blu

(2.0k words, sorry!)

⊱ ۫ ׅ✧ m.list

Warnings: hate sex, multiple orgasms, multiple sex positions, creampie, missionary position, kitchen sex, sexual overstimulation, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, size difference, manhandling .ᐟ

Your relationship with Toji Fushiguro was far from conventional.

Even at the best of times, you felt like all he did was take take take from you. Whether it was asking for money, ghosting you for sometimes days at a time, forgetting every birthday or anniversary...

You knew he loved you in his own way- but you were done.

But the problem was, he always found a way to make you come crawling back. Like a moth to a flame, a never-ending cycle. But this time around, he’d royally pissed you off. You told yourself there was no going back now, this was it.

You pace your apartment, furious, fists clenched, phone thrown across the room. And where was Toji? Nowhere to be seen- not for days. Not one text, not one call, like he’d disappeared into thin air.

Sure, he’d done this before- he was a lousy texter, but he showed up. The most he’d gone before without so much as contacting you was three days- ‘work stuff.’ Yeah, the job he swore up and down he had, but refused to talk about.

So what was his excuse this time? Six days had passed. No calls, no texts, nothing. Until now.

Toji doesn’t knock, one way or another, he just lets himself in every time. The door swings open, the large man letting it carelessly close behind him as he paced towards the kitchen where you stood- still seething.

“Hell no. Get out Toji, I’m done” you hiss, pointing towards the door. Though deep down, you were relieved to see him- for all you knew, he could’ve been dead in a ditch these past few days. At least his handsome ass was still alive.

“What, ya’ not happy to see me?” he scoffs, leaning against the kitchen counter, stealing an apple from your fruit bowl before scoffing it into his mouth, the juice trickling down his chin. You slap the apple out of his hand, now stood inches away from him.

You were far from intimidating. In fact, Toji found it cute when you challenged him like this- like he couldn’t just throw you over his shoulder in an instant. He was quite literally twice your size, and twice as dominant.

An infuriatingly casual smirk grows on his face, “Someone’s feeling bold. No dick for a few days n’ yer angrier than a drunk old man.”

You blood boiled.

“So, first you disappear for six days, then you waltz in here like nothing’s wrong. And THEN? Then, you compare me to an old man” you shout, attempting to shove Toji away, ultimately failing. He just stood there, unmoved and somewhat amused. Now you were just embarrassed- only adding to the redness of your face.

“Stuff came up, doll. Lighten up” he says, increasingly aware of how much he’s pissing you off right now- not that it particularly affected him. “M’ here now, gonna stand there and pout or lemme make it up to ya?” he says, stepping closer and placing one large hand on your hip.

Shit. Must. Break. The. Cycle.

You simply act on instinct, you want to pull him closer, feel his calloused hands all over you- no. You slap him clean across the face. He just stands there again, unphased and unmoved- like a fly had simply landed on his cheek. You slap him a second time, same thing.

He actually just seemed to be enjoying this.

“You done?” he bores.

“N-No!?” you stutter, raising your hand to shove him again. Though this time, he catches your hand effortlessly, using it to pull you closer again. You look up at him, jaw clenched. Then, he grabs you firmly by your chin, leaning down and pressing a hungry kiss to your mouth.

Instantly, you melt into the kiss- hands clenching his shirt, silently fighting back. “I hate you” you mumble. “I know” he rasps, picking you up and encouraging your legs to wrap around him as he places you down on the kitchen counter.

It was hungry, all teeth and tongue- animalistic hunger. His way of apologising without actually having to say it.

Panting, you pull his shirt up and off him, his mouth now exploring your neck- littering it with sloppy kisses and firm sucks. Your hands find his scarred chest, feeling the hard muscle- one of the many reasons, you seem to be incapable of prying yourself away from him.

Your cheap little tank top gets ripped off, exposing your breasts to his ravenous gaze. Your hand finds the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging on it firmly as he sucks your nipples into his mouth.

The sight, the sounds, it was filthy- desperate.

