#suggestive content

[way-too-addicted-to-anime]

Why can people never just talk things out YOU'RE GROWN ASS ADULTS WHO LOVE EACH OTHER JUST FUCKING SAY IT

heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

[jinjooha69]

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Overstimulation , Corruption kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degrading talk, Jealousy sex, First time sex, Size kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dry humping , Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Biting / Marking, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

prev chapter | next chapter

CHAPTER 6

The room is quiet now, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat, sex, and Toji’s cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Your body trembles, not from arousal anymore, but from the overwhelming clarity that floods your mind as the haze of your first time lifts.

Your insides aches, swollen and tender, the sticky warmth of Toji’s cum still leaking from your stretched folds, pooling on the sheets. Your breasts are marked with faint red imprints from his mouth and rough hands, your nipples sensitive and raw. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, your innocence shattered but your thoughts startlingly sober.

Toji exhales a slow plume of smoke, his dark eyes softening as he watches you from the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, almost hesitant, as he stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, and mumble, “I… I think so… just… a lot.” Your voice is small, still shaky.

He shifts closer, the mattress dipping under his weight, and brushes a strand of damp hair from your forehead. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the punishing grip he used earlier.

“Fuck, I… went too hard, didn’t I?” he mutters.

“You’re so damn sweet, and I… shit, I got carried away.”

You blink up at him, confused by the shift, and whisper, “Y-you… you’re not mad at me?”

The question is so innocent, so earnest, that he chuckles softly, the sound rough but warm. “Mad? Nah, baby.”

“It… it hurt, but… I liked it,” you admit, your cheeks flushing. “Is that… bad?” Your eyes search his, wide and uncertain, and he shakes his head, his scarred lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Not bad. You’re just… you. And that’s good. Fuck, it’s more than good.”

He lies down beside you, propped on one elbow, his free hand tracing slow, soothing circles on your arm.

“Should’ve been softer with you,” he says, almost to himself, his voice laced with guilt.

“First time and all. You deserved better than me rutting into you like some animal.”

You shake your head quickly, surprising yourself with the conviction in your voice. “N-no… I. . .it's fine. . . .” The admission hangs in the air, raw and honest, and Toji’s eyes soften further.

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“So damn pure, even after all that. Makes me wanna keep you safe.” His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

You swallow, your throat tight, and ask, “W-what happens now?” He pauses, then pulls you closer, letting you rest against his chest.

“Now?” he says, his voice soft but firm.

“We clean you up, get you comfortable. You’re sore, yeah?”

You nod shyly, and he nods back, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Then I’ll run you a bath, get some warm water to ease that ache. After that… we figure it out. Together.”

The word ‘together’ feels heavy, loaded with a promise you’re not sure you understand yet, but it soothes you all the same. He strokes your hair, his touch careful, and adds,

“And no more of that rough shit ‘til you’re ready. You call the shots, sweetheart.”

You nestle closer, the warmth of his body and the blanket cocooning you, your mind still spinning but calmer now.

“Thank you,” you whisper, barely audible, and he hums in response, his arm tightening around you protectively.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he teases lightly, in a new, softer way. He stays there, holding you, his breathing slowing to match yours.

-----

The morning light filters through the heavy curtains. You wake slowly, your body aching. Your insides feels tender, swollen from Toji’s relentless breeding, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, and your breasts are sore, marked with faint bruises from his rough hands and mouth.

Toji’s already up, standing by the window in nothing but low-slung sweatpants, his muscular back to you, the scars on his skin catching the light.

He turns, noticing you’re awake, and his dark eyes soften, though a smirk plays on his lips.

“Mornin’, sweetheart. Lookin’ like you got run over,” he says, voice low and teasing, but there’s a warmth beneath it.

He crosses the room, grabbing a glass of water and some pill and painkillers from the nightstand.

“Take these. You’re gonna need ‘em after I fucked you raw.”

You blush, your naive heart fluttering at his bluntness, and mumble, “T-thanks…” as you swallow the pills, your hands trembling.

He kneels beside the bed, his calloused fingers brushing your thigh gently, checking the marks he left.

“Sore, huh? My perfect little girl took it so well,” he murmurs, the praise soothing your nerves even as his touch sends a shiver through you. Toji helps you sit up, his hands steady but careful.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, guiding you to the bathroom.

The warm water of the shower he runs feels like a balm, he watching you with a mix of guilt and possessiveness.

“Fuck, I did a number on you,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he rinse the dried cum from your thighs, the hot water easing the ache in your body. You’re too shy to respond, your innocence making you duck your head, but his presence is oddly comforting.

Back in the bedroom, Toji sits you on the bed, a towel wrapped around you, and kneels to apply a soothing cream to the red marks on your wrists and thighs. His touch is gentle.

