Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.
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18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !
1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!
“girl… isn’t that your man?”
your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.
you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”
shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”
you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.
shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.
you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”
you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.
“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”
geto clears his throat.
you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”
“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.
suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”
“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”
geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”
you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.
“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”
you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.
“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”
you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.
“only if you score the winning goal.”
2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !
satoru comes back too late.
you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.
he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.
you take it as your cue.
you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.
you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”
his lip tugs. “hi,”
he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.
“how was the match?” you mumble.
“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”
“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.
“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”
his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”
you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.
“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.
“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.
“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”
you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.
you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”
he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”
“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”
you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”
he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.
“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”
you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.
3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !
satoru is driving too fast.
his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.
today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.
but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.
“you played good today.”
silence.
"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”
silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.
“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“
“can you stop?”
you freeze.
satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.
you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“
“do you ever get tired of talking?”
“what?”
but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”
you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.
“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”
but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?
your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.
he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”
he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.
“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”
you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”
satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.
he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?
footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.
synopsis: you decided as his makeup artist to glam him up just a little more.
wc: 317
cw: just a lil suggestive/still a lil fluff (so everyone welcome to read it)
╰┈➤a/n: I know la’toya made this kiss mark, but let’s ignore that fact. also this just a little blurb.
Your red lipstick casually left marks on his sharp jawline, on his neck, and forehead. Michael made small little noises every time you left a peck.
“This isn’t doin’ my makeup…” the words left his mouth softly, sounding more like a groan than a complaint.
You stood between his legs as they locked you in place. His rhinestone glove felt like sandpaper against your skin as he held your waist underneath your shirt. You couldn’t focus on doing his makeup.
Being his makeup artist was unbelievably hard when he was always teasing you, always touching you, so you’d started doing it back.
“Mm, it sorta is. My lipstick is the seal of the whole look.” you slid in smoothly.
He gripped your waist and pulled you onto his lap, hesitating as you rolled your hips just a little.
Just trying to get comfortable on his lap, no other intent… is what you would say.
“Ma… be still f’ me, please,” he pleaded softly, though his hand on your waist said something different entirely, like he wanted you to keep going.
His grip tightened just slightly as your hips shifted, almost like he was trying to hold you in place. His hips twitched up to meet the movement out of instinct, but he caught himself, holding you a little firmer instead, trying to slow you down eventually you stopped. Just resting on his lap..
The warmth of him beneath you made you bite your lip. He watched you from behind his shades. You wished you could see his eyes.
“Sorry I was just tryna get comfortable..” you teased, he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.
His hand came up to your cheek, rubbin’ it gently.
“Your trouble..” He whispered, then to ease the tension down he had to change the topic.
“Choose one place you want your mark t’stay.”
You pointed at the side of his jawline. He nodded.
“Now hide the other ones you made,” he said softly. “C’mon, y’can’t just leave me lookin’ like this.”
“you said, you hate the crowd, so we had to stay in.”
timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader | 6.7k special
w/c: 1.7k, subby and needy ushijima :3 ,, wait! series
the professional sports industry really lied to the public because they marketed this six-foot-three powerhouse as a stoic, unbothered titan of discipline when in reality, he had the exact emotional structural integrity of a single marshmallow left out in the blazing july sun the second his apartment door clicked shut.
it was a well-kept secret. a classified, state-level government file. the public saw a stoic, jaw-clenched ace who obliterated volleyballs for a living and looked like he survived entirely on a diet of concrete and raw determination. you, however, saw the version of ushijima wakatoshi that currently sounded like a very large, very pathetic bear trapped under a fallen log through the tiny speaker of your phone.
“the hotel lobby has too many chandeliers,” his voice vibrated against your ear, a low, rumbling frequency that could probably ground an entire fleet of airplanes. “and there are forty-two people in the immediate vicinity of the elevator. i counted. it’s loud. the air smells like synthetic lavender and despair.”
you choked on your iced coffee, leaning back against the pile of laundry you were supposed to be folding but had completely abandoned the moment his specific ringtone blared. “forty-two? that’s a very specific crowd to be glaring at, toshi. did you use your scary captain eyes on them?”
