#~Suggestive Content~

[kibo-no-akademi]

//tfw you wanted to find Voiceclaim audio posts to reblog, but you discover that there's canon suggestive (nsfw) Drama CD audios.

//Help him.

[latehere]

back to business with some good ol alien

[thedeafprophet]

Being called out 😭

[clouvu]

Obsessed with their friendship 🫶

[bamsara]

Lamb in a bunny suit trend (ft scythe and veil props, thanks Narinder)

[doggsbones]

Full of junk food

[originalartblog]

(continued under the cut ↓)

did you hear about my amazing propaganda yet

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

fem plus size bimbo!reader, wc: (written on the app!). (18)+

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | 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."

© ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused .ᐟ

[who-the-fuck-are-you-bruh]

WARNING! Suggestive content under ✨read more✨, minors please don't interact, let's be responsible and respectful to each other

[putrecabra]

ummm uhh uhh ummm uh

[sleep-0-deprived]

Monsters x top male reader thoughts ₍^ >⩊<^₎⟆

Taglist: @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs <33

A/N: S’ been a min since I’ve done s’me top male reader N’ I’m inna mood, tried at’ let tha monster be gn so tha reader can pick :3

Jus thinkin bout bein lost in’na forest, just wanderin around all on yer own jus explorin before ya see a tall monster layin all by themselfs, clearly in some sorta heat or rut- they jus whine an rut their hips against the ground practically beggin T’ be fucked real good- they let out labored growls when they see ya, they let’cha know exactly what they need with how their eyes roll over ya in’ a hungry manner

Jus thinkin bout tha monster guidin yer head between their thighs makin ya hold your lips to their hot pulsing sex, ya tongue laps it suckin at it feelin it throb on yer lips- ya jus keep doing as yer guided to tryin to please tha needy thing of a’h monster, yer eyes lookin up at em feelin their claws on yer head grippin it pushin your mouth further down on em, usin you like a lil toy for their pleasure.

Jus thinkin bout breedin a monster, bein all between their thighs huffin an pantin like A’h animal jus tryin to orgasm inside them— they’d dig their clawed hands in’ta yer shoulders lettin out mean growls as a sign t’ fuck em harder, oh yer poor legs tremble and quake fillin them up how they need- spurtin seat inside em, male or female monster either way they jus wanna be stuffed shoo full of yer cum.

Jus thinkin bout the monster tryin T’ get ya T’ mate it, tryin even when it ain’t possible- yer cock deep inside em tryin hard T’ bite at their neck N’ mark em how they crave, they’re in rut N’ all desperate T’ get a mate. “Ah- fuck bite right there-“ their clawed hand jus does S’ best T’ guid yer mouth T’ their scent gland- if ya were a’h monster you’d know where S’ at ya dumb human!

Jus thinkin bout that monster keepin ya, after tha intense mating session they can’t jus let ya Walt’s on outta here like that! They’re too attached an they’re gonna needa be fucked again- probably soon with how high their stamina is…maybe they should jus keep ya around as a lil toy for themselve’s usin yer cock how they please jus T’ make ya stuff their womb til something sticks inside em.

[rosierin]

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.

[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).

[2-dsimp]

“You just don’t know it yet but you love me and I love you the same~♥︎”

Tw: MDNI, suggestive, yandere nerd x popular! fem reader, kidnapping, drugging, delusional/obsessive/unhinged behavior, l

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

Imagine a yandere! Nerd, who wore the standard braces, blocky glasses, with a string bean type build.

Come up to you, one of the popular girls on college campus. Holding a box of magnum sized condoms. Giving you an awkward smile as he just says what comes to mind.

“S-so uh fun f-fact! Did you know-know that a penis could p-potentially break?” He’d say nasally, he was already sweating bullets, but mainly out of pure excitement. “S-since you’re my uh g-girlfriend you’ll h-help me test out that t-theory right?”

Scratch being his girlfriend, Eitheo never even asked you out. Much less, even suggest such a thing when all he did was hover around you like a bee to a flower it wanted to pollinate.

You supposed it was your mistake for doing an act of kindness. Sparing the outcast creep a pitiful moment of attention since he seemed to be a loner.

But Like a magnum? Seriously? You already surmised that he was a loser virgin who just happened to pick out the first thing he saw.

And You were just about to nip it in the bud with a word of rejection of the blasphemous idea.

Before your world went dark.

That motherfucker snuck up on you and held some handkerchief laced with a illegal sedative drug upon your nose, that knocked you out like a damn light.

And of course you had to be out of plain sight and in the arms of a damned lunatic who knew too much about how to hide a dead body.