“Y’know, sweetheart, I could tell your dad you weren’t at your friend’s last night,” he says casually, his voice low and dangerous. Your heart stutters, eyes widening with panic.

“W-what? N-no, please, Toji, he’d… he’d kill me,” you stammer, your voice small and pleading, the naive fear in your tone making him chuckle. He leans closer, his fingers trailing up your thigh, dangerously close to your still-tender core.

“I won’t say a word… long as you let me touch you whenever I want,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine now, yeah?”

You freeze, your sober mind reeling, but the weight of his threat—and the memory of how good his touch felt—keeps you silent.

“O-okay,” you whisper, barely audible, your naivety making you nod despite the knot in your stomach.

Toji grins, satisfied, and slides his hand under the towel, his fingers grazing your swollen folds, still slick from the shower.

“Good girl,” he purrs, slipping one finger inside your sore pussy, moving slowly, watching your face for any sign of pain. You gasp, wincing slightly, but your hips twitch toward him, betraying your body’s need.

“Still so fucking tight,” he growls, but he’s gentle, his thumb circling your clit until you’re whimpering, your juices coating his hand despite the ache.

He pulls back before it goes too far, licking your slick from his fingers with a smirk.

“That’s enough for now. Gotta get you home before your dad starts askin’ questions,” he says.

You dress slowly, and Toji watches, his eyes soft but possessive. He drives you home in his car, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, a silent claim. You fidget, rehearsing the lie you’ll tell your dad—that you were at your friend’s, not getting fucked senseless by a man like Toji.

When you pull up to your house, Toji parks a block away, out of sight.

“Stick to your story, sweetheart,” he says, leaning over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering.

“And don’t forget—you’re mine. I’ll be seein’ you soon.” You nod, your heart pounding, and step out, your legs shaky as you walk to your door.

Inside, your dad’s in the kitchen, barely looking up as you mumble about your “sleepover.” You slip upstairs, your body still aching, Toji’s cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his threat and his touch burned into your mind, waiting for whatever comes next.

------

The weeks following that first night blur into a haze of secrecy, the air in your house now tinged with the sharp scent of whiskey and Toji’s musky cologne.

Toji starts showing up at your doorstep unannounced, a bottle of cheap bourbon or rye tucked under his arm, his scarred lips curling into a knowing smirk as he greets your dad.

“Brought somethin’ to share, man,” he says, voice smooth, clapping your dad on the shoulder while his dark eyes flick to you, lingering on your trembling form in the hallway.

Your dad, oblivious and eager for a drink, invites him in every time, the two of them settling into the living room with clinking glasses. Toji’s presence is a heavy weight, his gaze pinning you even as you try to shrink into the background, your soft, naive heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation.

As the nights unfold, Toji’s visits become a ritual. He pours generously for your dad, his laughter loud and disarming, until your dad’s slurring words and heavy eyelids signal he’s too drunk to notice anything.

The moment your dad stumbles to bed or passes out on the couch, Toji’s demeanor shifts, the warmth in his eyes turning predatory.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, pulling you onto his lap in the dim kitchen light. Your cotton nightgown rides up, exposing your thighs, and you hesitate, your breath catching as his rough hands slide under the fabric, grazing the damp cotton of your panties.

“T-Toji… what if he wakes up?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, eyes wide with innocent worry. He chuckles, dark and warm, his fingers teasing your swollen clit through the cloth.

“He won’t. And you’re too fucking sweet to say no, aren’t you?”

You never resist, too soft, too caught in the web of his control, but your hesitation shows in the way your hands tremble, clutching his shirt as he pushes your panties aside.

His fingers find your cunt, still sore from his continuous use, your folds puffy and slick despite your nervousness. He groans softly, spreading your folds, his thumb circling your clit until your hips twitch involuntarily.

“Look at this perfect little cunt, always ready for me,” he growls, his other hand squeezing your breast through your nightgown, pinching your nipple until you whimper.

“Gonna breed you right here, under your dad’s roof.”

Your naive mind reels, but you only manage a shaky, “P-please… be quiet…” as he unzips his jeans, his thick cock springing free, already leaking precum.

He takes you slow at first, bending you over the kitchen counter. His cock stretches your tight pussy, the burn making you wince, but he’s gentle in his own way, murmuring, “Such a good girl, takin’ me so well.”

The praise melts your hesitation, your body yielding as he thrusts deeper, with each slow, deliberate stroke. The wet squelch of your pussy fills the quiet house, your juices dripping down your thighs, mixing with his cum.

You bite your lip to stifle your moans, terrified of waking your dad, but Toji’s control over you is absolute, his hand gripping your hip as he whispers, “Gonna fill you up again, make you mine forever.”