Once your breasts had been thoroughly lavished, your shorts are next to come off. Ripped off, more like. He pushes you back to lay on the counter, coaxing your legs atop his shoulders as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your stomach.

Years of knowing this man, touching this man, being incredibly angry at this man; and you still can’t wrap your head around how big he is. Above and below the belt.

His tongue darts out once he reaches your cunt, licking a firm stripe up your slit. “Taste so fuckin’ good” he rasps, gripping your thighs as he starts devouring you. “Ah!- I still h-hate you” you stutter, throwing your head back blissfully, letting it hit the hard counter.

“Yeah? Doesn’t sound like it” he smirks against your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth extraaaaa hard just to make you squeal- just to prove a point. “Ah! T-Toji" you moan out, fisting your hand in his hair as his tongue makes you see stars.

“Keep makin’ those pretty sounds f’me” he growls, pushing two fingers inside of you, curling them upwards perfectly to hit that sweet spot he seems to always locate so easily.

Your moans were now frequent, desperate. His fingers continuing to fuck in and out of your greedy pussy. “Gotta get this tight little cunt ready f’me, yeah?” Toji rasps, his mouth against your clit as his quick pace and precision bring you to your peak swiftly.

He sucks your clit into his mouth again, the tension in your body snapping abruptly as both his fingers and tongue pushed you to your limit. Your sweet cum coats his chin and fingers, fingers that he licks clean whilst holding the filthiest eye contact with you.

How the fuck could you stay mad at that face.

Seconds later, Toji lifts you down from the counter, turning you around and freeing his cock from the confines of his pants and rubbing it against your dripping core. You’re still recovering from your orgasm, your legs weak- Toji holds your hips firmly to keep you upright as he nudges his thick, leaking tip into your cunt.

Shit. You’re supposed to hate him right now. Suddenly you’re gritting your teeth in anger again. Though admittedly, your head was partially still in the clouds from that orgasm.

“F-fuck you” you hiss, still no real malice there. Hating him was truly just an uphill battle in your mind.

“I’m about to” he grins sadistically, sinking his cock into your tight heat, giving you only seconds before pulling all the way out and slamming into you again. “Fuck-” you whimper, feeling how his cock stretches you open as he begins to pound you mercilessly.

Your hands braced the counter for stability, your legs already threatening to give in at any moment.

“Feels even better than I remember” he groans, holding your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds your poor (lucky) cunt. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot given you left for almost a week” you pant, smiling to yourself, mostly because you knew what was coming next.

One large hand leaves your hip, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back unforgivingly. He leans over your back, his breath hot against your ear- cock shoved further inside of you than you thought was humanly possible.

“Think you’re funny, doncha’?” he growls, punctuating his sentence with a particularly forceful thrust, a strangled moan escaping you. He thrusts again, his grip tightening on your hair, “What? Done being a smartass now, huh?” he snarls, picking up the pace again.

Oh, you were in for it now.

“Let’s see how well you can sass me while ya screamin’ my name” he chuckles darkly, the scar on the corner of his mouth lifting. You thought he was brutal before? No. Toji was only just getting started with you.

He starts ploughing into your cunt like never before.

It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt from him before, rough, unforgiving- but so fucking good. Sure, he makes you see stars every time; but this was heated. Each thrust somehow triggering every nerve in your body. The sounds leaving your mouth were unforgettable, almost embarrassing.

“Feel so fuckin’ good” he pants, delivering a sharp smack to your ass as he leans over your back to whisper into your ear again. One hand grabs your chin, pressing your cheek against his, “Where’s all that fire gone, huh?”

“Oh God, Toji” you babble, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks which he licks up filthily- your cunt leaking just as much.

He leans back again, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he bullies his cock into your pussy continuously- his skin slapping so hard against yours his lower abdomen was a faint red. “T-Toji, m’so close!” you cry out, your cunt fluttering around him as he pried another orgasm from you.

You thought the previous one was heaven? No. You simply tasted heaven, now, you’re actually there.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, your body weak and satisfied, he rips you from the counter, carrying you effortlessly to your bedroom nearby. He throws you carelessly onto the bed, immediately pushing himself back into your sopping cunt.