To which he proudly bragged about, but unfortunately you didn’t pay much mind to his idle ramblings.

Since he looked like a harmless weakling, but boy did you wish you were more cautious in interacting with him.

There was a reason loners were loners after all, either they were batshit crazy or just shy. He was the former.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be A-all In the name of s-science of course! With some p-pleasure on the side… Lots of it! eheh you’ll love it.”

—————//———-

A/n: lmk if you want to see more of your unhinged nerd

[iceemochaa]

I'll Taste You First Then Devour You Whole Later

Remmick X Reader

Summary: You Come home late at night from a party, Unaware that a stranger is following you. Too bad he wont get a warning to what's about to happen. A creature that stalks your home and calls you "Mine" doesn't like it when people try and take what belongs to him.

A/N: It took me 4-5 Days to write this with pure determination and horniness. Thank you to my Remmick’s Freak writers room that showed me that life is truly worth living if Remmick gets to take you in the forest, added with drool and spit swapping. If you notice anything missing in the tags pls don’t be afraid to let me know! If you see grammar mistakes, no you didn't :)

Warning : MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, Reader isnt described, Blood, Slight Blood Play, slight Predator/Prey, Female Reader, Murder, slight sexual harassment (mentioned), Spit eating (with Blood), Possessive!Remmick, choking (slight), Humping if you squint, Remmick Drools as usual, Cursing, Drool Eating, Stalking (mentioned), Remmick is greedy asf (who could blame him?),

Word Count: 2.6k

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 He just killed someone. 

A man who was too busy trying to take what wasn’t his.

You were walking home from a party. Having caught wind of a new Juke joint opening, it only made sense to check it out. You and your merry band of friends who were bursting with excitement got ready that same day - picking out an outfit to wear, makeup that matched. Soon the opening hour was upon you. 

The place was nice, with lights suspended on balconies and a stage filled with instruments of all kinds. The Music was felt deep into the soul and the people who got in knew how to have a grand ole time. You danced and danced until your feet hurt, until your skin got all sweaty and your voice raspy from singing and hollering all night long. Once it got too late the crowd started to die down; People running to get home so they could wake up and catch the early morning. 

Once the music finally started to slow down and the crowd got smaller, You figured it was also time for you to go. So, you bid your friends a farewell. One of them offered to walk you home but You declined. You figured since it was too late nobody would be around, wondering and lurking in the night. Well, maybe except for one but that was an entirely different thing. 

He should have known better than to mess with women walking at night, alone. 

Especially women who have guard dogs waiting for them at home. 

You’re pinned down on the floor . Remmick touching all over you, marking his territory once more because some poor old bastard couldn’t read the “do not enter” sign properly. They got what they wanted. What they deserved. Now there’s multiple large, crankled, slash's deep into their chest, blood pooling from the wound. Their neck has been completely ripped off - the large organ of skin and muscle standing a few feet away from your face but you didn’t care. Not when Remmick was too busy making sure every inch of your body smelled like you again. Like him. 

If an unsuspecting viewer were to walk by they would have thought a rabid dog was mulling you to death. The scene was chaotic and obscene. A dismembered body a few feet away and a poor victim being ravaged by a beast. They would probably scream and shout for help, Ask if you were okay but nobody was coming for you. They never did. 

Not when He was around.  

In a situation like this you would have fought him off. Maybe Use anything to your advantage, grab a rock that was wedged by the tree, take the lonely branch on the side and use it as a weapon -  Like normal people would do to fight off a normal guy but he was not normal. Something that was entirely impossible to be and yet he was. 

“Remmick slow…slow down!” You cry out, gripping Remmicks shoulders for support when he licks a long, fat, strip up against your neck. It's late in the night, nothing but the cold breeze rattling the trees and startling a few birds. The dead stranger almost got you, almost had his way with you. He grabbed you from behind while you were a few feet away from your porch, pulled you close until your body was flushed against his and touched you. Wandering hands searched your skin and mouth pressed against the back of your neck. You screamed, trying your best to pull away from him, tossing your body from side to side but it was short lived when he shoved you towards the ground. 

“Quit it bitch! There aren't anybody up at this hour.” he chuckled, getting down on his knees to forcibly turn you over to your back. 

He wanted to get a real nice look at you, too bad you were going to be the last thing he ever saw. One of the things he ever saw. The moonlight shined against his face and you noticed that he looked familiar. You've seen him before, at the juke joint. He was drowning drink after drink but was short lived when he got kicked out for touching one of your friends. You remember cursing him out, screaming and shoving him out the door along with the bouncer who took notice. He was pissed, arguing that your friend asked for it. 