“i did not glare,” he muttered, though the rustle of a hotel bedsheet told you he had finally escaped the dreaded lavender-scented civilian sector and successfully barricaded himself inside his room. “i simply looked in their general direction until they vacated the perimeter. but the volume was unacceptable. i’m currently buried under three separate duvets because the air conditioning has a high-pitched whine that displeases me.”
“oh, the horror,” you cooed, your chest expanding with that familiar, ridiculous warmth that usually accompanied his long-distance check-ins. it was downright criminal how a man whose thighs could literally crush a watermelon looked for praise like a golden retriever waiting by the front door. “my poor, brave athlete. surviving the absolute wilderness of a four-star accommodation in osaka. how ever will you cope?”
a heavy, rumbling sigh echoed over the line. it was a sound that usually made opposing teams shake in their kneepads, but right now, it just sounded incredibly needy. “you’re making fun of me.”
“i’m absolutely making fun of you,” you agreed cheerfully, tracing a pattern on your sweatpants. “but i also miss you. does that balance it out?”
“no,” ushijima said instantly, his tone shifting into something so heavy and dense with devotion it practically had its own gravitational pull. “because if you missed me at the same magnitude that i miss you, the structural foundation of our apartment building would have collapsed by now. i’m currently experiencing a severe deficit of your presence. it’s actively hindering my ability to rest.”
you bit your lip to keep from squealing out loud, your toes curling against the carpet. to prove your point to yourself, you pulled the phone away for a fraction of a second to check the time, your lock screen lighting up to reveal his massive, stoic face staring right back at you. it was a not-so candid photo you’d taken while he was intensely concentrating on translating a recipe for strawberry shortcake. you had set it as your wallpaper specifically so you couldn’t miss him too much even if you tried, considering his severe, handsome features took up every single pixel of your digital existence.
“is that so?” you teased, bringing the phone back to your ear and keeping your voice soft, dropping it into that specific, soothing register that you knew made him instantly compliant. “what exactly does this deficit feel like, wakatoshi?”
“it feels like i’m an uncalibrated machine,” he grumbled, the sound deep and gravelly, right up against the microphone. you could picture him perfectly—lying flat on his back, a massive arm thrown over his eyes, looking utterly defeated by the simple concept of being fifty miles away from you. “my shoulder is tight. the pillows here are too soft; they lack the proper density to support my neck. moreover, you’re not here to put your hands on my face. i require the pressure of your palms to regulate my nervous system.”
“you sound like a giant, grumpy textbook,” you giggled, shifting on the floor. “but go on. tell me what else you need. i’m listening.”
“i need you to tell me that you did not forget my face,” he murmured. it was a ridiculous request. he was on three different billboards in downtown tokyo. but the vulnerable, desperate streak in his voice was so real it made your throat ache.
“i haven’t forgotten your face, you big baby,” you said, your heart doing gymnastics inside your ribs. “how could i? you’re literally my wallpaper, toshi. i see your forehead every time someone sends me a text.”
“that’s an acceptable temporary measure, but insufficient for long-term separation,” he countered seriously.
right on cue, a loud buzz echoed from the front door intercom, followed by the distinct chime of a delivery notification on your phone. you blinked, confused. “wait, did you order something?”
“yes,” ushijima stated, his voice completely devoid of hesitation. “i concluded that you were likely neglecting your nutritional requirements in my absence. i used the door dash application to send you a full meal and a beverage from that café you favor.”
“oh, toshi, that’s so sweet—”
“moreover,” he interrupted, his tone turning incredibly firm, almost bureaucratic in its intensity, “i utilized the special instructions feature. i contacted the delivery courier directly and transferred an additional monetary gratuity to his personal account. i instructed him to find a convenience store, print a high-resolution photograph of my face, and attach it securely to the exterior of the delivery packaging.”
you froze, your jaw dropping. “you... what?”