_________

Some nights, Toji doesn’t settle for the kitchen or the shadowed corners of your house.

He’ll lean in close, his breath hot against your ear, and say, “Tell your dad you’re stayin’ at your friend’s tonight.”

You hesitate, your soft voice faltering—“B-but… what if he asks?”—but Toji’s stare is unrelenting, and you obey, spinning the lie with a trembling smile as your dad nods, too drunk to question it.

Toji drives you to his place, his hand possessive on your thigh the whole way.

Sleep is a distant thought; he keeps you up all night, fucking you until your body’s a trembling wreck. He spreads you on his sheets, your legs over his shoulders, his cock buried deep in your sore cunt, your clit throbbing under his relentless fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, my perfect little slut,” he groans, cumming inside you again and again, your insides overflowing with his thick, warm cum, dripping onto the mattress.

Each time, you hesitate, your naive heart fluttering with guilt and fear, but you never talk back, never push him away.

His dominance is a chain you don’t know how to break, his praise—“My good girl, so soft, so mine”—and his threats—“You don’t want your dad knowin’ what a whore you are, do you?”— keeping you tethered to him.

At his place, he bathes you after, his hands surprisingly gentle as he washes the cum from your thighs, soothing your aching body with warm water.

“You’re too damn sweet for this,” he mutters once, almost guilty, but his fingers are back on your clit the next moment, drawing another whimper from you.

When he drops you home in the early hours, your dad still asleep, you slip into bed, your body sore, your cunt still leaking his cum, your mind a mix of fear and excitement, waiting for Toji’s next visit, knowing it’s only a matter of time.

To be continued.... (next chapter)

.

[daxisyzz]

Shut your pretty little mouth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers)

Summary: Forced to share a safehouse after a mission goes sideways, you and Bucky finally act on years of tension and mutual annoyance. But when you return to the compound, you discover a very public problem: the comms were never turned off.

Warnings and tags: Language, suggestive content, one-bed trope, enemies-to-lovers, implied smut, comms left on, team hearing everything, banter, fluff, embarrassment.

Word count: 1k+ words

Based on this prompt by- @creativepromptsforwriting

"I need you to shut your pretty little mouth for just one second."

A/n: well I tried writing something close to smut. Just don't expect me to write the real stuff. 500 followers special.

You shoved open the door to the safehouse, rain-soaked and fuming. Bucky followed close behind, equally damp, equally pissed off.

"You were supposed to take the left flank!" you snapped, throwing your bag on the rickety table by the window. "Not go full lone-wolf Winter Soldier!"

"You’re welcome for saving your ass back there," Bucky grunted, shrugging off his jacket. It hit the floor with a wet thud.

"Saving? You blew our cover!"

"You screamed at the guy, [Name]. Loudly. In a warehouse. With echoes."

You glared. "It was a distraction."

"It was stupid."

The tension crackled like a live wire. You had always butted heads with Bucky—from the moment you joined the team, something about him lit a fuse in you, and vice versa. He was infuriating. Condescending. And...hot as hell, which only made things worse.

He stomped into the single bedroom. You followed a beat later, coming to a full stop in the doorway.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"One bed," Bucky muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course."

You scanned the tiny room. No couch. No second mattress. Just one well-worn queen-sized bed.

You turned to him. "I’ll take the floor."

"No. You won’t."

"It’s not a debate."

He looked you up and down, eyes stopping at the bruises already forming along your skin. "You’re injured. You’re taking the bed."

You scoffed. "What, suddenly chivalrous?"

He didn’t reply. Just grabbed a pillow and blanket and threw them down on the floor. As he started arranging his little nest, you sighed. The fight had drained out of you, replaced by aching limbs and soaked socks.

You flopped onto the bed. "Fine. But don’t complain when your spine turns to dust."

He grunted something unintelligible.

A long, uncomfortable silence settled in, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as you both adjusted.

"Why do we always fight like this?" you muttered after a while, staring at the ceiling.

He hesitated. "Because you’re loud."

You smirked. "And you’re uptight."

"You drive me insane."

"You make me want to scream."

He sat up, exasperated. "I need you to shut your pretty little mouth for just one second."

You blinked. Slowly turned your head toward him. "You think I’m pretty?"

His eyes narrowed. "That’s what you got from that?"

You grinned. "Admit it. You want me."

He huffed a dry laugh. "I want to throw you out the window."

"You almost kissed me on the Rome mission."

"I was trying to save your life. It was CPR."

"With tongue?"

His hands braced on the edge of the bed. He loomed over you, eyes dark.

"You really want to go there?" He asks now standing close to you.

You rose onto your elbows. "I dare you."

