled "Johnny ‪‪❤︎‬".

Simon slid the container across the table as he sat across from Johnny. The scotsman looking confused before his eyes lit up.

"She cook this for me, did she?" Johnny smiled brightly.

"Aye. But don't get a big head about it" Simon glared.

"How can I no' get a big head aboot it? sweet lass she is. Migh' have tae steal her from ye"

"don't even think about it"

"She e'en put a heart nex' tae ma name, Simon. She must fancy me"

"I'm telling her you hated the food"

"No! dinnae dae that ye big brute! she'll think A'm a bastard!"

"You are one"

Simon brought home two empty containers that night. Telling you about how Johnny groaned with every mouthful and nearly licked the container clean.

You also started receiving sloppy kisses on the cheek from Johnny whenever you brought lunch in during the day for your husband and his best friend.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[addythecow]

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

[addythecow]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[addythecow]

forget about walking around the house in just his shirt and a thong…

toji goes fucking feral when he sees you’ve stolen his boxers. especially with the way the snug material is hugging the shape of your ass he so desperately just wants to grab a handful of. 

toji startles you when suddenly, sneaking up behind your frame, he grabs the globes of your ass, a distracted you hovering over the kitchen stove.

“toji!” you squeak, surprised you hadn’t heard your hunk of a boyfriend walking up to you.

“what’s the occasion for looking so damn perfect?” he asks, a tiny smirk plastered on his face.

“i’m literally wearing your boxers and some old t-shirt, what the hell are you on?” 

“you’re a temptress..” he mumbles like he’s just silently observing you, shoving his face in the crook of your neck and eliciting his warmth as his hands wander around your body. 

“and you’re a pervert.” you retort, but your insult is pretty ironic, considering how hot his touch is getting you and how flushed your cheeks are at his antics.

so don’t be surprised when you notice your shorts slowly starting to disappear from your wardrobe <3

[addythecow]

— after hours.

cw: dilf!neighbor’s dad!toji x fem!reader – mdni, fingerfucking. age gap. power play. corruption kink. filthy talk. risk of getting caught. one-sided dom/sub energy. praise + degradation. kitchen chair. he talks sm shit.

it’s past 1 a.m. when you tiptoe down the hallway, every floorboard creaks making your stomach twist. your friend is passed out upstairs, knocked out by face masks and popcorn and two glasses of her dad’s stolen wine.

you’re not tired. you can’t be. not when the image of her dad standing by the grill earlier—tank top clinging to his chest, forearms flexing, sweat glistening on his neck—is still burned into your brain.

you just need water. that’s all. but as you step into the kitchen— he’s already there.

sitting at the head of the table. legs spread. low lighting behind him. bottle of whiskey cracked open, ice clinking in his glass. and his eyes are already on you.

“figured i’d see you tonight,” he mutters, voice rough, lazy.

you freeze.

“…hi, mr. fushiguro,” you say softly.

“you call your other neighbor’s dad that, or is that just for me?” like you got one, you think but his word makes you bite your lip.

he nods to the fridge. “get your water, baby. don’t let me stop you.”

you move, slowly. he doesn’t stop watching. doesn’t even blink. the cold air kisses your bare thighs when you open the door, and you know he’s staring at the curve of your ass under your too-short sleep shorts.

you twist the cap off. drink. try to steady your breath.

and then he says it.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath.” broad statement, he tells you like it’s nothing and your spine stiffens.

you glance down. your thin tank top is clinging to your chest from the chill—nipples pressed against the fabric. fuck.

“didn’t think i’d see anyone,” you say.

“mm,” he hums. “you sure about that?”

he stands.

you barely register the heavy footsteps until he’s behind you, big hand bracing the fridge door, closing it slow. then both palms settle on your waist, rough and warm against your skin, and your breath stutters.

“i saw you starin’ at me earlier, pretty girl” he murmurs against your ear. “while you were pretendin’ to help set the table.”

you turn your head, barely—he smells like cedar and alcohol and skin.

“i wasn’t—” you try to protest weakly.

“you were.”

he presses closer.

“you’re always lookin’. always wearin’ little shorts like this. nothing under. always bare and bendin’ over in front of me.”

his hand slips beneath your shirt.

“you do it for attention, huh?”

his fingers graze the top of your panties.

“you wanted me to notice?” his sleep deprived hoarse voice makes your thigh rub tight and witch. your lips part. your heartbeat slams in your ears.

“didn’t think—”

“you didn’t think i’d do anything about it.” he answers for you. toji turns you gently, lifts you up onto the counter.

but his eyes are mean, hungry.

“that’s where you were wrong, baby” his eyes are dark and drowned in lust.

your brain is mushed and it’s hard to remember how but you end up straddling one of the kitchen chairs, warm wood against the back of your thighs, his broad palm cupped behind your neck as he kisses just beneath your ear. slow. open-mouthed. filthy.

and his other hand?

already knuckle-deep inside your panties.

two fingers. thick, rough. fucking in slow and steady. curling with every pump like he’s memorizing the shape of you. and the sounds— you could swear your friend up stairs could wake up any minutes.

“shhh,” he coos when you gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

“go ahead, sweetheart. show me how quiet you can be.”

you clutch his arm as he keeps moving, thumb brushing over your clit in lazy but calculated circles.

“fuck—mr. fushi—”

“mm-mm.” his voice is laced with irritation, making him tighten his grip. teeth grazing your jaw. “call me that again and i’ll stop.”

you blink up at him, dazed. lips glossy. eyes already a little dumb.

“what should i—?”

he presses his forehead to yours.

“call me daddy. just once. that’s all i want.” it almost felt like he was begging and you know mr. fushiguro does not beg.

you hesitate—but your pussy clenches tight, as if it's possible than it already has, on his fingers, it answers for you.

“…d-daddy.” you cringe how it turns you on, making you dampen his fingers more again.

he groans, deep and low, like you said something sacred. and his fingers fuck into you harder.

“atta girl.” he broadly licks your lips, smearing his spit on your chin as well.

you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the moans. you can’t stop shaking—knees bouncing with every wet drag of his fingers. your shorts are shoved to the side, panties damp and pulled taut under his wrist.

“you ever been touched like this?” he asks, lips brushing your cheek.

you shake your head. whimper. “no.”

“no?” toji is quick to hide his surprise but he can’t help the pride swelling in his chest. “fuckin’ shame it is. this pussy’s way too soft not to be worshipped daily.”

his voice is so filthy. it sinks into your chest, your brain, your spine. “‘m gonna keep goin’, baby. not stoppin’ ‘til you cum on my fingers. y’hear me?”

you nod, barely breathing.

“and you’re gonna do it quietly. like a good girl, yeah? or else i’ll bend you over this chair and show you what else i can do,” he whispers into your ear. “with my hand over your fuckin’ mouth.”

that’s when your coil snaps, making you twitch. you cum heavy, almost convinced you went blind when you see white. right there in his kitchen. your hips roll against his palm as he fucks you through it, whispering how sweet and pretty and tight you are until your body’s limp in his arms.

you’re panting. overwhelmed. drenched as well.

he just chuckles and licks your taste off his fingers.

“next time,” he murmurs, lips at your temple,

“you come downstairs sooner.” he nudged your nose, pulling away from you.

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