“i required physical confirmation that you would look at me before you consumed your sustenance,” he explained, entirely deadpan, as if this were a standard tactical play from a coaching manual. “i also explicitly texted the courier and commanded him to leave the items on the welcome mat and vacate the premises immediately without ringing the bell a second time or waiting for you to answer.”
you pressed a hand over your mouth, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest. “wakatoshi, why did you tell the poor guy to just leave it and run away?”
the line went dead silent for a beat before his voice dropped into a possessive tone that made your chest tighten with heat. “because i don’t want anyone else seeing you right now. even a delivery courier. your eyes belong exclusively to my image until i’m capable of standing in front of you myself.”
your entire face heated up, a dizzying wave of thrill hitting you so hard your knees felt weak. you scrambled to the front door, unlocking it and swinging it open. sure enough, the hallway was completely empty, almost empty since there’s two insane people called soup and nique doing the six seven emote and running around like headless chickens, but sitting neatly on your welcome mat was a brown paper bag. taped squarely over the staple line was a hastily printed, slightly pixelated a4 sheet of paper featuring ushijima’s official v-league headshot, staring up at you with maximum intensity.
“you.. are unbelievable,” you breathlessly whispered into the receiver, picking up the food and shutting the door with your foot. “the courier probably thinks you’re a mob boss.”
“i’m merely protecting the love of my life,” he murmured, and you could hear him shifting again, likely burying his face deeper into the hotel pillow, completely intoxicated by the domestic control he was exerting from three prefectures away. “the analogy is sound. we are both single-minded in our purpose. mine is to ensure your absolute happiness and to remain within your immediate vicinity for the remainder of my natural life. when i return, i want you to sit on my lap while i read the sports journals. i don’t want to move for seven hours.”
“only seven?” you teased, setting the bag—and his paper face—onto the kitchen counter. “who are you and what have you done with my needy boyfriend?”
“ten,” he corrected immediately, his tone sharp with sudden, desperate urgency. “twelve. however long it takes for my skin to stop feeling cold. i will allow you to choose the duration. i’m entirely at your disposal. if you tell me to sit, i will sit. if you tell me to stay in the apartment forever, i will inform the association that i’m retiring due to an incurable condition.”
“and what condition is that, mr. ace?”
“an inability to exist without my central anchor,” he said, his voice dropping into a register so soft it was almost a whisper, yet it carried the entire weight of his universe. “you have ruined me for any other environment. the court is merely a place where i expend energy until i’m permitted to return to your side. you’re my home, reader. everything else is just noise.”
your throat tightened, a wave of intense, toe-curling affection washing over you so strongly it made your eyes sting. he was just so completely, utterly yours. there was no pride, no ego, no athletic arrogance—just a giant, heavy-hearted man who had handed you his entire existence on a silver platter and asked for nothing but a quiet room and your hands in his hair.
“i’ll be waiting right by the door on sunday,” you promised, your voice thick with emotion. “i’ll make that stew you like. and we won’t open the blinds for the entire weekend. just you and me.”
“and the hoodie?” he asked, sounding like a hopeful child.
“and the hoodie,” you confirmed. “though you’ll probably rip it off me the second you walk through the door anyway.”
“i will be careful,” he murmured, his breathing finally slowing down into a steady, rhythmic pattern that signaled he was finally drifting off to sleep. “but i’ll be thorough. i love you. more than the next match. more than the crowd.”
“i love you too, toshi. go to sleep.”
“mm. counting the hours,” he mumbled, his voice fading into a low, contented hum before the line finally went quiet, leaving you sitting on the floor, staring at your phone with a ridiculous, breathless grin plastered across your face, your heart completely compromised by a six-foot-three human boulder who was entirely at your disposal.
n: @forgottensniper thank u, twin for giving me the ideas :3 main idea was from @potapotapotatopotato
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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wc: 0.9k
content warning: timeskip, established relationship, drunk boyfran ushjima x reader, suggestive, make out, not proofread.. haiiiiii :3
໒꒰ ՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა
it's freezing outside of the contrasting warm and bustling restaurant your boyfriend's team is celebrating their new win from earlier. the aroma of the delicious food spreads everywhere as well as the joyful cheering and laughter of ushijima and his hooting teammates.
your boyfriend's not one to drink, but his teammates were pretty good at getting him to loosen up—after all, each shot he downed was like scoring another point towards victory while his teammates cheered and clapped.
course, ushijima had to be mindful of how much he drank since he didn't want to become a burden to you once it hits. though, you didn't mind, it was good to see him have fun with his teammates and you jsut wanted to follow him along for dinner to show your support.