The distance vanished. He kissed you like it was inevitable—like it had been coming for years. Your hands flew to his hair, his to your waist, and then neither of you were thinking anymore.

Clothes were lost in between breathless gasps and whispered insults turned confessions. Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, rough and reverent. The world narrowed to the heat of his body and the scrape of his stubble and the way he whispered, "I hate how much I want you."

By the time you were tangled in the sheets, bodies still humming, exhaustion finally pulling you down, you didn’t even hear the soft click of the comms activating in Bucky’s half-unzipped tactical belt on the floor.

Avengers Compound - 4:36 AM

Steve blinked groggily at the screen in the mission control room. He and the rest of the team had been monitoring your safehouse channel on standby, expecting a quick check-in or maybe some grumbled complaints.

What they got instead was...Moaning.

"Is that... [Name]?" Sam asked, slowly setting down his protein bar.

"Oh my God," Nat whispered, eyes wide.

Tony practically sprinted into the room, coffee sloshing. "Did someone turn on a soap opera in here?"

From the speakers: “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah? You like it.” moan

Steve slammed a hand on the console. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Bruce, red-faced, fumbled with the controls. "I—I can’t find the channel mute—"

"Oh my God," Steve said, turning away and squeezing his eyes shut. "They left the damn comms on."

"Barnes, you dog," Sam muttered, equal parts amused and horrified.

"I need to bleach my brain," Steve mumbled.

Tony sipped his coffee, smirking. "This is going on the Christmas party slideshow."

The next morning, you and Bucky arrived back at the compound, freshly showered, wearing matching looks of reluctant truce. Something had changed. You both felt it. The silence between you wasn’t bitter anymore—just full of loaded glances and unspoken words.

As you stepped into the briefing room, you froze.

Everyone was already there.

And everyone was staring at you.

Steve looked like he had experienced the war again. Sam raised his brows. Natasha was biting her lip to hold back a grin. Bruce refused to make eye contact. And Tony... Tony was holding a remote.

You blinked. Bucky stiffened beside you.

"So..." Tony said, clicking the remote.

Suddenly, the room filled with audio.

“You gonna beg for it?”

“Shut up and come here.”

You froze.

"Tony!" you screeched.

He paused the recording with theatrical flair. "You left your comms on. For three hours."

You turned to Bucky, smacking his arm. "I told you to turn them off!"

"I thought I did!"

Natasha finally broke into laughter. "That was the best debrief I’ve ever sat through."

Steve groaned. "I’m going to need therapy."

Sam gave you both a slow clap. "Well. Guess the sexual tension’s officially resolved."

Bucky turned bright red. You covered your face.

Tony raised his cup of mimosa. "To new beginnings. And reminder to turn off your comms."

Bucky leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Next time, we use hand signals."

"Next time?"

"Well that will be a while until Steve recovers," Bucky whispered.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Then again, after last night, you figured he’d be good with his hands.

[thedeafprophet]

Being called out 😭

[doggsbones]

Full of junk food

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

nsfw.

fem plus size bimbo!reader, wc: (written on the app!)

a/n: uhhh... can't stop thinking about that pool scene where reid just kept talking in between kisses, so here ya go!! :D

You weren't even listening.

Whatever was coming out of his mouth was falling on deaf ears as you stared at his lips moving.

It was something about space? Gravity? Physics something or another? You didn't know, all you knew was that you need his lips on yours, and fast.

"what's so interesting about gravity, is that it's -"

You don't even bother to say anything, just leaning forward to land a sweet peck on his mouth.

He stops for a moment, eyes fluttering shut out of pure instinct before continuing when you separate, "It's by far the weakest force that we know despite -" you peck him again.

This time you purposely hold him against your body longer, both of your hands moving to cup the back of his neck to gently coax him forward.

" I have no idea what you're talking about," You breathe. "But it sounds complicated, " Another kiss. "And that's hot."

Spencer flusters at your words, "W-what?" You grin sweetly, bumping your forehead against his. His large palms cradle your face.

"You're smart, that's hot, and i'm really turned on." You state as though it's obvious.

"Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'," You mimick playfully. "I'm just curious to what you consider more important, facts about gravity or me."

He fumbles for an answer at your teasing, and you can't help the big, cheek splitting smile that fights through your grin.

"I - what? You. You, of course." He answers quickly.

You giggle, pursing your lips. "Oh yeah?"

Spencer gulps, "Yeah."

"Prove it."

[dr2-hell]

so you see i

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

MDNI but ah

Jason doesn't always turn off his brain while he's stuffing his cock into you. He likes being alert, aware enough to watch the way your face changes. He likes being able to focus on the pretty sounds you make.