All seven point five girthy, veiny inches.

“More?” you struggle, sweat beading on your forehead as he coaxes your legs over his shoulders, grinning down at you menacingly. “What, thought I was done with ya’ sweetheart?”

He looked as feral as the second he started, his cock twitching inside of you as he effortlessly found your g-spot, sliding his cock over it repeatedly, already making your legs shake again. “I c-can't a-ah!” you struggle, throwing your head back against the pillows, Toji’s large hands holding your ankles still.

“You will” he commands, his hand now straying from your ankle to rub your sensitive clit in precise, fast circles. “Hah-” you cry out, feeling another orgasm approaching- this one wasn't gradual, you didn’t feel yourself grow closer.

It just happened. One second you were moaning in pleasure, the next you were squirting all over him. His cock, balls, chest, were coated in it. And he loved it. Pure evidence of how good he was making you feel, covering his sculpted body.

You had no words left, no coherent thoughts, he had truly fucked you dumb.

Then he leans in, your legs still on top of his shoulders, his eyes locked onto yours. “One more” he grins, folding you almost in half as his cock continues to slide in and out of your sore pussy. You looked at him in disbelief, brows knitted. You shake your head rapidly, the sweat on your forehead mingling with his.

“One more, Princess. Cmon” he urges, pressing his lips to yours as he pleasures the deepest parts of you, his heavy balls smacking against your ass loudly. You pant against his mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as you rake your nails down his back in pleasure.

Toji bites your bottom lip, “Look at me” he demands, “I wanna watch those pretty eyes roll back when you cum again” he grunts.

And they did. So far back you feared they’d never return.

Then finally, he snaps too, gritting his teeth as he spills his hot cum into your welcoming heat, the finale you’d been waiting for eagerly. “Fuuckkk, that’s my girl” he praises, fucking you through both your orgasms, his pace refusing to slow yet. Not until you were both fully through it.

You’d never seen nor felt so much cum. You’d be thoroughly surprised if there was even a singular drop left to give.

“So, how much do ya’ hate me now?” he pants lightly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. You were still completely cock drunk, filled to the brim with cum, unable to push out a singular sentence.

“Mm, didn’t think so”

gynecologist!shoko thoroughly examines you ₊˚⊹

1k words, shoko x fem!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, medical exam, orgasm, dirty talk, doctor x patient …

you hated waiting rooms.

all the hushed whispers, the suspense of waiting for your name to be called, the bright lights that prove to be too harsh on your eyes…

all of that suddenly didn’t matter as soon as doctor ieiri came out of her examination room, calling your name. it also helped that she was stupidly attractive.

you follow her into the examination room, closing the door behind you and sitting down on the cold bed in the corner.

she had those tired, seductive eyes that almost had you blushing — soft, long brown hair that stopped just below her breasts. you could smell her shampoo from your seat, the sweet scent clouding your thoughts.

shoko has been your gynecologist for around two years now. each time you saw her, you silently admired her, trying to contain your highly inappropriate thoughts that worsened with every appointment.

surely she didn’t notice that you were freshly waxed every time you had an appointment — or that sometimes you booked to see her for no good reason.

"how have you been? any problems i should know about" she says, voice raspy and somewhat bored, with a twinge of fascination. "i’ve been okay, no problems," you respond.

shoko hums, stepping out of the room as usual so you can undress your bottom half, allowing you to get comfortable in the stirrups.

when she re-enters, she pulls a pair of blue latex gloves over her hands, rolling her stool between your spread legs before adjusting the lamp above her. "try to relax, i’m going to begin with an external examination as normal."

"okay…" you say, a faint blush creeping up your face from your cunt being completely bare in front of her. you thought you’d be used to it by now.

shoko begins spreading your folds with two fingers, lightly pressing around the area, looking for any abnormalities. "hm. all looks good to me," she says, accidentally (not) brushing her thumb over your clit, "…perfect, even."

your breath hitches. "sensitive today, aren’t we?" she observes, voice dropping an octave.

it was already becoming hard to ignore the throb of your clit, the ache inside of you — desperate to be touched properly by shoko’s skilled hands.