"god.. this tastes awful," ushijima groaned between furrowed brows as he felt the alcohol's burn slither down his esophagus, followed by a disgusted look plastered on his face.
"ouu just the good ol' s-shot.!" hoshiumi hicced as he flashed his big dopey grin with flushed cheeks.
"do you feel it ushijima? the way it's immediately making all the stress and worries disappear!!" he roughly patted ushijima's back before joining another conversation across the table.
as you giggled, you couldn't help but notice how ushijima looked so tired, his eyelids drooped despite having the bright shade of pink dusted on his face. sitting beside him, you could feel his big muscular build radiating heat as he sat there.
"toshi.. you okay? you had like three shots" you tapped on his shoulder to see his dazed eyes slowly blink in response.
"it's hot in here," ushijima grumbled with alcohol breath "..i wanna get fresh air."
his slightly messy head of hair fell onto your shoulder while he closed his eyes. ushijima was vulnerable and needed you to be by his side while he waited for the alcohol to pass.
"babe, here—drink some water and then we can go home," you grabbed the cup and held it to his lips to which he drank before going back to the comfort of your shoulder, nestling his nose in deeper.
"haa.. let's get air..?" his hot breath tickles your neck as his sleep olive eyes gazed at you.
helping your boyfriend up and out of the restaurant as you said goodbye to his teammates, swinging open the door to meet the cool breeze outside truly made ushijima sigh. his head was spinning, and his hands clenched around your waist to keep his balance as he took fresh air into his lungs.
"feels s'good," ushijima rubbed his chin against the top of your head, lordddd was he more clingyyyyyy and towering over you.
"okay, let's get to the carr-" pausing in your tracks, ushijima doesn't move an inch but rather plants a kiss on your forehead before letting you move a muscle.
"..wanna see you in bed," he whispered with the most innocent smile on his face before chuckling.
like a deer in headlights, your jaw dropped seeing how the alcohol's taken its effect on your intimidating and stern boyfriend, making him speak his inner thoughts giggle like a little boy.
grabbing your hand with his large palm, he's leading you to your car where you both hop in. (course, he's in the passenger seat since he's intoxicated! don't drink and drive!)
shutting your door, and facing him to put your seatbelt in—ushijima's caught your lips in a surprising and searing kiss where you can feel his muscle enter your mouth. he's got his tongue massaging yours sloppily, gently biting on your lowerlip as he started to move lower and nip on your jawline.
"ttoshi.. ngh," letting out a little moan as ushijima continued to let his hot lips roam on your jaw, "we gootta go home.."
absolutely ignored, his heart was racing throughout his entire body as he breathed hot air onto your skin. the car windows were starting to fog while it slowly became stuffy and with the space cramped between you two.
"l-let's finish at home, toshi..!" grabbing him by his short brown hair, his pupils were dilated out of their sockets as he heavily panted.
this star volleyball athlete was a mess, and he looked so good messing you up in the process with his flushed cheeks and baby hairs sticking to eachother connected by the sheen sweat bundling on his forehead.
"..huh?" ushijima groaned with a primal urge in his voice to finish what he's started, "but i feel like—like i'm gonna explode."
confused at his words, your eyes scan all over his body. his heaving chest was radiating with heat as he watched your eyes focus on his crotch.
his bulge swelled from within his boxers and pants. and with the little sliver of light coming from outside and peaking in the window, you eye a slightly damp spot. looking back at your boyfriend, he can't look back at you without feeling a slight bit of guilt.
"i-i'll finish you off at home.." letting go of his roughed up tuffs of hair to start the car.
"drive fast," ushijima whined under his breath, oh how cute he is when drunk...
Hii!!! I love your writing! If your requests are open would you be up for doing a Roommate Oikawa or Roomate Kuroo smut? Where they lowkey have a thing for us and are jealous cos were about to go on a date?love you! 🤭
ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 ROOMMATES ｡𖦹°‧
cw: multiple!char (seperate), oikawa x reader, kuroo x reader, both of ’em are your roommates, they're jealous asf, no soft shi, dub–con, oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, your date getting CUCKED basically, both of the bois are pure menaces, pwp maybe idk (all the characters are 18+)
oikawa ୨୧
you’re halfway through applying gloss when oikawa steps into your room without knocking, arms crossed, eyes raking down your body like he owns it.