But sometimes you just feel so good clenching around his cock that he looses his inhibitions. He gets messy. Slobbering and drooling onto your skin. Shiny, wet marks are left littering your chest, your shoulders, your throat.

It's not his fault that he can't form a complete thought because he's too focused on squelching sounds that fill the room every time he drives his hips into yours. He's just too distracted by the string of spit connecting his lips to yours.

(He's going to cum when you swallow it)

[yaemmemn]

Found this base at Pinterest. I love it so much😭

(drew this at school lmao, got a few stares ig)

(edit: People don't understand the context 😭 so like it's how nari's presenting with the wrong one, sorry that is SO far off from what people were thinking. I just thought it would be funny if I head-canon them sharing the same google account)

(edit2: I honestly felt high drawing this)

[strnilolover]

٠ ࣪⭑ Sometimes Vampire!Matt Gets Too Carried Away But Human!Reader Doesn’t Mind …

You lay beneath Matt, his weight pressing into you just enough to ground you, his lips moving feverishly against yours. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his thumbs tracing circles that sent shivers coursing down your spine.

“You’re addictive, you know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice deep and slightly ragged.

You giggled breathlessly, “You should talk,” you teased, fingers tangling in his hair. “You’re the one who can’t keep away.”

Matt chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated through your chest. His lips traveled down to your jawline, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. Each one seemed to grow hotter, more intense, until his mouth hovered over your pulse.

You felt his hesitation — a second of stillness that came before his lips parted. “Matt,” you whispered, half-warning, half-pleading.

But he didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed his lips to your throat, kissing deeply as if tasting the warmth of your blood beneath your skin. You gasped when his teeth grazed you — not quite biting, but enough to leave your heart racing.

Your hands cupped his face, pulling him back so you could look into his eyes. They were darker than usual, his pupils dilated. The predator in him was showing, but it didn’t scare you — it never did.

He gave a small smirk before he leaned down again, his lips brushing yours before trailing lower — over your collarbone, down your torso. His hands tugged at the hem of your shirt, his mouth following the path of newly exposed skin. He moved lower still, down your stomach and over the curve of your hip.

When his lips found the soft skin of your inner thigh, you inhaled sharply, your fingers clenching the sheets. His kisses there were slower, more deliberate. He lingered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Matt,” you whispered again, but it came out shakier this time.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing just above the spot where his teeth brushed seconds later. You gasped when you felt it — the sharp, delicious sting of his fangs sinking just enough into your thigh. A soft moan slipped from your lips, and your hands gripped the sheets tightly. The sensation was a mixture of pain and pleasure, intoxicating and electrifying.

Matt’s grip on your thighs tightened as he drank in your reaction, his growl vibrating against your skin. He licked over the tiny marks he left, soothing them, before biting again, just a little deeper this time.

You whimpered, your body trembling beneath him — Your back arching involuntarily. “Matt,” you breathed, your voice trembling with pleasure. “Don’t stop.” And his lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “You like this, don’t you?” he groaned against your skin that was now decorated in purple marks.

“Yes,” you admitted without hesitation, your cheeks flushing. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing with desire. “The things i want to do to you..” he muttered, trailing his eyes all over you.

Your own eyes gazing down at him, “Show me,” you challenged, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Matt didn’t need to be told twice. His lips and teeth returned to your thighs, his movements deliberate, worshipful. Each kiss, each nip, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you utterly at his mercy.

SAVE ME VAMPIRE MATT. SAVE MEEEEE.

[jinjooha69]

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Overstimulation , Corruption kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degrading talk, Jealousy sex, First time sex, Size kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dry humping , Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Biting / Marking, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

prev chapter | next chapter

Chapter 8

You hadn’t seen him in a few days. You were trying. You really were.

Ignoring his texts, dodging his calls with excuses. “Sorry, Dad’s not feeling well tonight.” “My period started.” “I’m busy with friends.” You even lied about being out of town just to buy yourself some air — a little space where you weren’t constantly on edge, constantly sore, or afraid he’d corner you again behind closed doors and shut you up with his mouth and hands.

But of course, it never lasted.

That night, you'd gone out with your friends. Just a late-night dessert run, really — nowhere wild, nothing crazy. You were giggling at a dumb meme on someone’s phone, standing outside the shop with a bag in your hand, and then—

A hand curled around your wrist.

Your heart dropped.

You turned around, and there he was.

Toji.

Black shirt, jaw tight, unreadable expression — except for the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said so smoothly, too calmly. “Out late again?”

Your friends blinked, confused. You fumbled. “I—uh—he’s—my dad’s friend—Toji—” you mumbled, voice cracking.

His fingers tightened just a bit. “Can I borrow her for a minute?” he asked the group, that usual charming lilt in his voice.