"so, no discomfort…here?" she adds, pressing her thumb against your clit, making your body visibly twitch. you clear your throat. "n-no, doctor ieiri. not at all."

she laughs dryly, "we’ve known each other long enough for you to call me shoko, don’t you think?" you can feel your heart beating faster. "shoko…" you correct yourself, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips.

shoko couldn’t help but notice how sinful her name sounded in your mouth, how your slit began to glisten as she trailed her finger up it. "you’re wet," she purrs.

you swallow. hard.

"i’m sorry, doc," you pause, "…shoko, i’m not sure why my body is acting so strangely today," you lie, feeling betrayed by your own body.

shoko looks at you, tilting her head. "i think you do know why, don’t you" she says, placing one hand on your thigh, soothing the soft skin with her palm.

before you can answer, she continues. "i’ll begin with my internal examination now." you nod, bracing yourself as two fingers enter you.

the first few movements of her fingers were careful. professional. designed to ensure comfort and explore for any abnormalities. then, she begins moving them in and out of your cunt, slowly, curling them upwards with devastating precision.

she draws a long, breathy moan from you, feeling your body begin to relax. "good… you’re responding well," she says, her ministrations only making you wetter. needier.

"and how does this feel?" she adds, using her other hand to rub perfect circles over your clit, the latex and dual stimulation making you curl your toes in the cold metal stirrups.

"really — nmnnn — good," you moan, pussy fluttering around shoko’s lithe fingers. she continues for a few seconds longer before withdrawing her fingers, making you whine from the loss of contact.

shoko hums again. "poor thing. did you want me to continue?" she teases, professionalism long gone as soon as she heard your sweet moans.

you nod feverishly, propping you upper body up on your elbows, pussy glistening with your slick.

"lay back, sweetheart," shoko instructs, moving her stool closer, breath now fanning over your core. you gasp as she broadens her tongue, licking firm stripe up your slit.

she hums at the taste, both gloved hands now resting on your thighs. "so sweet… i should’ve done this three appointments ago."

leaning in again, she continues teasing your slit with her tongue, tasting you, then redirects her efforts to your aching clit. she swirls her tongue around your little nub, then sucks it firmly into her mouth — watching you carefully to see how you respond.

"o-oh my god," you mewl, finally having your gynecologist’s mouth right where you’ve craved it all along.

her pure skill left you lost for words, every flick of her tongue, every suck of your clit, had you silently begging for more — hips bucking against her face desperately.

"needy girl," she mumbles, now practically making out with your clit, alternating between sucking and licking.

you were already halfway to orgasm, needy whines increasing with every passing second. "feels so good, ahhnn — don’t stop," you beg.

shoko inserts two fingers inside of you again, tongue continuing to pleasure your clit. "where are your manners, hm?" she tantalizes, massaging your insides like the professional she is.

"please — oh god — please," you pant, receiving a satisfied smile from shoko in in response. "good girl."

shoko quickens the pace, tongue lapping at your clit in hurried motions, fingers dragging through your walls even deeper. "you’re close, aren’t you, pretty," she states — fully aware of the tension within you fraying, feeling your cunt contract around her fingers.

you nod frantically again, any coherent words or thoughts suddenly gone.

with a few more flicks of her tongue, you snap, moaning her name with a sharp cry, attempting to lock your thighs around her head.

shoko forces your thighs back open, making your body seize uncontrollably. "mm, stay still — there you go," she murmurs against your soaked folds.

she soothes you through the aftershocks with her tongue, fingers slowing, tongue coming to a stop once you were done. after withdrawing her fingers, she presses a firm kiss to your clit, watching your hips stutter from sensitivity.

your appointments are surely going to become far more regular than necessary.

trailer park. dubcon/noncon. creepy socially inept simon. kitchen sex. predatory behavior. tattoo sleeves simon is canon. thumb sucking. breeding kink-ish. pulling the panties to the side is hotter than taking it off. all characters are 18+. DDNE.