How stupid can men be? 

If only he had noticed that a creature lingered in the shadows of your porch. One that didn’t take too kindly at having their property be trespassed. 

“Remmick-”

“Can’t, busy. Need you to get rid of that stench you have.” Remmick says, getting in between your legs, in that comfortable position he always liked to be in , making sure his body was close enough. Remmick moves to press his face into you, rubbing his nose against the deep hollow of your neck. Pinning his body fully against your own. You can’t help the way your body reacts, the way he’s got his full weight  on you; Like he wants to get under your skin. No, he Needs to get under your skin. His hands are everywhere - His claws scraping lightly against your arms, legs, anywhere that showed too much skin. Areas that were infected by hands that didn't deserve to touch you. 

He still wasn't satisfied. 

“Remmick you killed someone!” you shout, Shoving his chest back to get his full attention. He didn't budge, he never does.  Too strong, ancient, powerful but he did stop to take you in - leaning back on his hunches,  Eyes searching your form. You weren't sure if he was inspecting you, eyes trailing down slowly and then snapping back to your face. He was frozen, quiet until after a few minutes, When the wind stopped blowing and the cicadas went silent. 

“Does it matter?” 

Your brows raised, confused at first. “Does it matter?...” you quickly repeat after, annoyance building on your tongue, “Yes! You can't have too many people up and go missing in this area cause you get all-”

“He was gonna hurt you…” he growls, a cold bloody hand reaching out to caress your face. His hand is bigger than before ; Longer, claws sharper , Like a predator. An elongated thumb glides against your cheek bone. His hands were rough, frigid and yet he held your face so softly. Careful, like you were fragile glass. 

“He was gonna take you…take what's mine away,” the pad of his thumb rubs along the bottom line of your lips, leaving a small bloody trail, “He was gonna die anyway.”

“...How…How would you have known that?” 

He sneers at your question, Disappointed that you would ask that but most importantly question him. He sighs loudly at that. Fine, he’ll entertain you, for a bit. He doesn't say anything for a short while but he does take note of how you watch him, eyeing the way he pokes his tongue out to lick the presence of blood away on his teeth. He finally decides to speak again. 

He whispers low so only you could hear him as if someone else was among the two of you. There was, he just wasn't alive to hear it. 

 “I could smell it on him,” he says, “Death.”

 The pad of his thumb gets replaced by a long claw, slowly dragged against your lip. He was careful once more; Careful not to prick the soft skin but his eyes were sharp, Dilated until there was nothing but red.  

It sends a shiver down your spine; How sinister he could look and yet moved in a way that was gentle. Ever so considerate of how human you are but soon after he adds in, interrupting the hypnotizing hold he has on you with a hint of amusement on his breath, “I just sped up the process.” 

Then a sudden grind of his groin against your clothed bundle of nerves sends signals to your brain. A pulse that Remmick hears all too easily. 

“Fuck- darlin’, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you belong to me.“ he mutters under his breath. Talking more to the air, a warning to the universe. A threat.  A small squeak escapes your lips when he reaches under your skirt to bunch them up against your stomach, Warmth bubbling up in your cheeks. 

“W-What… What are you doing?” You ask with a shaky breath. 

Remmick looks at you with those too bright, intense, glowing eyes. Eyes that always manage to pick you apart and somehow put you back together again. He truly did look like a beast right now; drool hanging from his chin, hair rattled, clothes battered from the stranger trying to fight him off and those razor sharp teeth open to the midnight air. He doesn't say anything but his breathing is rapid, low, inhuman sounds deep in his chest. 

He sets his eyes on you, desiring building into his chest,  deciding that what he was going to do was going to be his life's goal. You feel a cold, wet, palm glide up against your thigh and you jolt. 

“Remmick!” you gasp, your leg shifting to the side but his strong grasp holds you down. 

“Shhh, baby, almost done…Just gotta get here too.” 

Blood is dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked unto your face. Hovering over your body,  There’s so much blood and drool dripping from his mouth that it starts to pool in between the crevices of your breast. 

“I should’ve known other fools would try and take you away,” he grunts, “Look what you did - what you made me do.” 

“Remmick please…” you whine. 

He pushes up against your body. Grinding his hips down hard, making sure you can feel him through his pants. “You liked that, didn’t you? Me, ripping a man apart cause he tried to take what’s mine?”