You didn’t even have time to protest.

He dragged you down the street to where his car was parked. The moment the door slammed shut behind you, the air changed.

"You ignoring me now, huh?" he said, voice low, restrained. "Too busy dressing like this—" his eyes roamed down your legs, that short skirt your friend forced you to wear— "parading around the city at midnight?"

“I wasn’t— Toji, I was just—”

“Just what?” His voice dropped darker. “Trying to act like you’re some good girl again? Think I can’t smell when you’re lying?”

You flinched. He leaned closer.

“I should tell your dad,” he whispered, venomously soft. “That his daughter’s out here getting drunk, acting like a whore in front of strangers.”

You froze. “Please don’t— I wasn’t doing anything bad— I didn’t even drink tonight—”

He scoffed. “And I'm supposed to believe that? After you've been dodging me for weeks? After lying to my face every time I asked you to come over?”

You tried to pull your hand away. He didn’t let you.

"You’re mine,” he growled. “And you don’t get to run from me.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t even raise his voice. But the sheer weight behind his tone made your stomach twist.

“You’ve got ten seconds to get in the passenger seat,” he said. “Or I drive straight to your house and we have a real grown-up talk with your father.”

You didn’t speak. Just opened the door with shaking hands and slid in, blinking back the fear in your chest.

---

The air in Toji’s dimly lit living room crackles with tension as he shoves you through the door, his grip on your wrist bruising. His eyes, dark and smoldering with rage, pin you in place as he slams the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

“You think you can ghost me, huh?” he growls, voice low and dangerous, his towering frame looming over you.

Your heart races, fear mixing with the familiar heat of submission as you shrink back, stammering excuses about being busy. Toji’s laugh is sharp, cutting through your words. He yanks you closer, his calloused fingers digging into your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Lame fuckin’ excuses,” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “You’re mine, and you don’t get to run.”

He drags you to the couch, shoving you down with enough force to make you gasp. The worn leather creaks under your weight, cool against your flushed skin.

Toji’s hands are quick, practiced, as he grabs a coil of rope from a nearby drawer—black, rough, biting into your wrists as he binds them behind your back. The knots are tight, unyielding, a physical reminder of his control.

“You scared of your dad finding out?” he mocks, his voice dripping with condescension as he kneels in front of you, his rough hands gripping your thighs, spreading them apart.

“Or you just think you can play hard to get?” His fingers trail up, teasingly close to the hem of your skirt, and your breath hitches, body betraying you despite your fear.

“You ignored my calls, my texts,” he continues, his tone darkening as he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Made me look like some desperate fuck. That stops now.” His hand slides under your skirt, finding the damp lace of your panties, and he smirks, cruel and triumphant.

“Already wet? Pathetic.” He yanks the fabric down, leaving you exposed, the cool air hitting your slick folds. His fingers trace your folds, slow and deliberate, circling your clit with agonizing precision.

You whimper, squirming against the ropes, but he presses a hand to your stomach, pinning you still.

“You don’t get to move,” he snaps, his voice a whipcrack. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Toji stands, unzipping his jeans with a deliberate slowness, his cock springing free—thick, veined, already leaking precum. He grabs your hair, tugging your head back, forcing you to look up at him.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, making you wince. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Your lips part, and he pushes himself in, the salty taste of him flooding your senses as he thrusts deep, hitting the back of your throat. You gag, tears pricking your eyes, his hips setting a brutal pace.

“This is what happens when you forget who owns you,” he growls, his voice rough with arousal.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your choking, his low grunts, the creak of the couch. Your wrists burn against the rope, your thighs trembling as slick pools beneath you, dripping onto the leather.

Toji’s hand moves to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

“You’re gonna beg for me by the time I’m done,” he promises, his eyes glinting with dark intent.

“And you’ll never pull this shit again.” He pulls out abruptly, leaving you gasping, drool trailing down your chin. He kneels again, his fingers plunging into your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls, making you cry out.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Say you’re mine.”

Toji’s rage consumes him, his eyes wild as he flips you onto your stomach, the couch’s rough leather scraping your cheek. Your wrists strain against the tight ropes, burning as he yanks your hips up, forcing your knees to dig into the cushions.

“You cryin’ already?” he sneers, voice thick with cruel arousal, his hand cracking against your ass, leaving a stinging red mark.

Without warning, he slams his cock into you, the brutal thrust tearing a sob from your throat. His pace is deeper, stretching your walls, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room. Your tears soak the leather, your body trembling under his weight, but the sound of your sobs only makes him harder, his cock throbbing inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight when you’re scared,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back, arching your spine painfully. He leans over, his chest pressed against your bound arms, his breath hot on your neck as he bites down, marking you.