You're pretty sure the dad you babysit for is a creep. Alternatively, he hates your guts, wearing a perpetual, nasty scowl as his eyes drop to your skirt's hem, replying only in wordless grunts. Of course, you're a self-respecting girl. You don't stand for any disrespect. You stick your nose up a little and keep away from him unless absolutely necessary, because the pay is good and Simon can't fire you because you're good at your job. At least, that's why you think Mr Riley hasn't fired you yet.

He owns a caravan on the edge of town, totally off-the-grid. Military guy sensibilities. Simon does what he does to keep his daughter safe, and you don't ask questions. It's a nice enough unit and bigger than the whole world when you're a 3ft tall three-year-old.

Your friends urge you to find another job the more they hear about this burly brute with tattoo sleeves you work for in the middle of nowhere, but at the end of another moping phone call, you find a 40% bonus tucked into the envelope with your pay and your fate is sealed.

The thought of him overhearing your qualms—and worse, compensating you for it—makes you feel bad, so you start to work extra hard. Leaving a plate for him from the meals you make for Beth, accompanied by sticky notes; seeing him out the door, etc... all in hopes you'll get tipped. Okay, maybe a conscience isn't the only reason for your good behavior—the financial incentives are great too. The tips keep coming, and your doe eyes only get sweeter. To you, it's good customer service, no flirtations involved. You're a professional, after all.

Simon, famously, is bad with social cues and sees more than there is in your hard work. Doesn't register that the extra sweet 'Good morning, Mr Riley,' and happy-faces drawn in honey on his pancakes only come with payments, not for his mean mug. It starts with casual touches: a hand on your shoulder while you chop Beth's veggies into bite-sized pieces, on your waist in passing. I mean, you're practically a hired wife at this point, so what's the trouble, right? You'd be the perfect mother for Beth.

“Beth's been calling you her Mummy,” he says it one day, all casual-like, hands busy with unlacing his boots. The lights are off save for a small lamp in the kitchen while you pack your laptop and charger into a slouchy shoulder-bag, the air humming with Beth's absence. You fuss with the zipper, the mechanism staggering. Simon pretends not to notice.

“I keep telling her not to--” A breathy laugh slips past your lips—a nervous sounding thing. Your face burns up against all reason and you can't place your finger on what it is about that remark that makes you feel defensive. Surely you wouldn't think twice if somebody else said it, but a strange implication seeps in through the cracks of his noncommittal demeanor. There's always something just slightly off, slightly off-kilter when it comes to him. This is wrong, you think, before anything has happened.

“Nowt to worry about.” He shakes his head dismissively and you fancy that he's almost good at pretending to be a normal person. A real person as opposed to a ghost. The leathery couch squeaks under him as he hauls his weight off, unfolding to his full height.

The zipper finally gives when Simon stops in front of you. Your lips part to say something—announce your departure, maybe—before his long fingers tilt your chin up slightly. “You'd be a great mother,” Simon says, evenly, like he's measuring the words—or rather, you. It's the first solid piece of praise he's given you thus far, and it disarms you just a bit after all the stonewalling you've been subject to.

As if sensing the casual shift in the air, Simon capitalizes with an off handed question: “Ever thought about it?”

“About what? Having my own? Erm, no.” You wave your hands like the notion is ridiculous, laughing awkwardly. You're living on a babysitter's wages and busy getting your degree, a child has no part in the equation.

The way Simon eyes you says he has a different idea entirely. It feels wrong, knowing you have your whole life ahead of you, but he can vividly picture you barefoot and pregnant under that same sundress.

“I love working with kids, but I don't think I'll have a baby any time soon,” you ramble, sounding distracted as you back up against the counter. You know it's unreasonable, but a part of you would rather people-please than be downright rude, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch his hands warily.

You ignore the red alerts, telling yourself maybe—just maybe—you're wrong, and Simon is simply a well-meaning, harmless dad. But that's how you ended up here in the first place; you never let yourself truly read into the way he looked at you, never let it dissuade you from working hard, until now. You even stopped complaining to your friends weeks ago.