You look over once more at the corpse a few feet away. The look of terror still glazed over the man's eyes. The scene wasn't pleasant  to watch, to see a man be torn apart right in front of your eyes but the thought of a creature like that protecting you? Watching over you. Wanted you. How could you ever be ungrateful? Sure, it scared the hell out of you but all of that was forgotten. Head filled with nothing but Remmick and how much he wanted to devour you under the stars. 

If you admit that, tell him you liked it when he killed for you, how you liked that you were the one who made him like this. Well, let's just say you wouldn't make it out alive. So you lie…or atleast try your best. 

“N-No..” You turn your head away so you won't have to look in his eyes, have him see the telltale signs of a lie forming, yearning bleeding into your soul but he pulls your face back. A smirk playing on his mouth. 

“Look at me, sugar.” he says, “Dont lie-”

“I'm not lying-”

“Yes you are.” Before you have time to form another poor, fabricated excuse, Remmick moves with precision. His entire hand wraps around your throat, His claws digging into your skin and yet it did not puncture the vitals or muscles underneath. Careful. Your body leaps, not out of fear- No, far from fear but something much more terrifying.

Excitement.

 What's even more frightening than the thought of you liking what he's done, what he's currently doing to you, is the fact that he knows. 

“Look at the way ur squirming under me,” he laughs, “I can hear your heart racing.” He sits back, watching, observing. Loving the way your body reacts to him. Only him. 

“Tell me you want this,” He demands, “Or…I'll make you beg.” 

“Yes!” You say too loudly, too proudly. Embarrassment washed away with a strong passion to please. To be pleased. There was no use in denying it anymore, Eagerness building on your skin.  Remmick nuzzles his body back onto yours, his face tucked comfortably into your breast. He hums a low sign of approval, the sound seeps through his chest like a purr. Soon after a hiss flees your mouth when You feel a warm, rough, texture lap at the forgotten pool of blood and spit in between the crevices of your breast. His teeth scraping against your skin. He leans back up suddenly, the loss of contact almost makes you cry out. Desperate to feel him once more. Desperate to be wanted. 

He tucks his hand under your chin, lifting to view your face clearer. You looked beautiful like this. Under him, completely at his mercy. Like prey trapped in a predator's teeth. He wants more of you. 

All of you. 

“Open your mouth for me darlin’...” he says softly, nothing but adoration and need in his voice. 

Your body moves on its own, all logic and reasoning thrown out the window.  You obey him so easily, your autonomy completely lost to him. Your tongue lolls out, the cool breeze shrouding  the top of the muscle, anticipation building in your gut. Fuck, you wanted it . Wanted Him. Whatever he could give you.  You watch in a daze as Remmick pulls you closer, maneuvering your mouth right under his. He ghosts his open mouth over yours, slightly open, ready to drip warm trails of the substance right down your tongue. 

He can feel your thighs move to squeeze around his waist, a strong intensity blooming where he's still connected. He makes sure that he builds the mixed fluid along his tongue and lets gravity take its place. The taste was unpleasant and yet you wanted more. It comes out in thick, heavy, globs, flowing right into your mouth. The weight of it makes you gag but the ache you feel on your nerves only grows further. 

He sweetens the deal with locking his lips against yours. No permission needed to enter his tongue into your mouth so he could savor you, relishing the moment; Tasting his own spit, tasting the blood of the poor bastard who’s life was cut short. He tilts his head so he can get in deeper, push in closer, explore further. Your entire being completely, utterly, intoxicating . He makes sure to drag his tongue against the edges of your teeth, leaving nothing in your mouth untouched. The hunger only grows the more he consumes you. 

Hunger was an understatement. 

He was starving.

He only pulls away, reluctantly, when he feels you struggle against him. Your breathing completely fucked up and yet he didnt care. He made you like this, Debauched and panting against his lips; trying your best to catch your breath. He was going to ruin you, that was a fact. 

You think he's done when you feel him shift on his knees, like he was getting ready to scurry off to hunt some poor soul in the night once more. You should have thought better, Should have known better that he was only getting stirred on with every breathless moan and whimper you released into his mouth. 

“M’gonna eat you alive…” He says, the sense of Imminence in the air. Your eyes grow wide, danger prickling the hair on your skin. You should feel afraid, flight or fight should have kicked in and yet it doesn't. There's too many emotions running through you at this very moment; Fear, Danger but worse of all joy. Remmick uses his claws to drag them down your blouse, tearing the fabric in one go. Your chest and stomach are swiftly exposed to the open air. The sense of fear only spurs you on, heat pooling at your core. 

“When I'm done,” Remmick smiles inbetween, looking like a natural predator- scratch that, he Is a predator, “Nobody else will try and take you away from me. I'll make sure of it.” 

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Tag list!: @cherryxhaze