His free hand snakes around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it roughly, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through you. Your cries mix with broken moans.

“This cunt’s mine,” he snarls, pulling out only to ram back in, hitting your cervix with a force that makes you scream. “Every fuckin’ inch of you—mine.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his anger fueling every thrust. Your vision blurs, tears streaming as he grips your hips, nails digging into your skin.

He shifts, one foot on the couch for leverage, driving into you at a new angle, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, making your body betray you with shudders of unwanted pleasure.

“Try ignoring me now,” he spits, his hand wrapping around your throat. He releases you just as your head swims, only to slap your ass again. Your sobs grow hoarse, your body limp, but he’s not done.

Toji pulls out, his cock slick with your juices, and flips you onto your back, your bound wrists pinned painfully beneath you. He straddles your chest, his heavy cock smearing precum across your tear-streaked face.

“Open."

He orders, and when your lips tremble, he forces himself in, fucking your mouth with the same ferocity, gagging you until drool spills down your chin.

“Look at you, a fuckin’ mess,” he taunts, his voice low. He pulls out, stroking himself as he stares down at you, broken and used.

“Gonna cum all over you,” he grunts, his hot, thick cum splattering across your face, dripping into your hair, marking you as his.

He leans down, his fingers plunging back into your swollen cunt, curling against your g-spot, making you twitch despite your exhaustion.

“You feel that?” he whispers, his voice a dangerous rasp as he smears his cum across your lips with his thumb.

“This is what you get for forgetting me.” His other hand grips your thigh, spreading you wide, exposing your flushed, glistening folds, your clit throbbing under his gaze.

“You’ll never pull this shit again,” he vows, his eyes burning into yours, “’cause I’ll break you every fuckin’ time.”

______________

Toji’s relentless assault stretches into the night, his anger an unyielding storm that leaves you shattered.

“Fucking slut,” he snarls, his voice dripping with venom as he slams his cock back into your raw, aching pussy, each thrust a punishing blow that rips fresh tears from your eyes.

"Mm---sorry.... please ....ss too much... I'm sorry". Your sobs are muffled against the floor, your body trembling as he grips your hips, bruising them with his rage.

He ignores your pleas. "Sorry?? ha ! funny...You thought you could ditch me?” he growls, yanking your hair to pull your head back, forcing you to arch until your spine screams.

“I’ll ruin you so bad you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

He doesn’t relent, his cock pounding into you with savage force, your swollen folds stinging with every brutal thrust. Slick and sweat mix, dripping down your thighs, your cunt clenching helplessly around him as pain and humiliation twist into a sickening heat.

“Cry louder, baby. . . . you're only making my cock harder," he taunts, slapping your ass so hard it burns. His fingers find your clit, pinching it cruelly, making you scream.

“You’re nothing without me,” he hisses, leaning close, his breath hot against your ear.

“Ignore me again, and I’ll fuck you in front of your dad—let him see what a whore you are.” The threat sinks into you, heavy and terrifying, your tears falling faster as fear chokes you.

Toji flips you onto your back, your bound arms crushed beneath you, the pain shooting through your shoulders. He straddles you, his thick cock hovering over your tear-streaked face, precum glistening at the tip.

“Look at this pathetic mess,” he sneers, smearing his cock across your lips, forcing you to taste him.

“You’re just a hole for me to use.” He thrusts into your mouth, gagging you until you choke, drool pooling under your chin. His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

"D---Don't say th--that..." you managed to say between your sobs while he pulling out to let you gasp.

“Beg for mercy,” he demands. You whimper, too broken to speak, he laughs, cold and cruel. “Too late.”

He moves lower, spreading your thighs wide, exposing your glistening, abused cunt. His fingers plunge in, curling harshly against your g-spot, making you writhe despite the agony.

As dawn breaks, Toji finally stops, leaving you sobbing uncontrollably, your body a map of bruises, welts, and his cum. Your insides throbs, raw and ruined, your face sticky with tears and his seed.

He kneels beside you, his voice low and menacing. His fingers gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his cold gaze.

“Try running again, and this’ll feel like a fucking warm-up.” He stands, leaving you there, broken and humiliated, a reminder that you’ll never escape him.

Your body aches, every muscle screaming as you lie curled on the bed, too sore to even shift. The room is silent, save for your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the house.

Toji returns after what feels like an eternity, his heavy footsteps echoing. His face is unreadable as he looks down at you. Without a word, he scoops you up, his strong arms cradling your bruised frame with surprising care.

You wince, a soft whimper escaping, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, carrying you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing.

The bathroom is warm, the air thick with steam from the running shower. Toji sets you on the edge of the tub, your legs trembling, unable to hold you up.