“Huh.” Simon nods in consideration, pretending to think for a moment. Your feet remain rooted to the spot as Simon's hands find the hem of your dress, teasing it upwards slightly.

“Stop-” Your hand shoots to his wrist as the air hits your thighs, neither pulling nor pushing. Your soft fingers look insignificant next to his arm, pearly manicure to tattoo ink.

“Calm yer tits.” A wry laugh stirs the top of your hair, his shoulders crowding you against the countertop. “Beth's fast asleep.”

You can think up a few other reasons why this is bad business, though you have a feeling they won't hold up well.

Your hand goes slack against his as he reaches up your dress, a shiver rippling up your spine. “We shouldn't-” You stumble against his chest as Simon languidly cups your ass, the heady scent soaked into his shirt flooding your senses until it blurs with the shameful pounding of your heart. “I don't...” Want this.

“You're a little bird, ain't ya?” You meet his heavy-lidded gaze with bated breath as his fingers hook under your chin again, his thumb creeping to the edge of your mouth. The absence of warmth when his hand slips from beneath your dress leaves you almost wondering, before he cups your tits through the flimsy fabric in spite of your shock. “Spook easy.”

“Can feel your heart goin' like mad, y'know?”

For the first time, he speaks more than he listens. Grabs more than he hears your stubborn whines, his fingers stuffing your mouth, before his hands soon find other work. Insistent and cajoling. His meaty palms roam wherever they land—thumbs dragging over the hardened peaks of your nipples through your dress, one hand sliding down to hitch your leg around his waist. The dull throb behind his fly is a demanding ache, a gnawing hunger that makes Simon feel impossibly patient after months of watching you frolic around his home without ever tasting you.

Simon lets out a guttural rasp over you as your writhing body presses against his hard-on, teasing him through rough denim. “Bloody hell.” He turns you by the waist and presses you against the countertop with a finality that draws a startled squeak from your throat. The noise dies at once. His daughter is asleep down the hall; the last thing you need is to make a scene. You swallow whatever words rise to your tongue, acutely aware of every sound in the trailer, jaw tightening as the counter edge nudges uncomfortably against your hipbones.

You blanch at the thick, hard bulge poking your backside, teething at your thumb nail skittishly. A sickening shudder rolls through you as his hips press forwards with a groan above you, lazily rocking you against the countertop.

“Don't make a sound.”

He'd been more action than words for the better part of the last couple minutes, but his voice seems enough to raise the fine hairs on your nape.

“Yessir...” The words slur together as you slip your thumb between your lips, pink-cheeked. The little bob of your head is all Simon needs before he's freeing his cock from the zipper of his jeans.

The ascent of the thin cotton fabric feels impossibly heavy as he lifts the dress up your hips and settles it around your waist. The pad of his thumb traces your slit through the gusset of your panties, moisture darkening the fabric, before he hooks his fingers through the leg holes and bares your cunt to his eyes.

He clicks his tongue to himself meaningfully and tilts his head as if sizing you up while you suckle on your thumb under him, legs dangling over the edge of the kitchen counter. A sight for sore eyes deserves appreciation, and Simon has only ever known one way to show it—one that'd leave you sore come morning.

“Not so flighty now, eh?” Heat skims the edge of your ear as he speaks in a low drawl, and you almost miss the hitch in his breath when he pushes inch-by-inch into the heat of your cunt. “Who's a good girl?”

Your brows bunch together with exertion at the tight stretch as you peek back at him, all hapless with your lips puckered around your own thumb. You hesitantly slip your thumb from your mouth to speak, the words feeling dumb and embarrassing. “I-I am,” you mumble between soft whimpers sheepishly.

“Yeah. You are.” Humiliation curdles low in your stomach at the sound of his amusement, a slick string of arousal dripping down your center. “Little bird stops complainin' soon as she feels this big dick. You love it, don't you? Just need a paci to shut you up.”

Simon's fingers knead into your flesh with an ease that feels strangely intrusive, as though they have no business being so familiar with you. His calloused palm cracks against the swell of your ass before he bottoms out, your toes curling into the cool tiles as he fills you up. The counter's edge bites into your hips as he pulls back, almost all the way out, before slamming home without any give. Your palms scrabble against the laminate, searching for purchase as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs in short, punched-out gasps.

He's effectively everywhere. One hand splays across your lower back, pinning you down, while the other finds your hair, gathering it at the nape of your neck in a secure grip, enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

“That's it,” he rasps, the words carried over the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen's shadows. “Take it.”

Your knees wobble under you, but his grip on your hip tightens like a vice, holding you up, holding you open. The wet sound of him fucking into you fills the kitchen—obscene and rhythmic, drowning out your own muffled whimpers.

He leans over you, chest hot against your back, mouth brushing your ear.

“Thought you could get away from me, little bird. Where you gonna go now?”

— wah wah y/n in a sundress ... y/n with manicured nails ... yes IK i've seen every tumblr post making fun of the cliches but this is what you get when the author (me) likes those things!! crucify me 🙄 at least she's independent and educated!!

Edit: Some posts may be deleted

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Writing Grumpy x Sunshine Tropes

Writing Sexuality & Gender

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Writing Mature Young Characters

Writing Disoriented but Capable Characters

Plot devices/development:

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Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Things to Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Story Structure (+ Addition)

Killing Many Characters at Once

Narrative (+ how to write):

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

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Writing Unreliable Narrators

Naturally Conveying Character Age

Avoiding Repetition of "I" in 1st Person

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

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Book writing:

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A & B Stories

Parts of a Book (Chapters, Scenes, Arcs, Story Beats)

Writer resources:

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Character Ask Game #1

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Miscellaneous:

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‧₊ ˚⊹ gojo recording you dry humping his pillow ! 18+

cws. smut :: dry humping :: masturbation :: pillow play begging :: praise kink :: dirty talk

Gojo lounged back against the headboard like he owned the entire fucking universe, phone held steady in one hand, that signature cocky grin stretched across his face. His blue eyes sparkled with pure mischief as he watched you straddle his pillow, already flushed and needy. "Look at you, baby," he purred, voice low and teasing, "so fucking desperate you’re gonna hump my pillow like a little slut. God, you’re gorgeous like this. Keep going. Show me how bad you want it."

You rocked your hips forward, the soft fabric of his pillow pressing right against your soaked panties, the friction sending sparks up your spine. Your clit dragged over the seam with every slow grind, the damp spot growing darker as your arousal soaked through. Gojo’s camera captured every second—the way your thighs flexed, the little gasps slipping from your lips, the way your back arched when you found the perfect angle.

"Fuck, that’s it," he groaned from behind the lens, free hand palming the obvious bulge in his sweats. "Look how wet you’re getting my pillow. Such a messy girl. Keep rubbing that pretty pussy on it. Pretend it’s my cock, yeah? Imagine how thick I’d feel sliding between your folds right now."

Your movements grew more frantic, hips rolling in tight circles as you chased the pressure. The pillowcase bunched between your legs, fabric clinging to your slick folds every time you lifted and dropped back down. "Satoru… please," you whimpered, voice already cracking with need. "Touch me. I need your fingers. I need your cock so bad it hurts."

He laughed, the sound rich and cruelly amused, still recording without missing a beat. "Aww, listen to you beg. So cute. But no touching yet, pretty girl. You’re gonna keep humping that pillow until I say otherwise. Look at how your clit’s peeking out every time you grind forward—fuck, that’s hot. Keep going. Show me how you’d ride me if I let you."

You whined louder, grinding harder, the wet sounds of your pussy sliding over the pillow filling the room. Your thighs started to tremble as the pressure built, but it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. "Please, Satoru," you begged again, eyes glassy, "I’ll be so good. Just let me feel you. I want your cock stretching me open. I want you to fuck me while you record it."

Gojo’s grin widened, but he stayed exactly where he was, phone steady. "Mmm, keep talking like that and maybe I’ll let you suck me off after. But right now? Keep riding my pillow like the desperate little thing you are. Imagine every ridge of my cock dragging over your clit instead of that fabric.