He strips you of your clothes, his hands rough but deliberate, pausing to graze your breasts, squeezing them briefly, his thumbs brushing your nipples casually that makes you flinch.

Warm water cascades over you as he guides you under the spray, his calloused hands scrubbing your skin with a washcloth, washing away the sticky mess of cum, sweat, and shame. He’s thorough, almost clinical, cleaning between your thighs where your raw, swollen core stings under his touch, but he doesn’t shy away, his fingers lingering there, probing gently.

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, your forehead, your jaw—that feel more like branding than affection.

Toji towels you dry, his hands roaming again, groping your tits as he wraps you in the soft fabric, a faint smirk tugging at his lips when you gasp. He dresses you in one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing your thighs, and a pair of his boxers, the elastic loose around your hips. His fingers trail over your collarbone, squeezing your breast once more before he leads you to the kitchen, your steps shaky, his hand steady on your lower back.

The table is set with simple breakfast—eggs, toast, coffee—and he pushes you into a chair, sliding a plate in front of you. “Eat,” he grunts, sitting across from you, his eyes never leaving your face.

He leans back, sipping his coffee, his gaze heavy as he finally speaks.

“Went too far last night,” he says, his tone flat, no real guilt in his voice, just a statement of fact. "Don't take anything I said to heart. Wasn't on the right mind."

“But you fuckin’ pushed me, ignoring my calls, actin’ like you could just walk away.” His jaw tightens, and he sets the mug down with a thud. "Made me act crazy and mad, at this fucking age !"

“Don’t do it again. You know what happens.” His words hang in the air, a warning, as he reaches across the table, his thumb brushing your lips , pressing a kiss on your cheek, before he returns to his food, leaving you to process the weight of his care and his control.

to be continued.... (next chapter)

.

[c1nnamonxq]

Texts with Michael Kaiser. (SMAU!!)

Warnings : suggestive , mentions of sex (implied!) , usage of profanities , jealous Kaiser and reader , brief mentions of periods , misunderstandings between the reader and him , mentions of suicide (usage of the word kys).

[zwintrew]

THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF RECOGNITION WE WERE AIMING TO...

Este no es el tipo de reconocimiento que estábamos buscando...

Pd: Those comments on the Tv... are really from the real page of """"Cornhub"""" (you know the page I'm referring to). Those are actual comments left on videos, I just copy-pasted them. XD

Pd: Esos comentarios en la Tv... son realmente de la página real de""""Cornhub"""" (ya saben a qué página me refiero). Son comentarios reales que encontré en los vídeos, solo los copié-pegué. XD

[doggsbones]

[doliacuddles]

AN UNEXPECTED DESIRE.

𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

The very idea had seemed absurd.

No, more than that—humiliating.

Him, on his knees, bowing to another’s will, surrendering to a carnal desire he didn’t even comprehend… The mere image of it made his stomach turn. He wasn’t a prude—Hell was a breeding ground for unchecked passions and creatures enslaved by their own impulses—but he had never been part of that spectacle. He had never felt the need. Never understood what was so pleasurable about such a vulgar display of submission.

And, above all, he had never imagined anything could tempt him to reconsider.

Yet here he was.

At first, he didn’t understand. He had wanted to try, yes, but only with the certainty that the experience would reinforce his disdain. A confirmation of his superiority, a reminder of his immunity to the weaknesses of others. But now, with his mouth on your skin, with the warmth of your body trembling beneath his touch, something inside him began to falter.

It wasn’t submission. It wasn’t weakness.

It was control.

Every shiver, every muffled gasp, every involuntary twitch was a direct response to his actions. Not to a carefully woven trick, not to a sly grin paired with a razor-sharp remark. No. This was you, unraveling under him, surrendering without the need for chains or contracts.

It was mesmerizing.

His lips curved slightly, never straying from the task he had scorned only moments ago. His tongue moved with newfound precision, gauging every reaction, fine-tuning his technique as though mastering a new and intriguing instrument. He had expected indifference. Perhaps even disgust.

But this… this was different.

When your fingers tightened in his hair, trembling, an instinct deep within him urged him to push you away. A reflex born of someone who had never allowed himself to be touched without first permitting it.

But he didn’t.

He remained still. He waited. He observed.

And then he felt it.

Power.

Not the power of a battle won, nor of prey caught in his web. Not the glee of a mocking laugh echoing through chaos, nor the satisfaction of a deal sealed in blood.

This was a different kind of power.

More intimate. More subtle. More dangerous.

Because he liked it.

Because, against all logic, against every taunt he would have hurled had he seen someone else in this position, against every principle he thought he had…

He wanted more.

And Alastor had never been one to deny himself a new favorite pastime.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.