Bet you’re clenching around nothing right now, huh? So empty. So needy." He zoomed in slightly, capturing the way your hips stuttered when you pressed down harder, the way your slick left shiny streaks across the pillowcase. "Goddamn, you look so fucking hot like this. My perfect little pillow slut."

Your breathing turned ragged, moans spilling freely as you chased an orgasm that kept slipping just out of reach. Every roll of your hips made the pillow slide against your swollen clit, the friction maddening but never quite enough to push you over.

"Satoru, please," you sobbed, "I can’t—I need you. Need your hands. Need your cock inside me. Please touch me, I’m begging."

He hummed thoughtfully, still recording every desperate grind, every twitch of your thighs, every broken plea. "Not yet, baby. Keep going. You’re doing so good for me. Look at those pretty tits bouncing while you fuck my pillow. Imagine it’s me underneath you, letting you bounce on my cock instead. Would you cum all over me like you’re about to cum all over this pillow? Yeah, I bet you would." His voice stayed light, teasing, even as his own cock strained visibly against his pants. "Don’t stop. I want to watch this later and jerk off to how fucking wrecked you look right now."

You kept moving, hips rolling in messy, frantic circles, the pillow completely soaked beneath you. Your clit throbbed with every drag, your walls fluttering around nothing, the denial making everything sharper, hotter, more desperate.

Gojo’s praise washed over you in waves—"That’s my girl," "Look at you go," "So fucking pretty when you’re this needy"—but his hands stayed firmly on the phone, refusing to give you what you craved most. You were left grinding, begging, and dripping, completely at his mercy while he captured every second of your desperate, beautiful struggle.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© frostedpinkdoll ‘26 || do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works onto other platforms. this includes but is not limited to: wattpad, a03, twitter and bot making on AI websites/apps!!!

Ts is lowkey buns ✌️

Pairing: Sukuna / Fem!Reader

Lord Sukuna is not generous with his time, nor with his attention. In fact, the blessing of his gaze is a renowned rarity. Even the sight of his favorite servant perched and willing on his lap is not enough to draw his eye. Little does he know you have a secret hidden beneath your kimono reserved for his eyes only, something that’s sure to capture his attention.

warnings. heian!sukuna, inappropriate use of Sukuna’s extra mouths, possessive behaviour, cunnilingus, petnames (literally), nipple play, nipple piercings, era typical violence, mentions of blood and war, servant/master, trueform!sukuna, powerplay, devotion, light degradation. nsfw 18+ mdni.

✎ Words: 3.0k | Ao3 | Masterlist

──── ୨୧ ────

The throne room was still, windows un-blinded to allow the cool morning light to creep lazily across the marbled floors like wayward fingers. Tendrils of light curled over incense vases and bronze sculptures, mapping the intricate carvings beneath their touch, the polished metal glinted richly in the soft light. It was quiet too, filled only by the occasional crisp turning of a page, and your own half muffled panting.

The King of Curses was sat atop his throne, hulking form relaxed and lazed into the great chair as if it were made for him - which of course, it was. The regal structure hand carved from white bleached ivory and wood stained dark with age, patterns woven into the grain with the finest threads of gold. In one massive hand he held a leather bound novel, another rested beneath his chin to hold the weight of his great head. The other two lay limp across either armrest, blackened nails tapping mindlessly along the patterned oak.

You've been married to him for years. What you find in the shed makes you question everything.

Pairing: Husband!Sukuna x fem!reader CW: character death, murder / homicide, gore (blood, injuries), body horror, psychological manipulation / gaslighting, toxic relationship / unhealthy relationship dynamics, captivity / imprisonment, Implied cannibalism, mutual obsession

For my event INTERLACED

Ten years.

A whole decade.

Wasted.

You wear your wedding gift from him, always neatly tied or braided into your hair.

Ivory white and clean as a whistle. You kept it spotless.

A lace bow, with the most delicate trim and floral motifs.

Every day.