“cute dress. is that for him?”
you give him a look. “yes, for my date. and you’re being weird.”
“weird?” he scoffs, stepping closer. “you’re the one about to waste a perfectly good orgasm on some guy who probably calls it a ‘vajayjay’ and asks for permission to cum.”
you roll your eyes and try to walk past him—try. he grabs your waist, spins you to the mirror.
“look at you,” he breathes against your ear. “all dolled up. and for what? for someone who can’t even make you scream?”
his hand slides under your dress like he’s done it a thousand times before, fingers hooking into your panties and tugging them down, slow.
“let me show you how pathetic he is compared to me.”
you should protest—but then he spits on his fingers and starts to rub circles on your clit like a man with a mission. precise. practiced. you’re gasping, hips jerking into his hand.
“oh? already this wet? he didn’t even touch you yet, and i’ve got you fucking trembling.”
your phone buzzes on the dresser. oikawa picks it up and puts it in your hand.
“text him.”
you stare at him, flushed and breathless.
“now. text him while i make you cum.”
his tone leaves no room for argument. your hands shake as you type a vague “running late” while oikawa sinks to his knees behind you, pulling your leg up over the dresser.
and then he devours you—tongue licking flat, hot stripes over your folds, sucking your clit so hard you drop the phone. one arm wraps around your thigh, holding you still while his other hand slips two fingers deep inside you, curling just right.
“fuck, you taste so good—he’d never know what to do with this perfect little cunt.”
he makes you cum on his mouth, then turns you around and bends you over the bed, pushing in raw, deep, all at once.
“say it,” he pants, pounding into you. “say he can’t fuck you like this.”
“he—he c-can’t—fuck, tooru—he can’t!”
he kisses your neck, your shoulder, your spine, even as he wrecks you.
“good girl. now cum again and block his number.”
kuroo ୨୧
kuroo’s arms are crossed when you come out in your date-night dress, dark eyes sharp, lip curled like he’s trying very hard not to say something reckless. you raise an eyebrow.
“what?”
“he’s not worth it,” he snaps. “he won’t even know where your clit is.”
“kuroo.”
“nah. you know i’m right. you’re walking out here dripping confidence, smelling like sin, and he’s gonna fuck it all up by calling you ‘babe’ and cumming in 2 minutes.”
you blink at him, but something hot coils in your gut when he pushes off the counter and walks toward you—grabbing your jaw, his thumb brushing your glossed lips.
“you’re not going.”
“you don’t get to decide that.”
“don’t i?”
he turns you around and bends you over the kitchen island so fast the breath leaves your lungs. your panties are down in seconds and he’s already unbuckling his belt.
“you need a real man to remind you who this pussy belongs to.”
your phone rings—him—flashing on the counter.
“answer it,” kuroo growls, lining himself up. “and put it on speaker.”
“what—”
“answer it.”
he thrusts in with one hard stroke, and your scream is the first thing that poor bastard hears.
“hello? hey, are you—”
“fuck!” you gasp. “s-sorry, I—ah—I'm—busy—”
“busy, huh?” kuroo slams into you again. “yeah, she’s real fucking busy right now.”
you try to keep your voice steady, but he keeps pounding into you, one hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing between your thighs.
“you moaning? what's going on—”
“nothing! i—i just dropped something, I—”
kuroo grabs your chin and makes you look at him, feral grin on his face.
“he’s really still talking?” he growls in disbelief. “while i’m fucking your brains out?”
then he spits on your pussy and drives back in, so deep your toes curl. your phone drops. the guy is still awkwardly calling your name on the line while kuroo rails you into the counter with every sharp thrust making wet slap sounds echo around the kitchen.
“that dick you were running to?” kuroo pants, low and smug, “could never fuck you like this. never make you cum like this. say it.”
“he—he couldn’t—fuck, kuroo—he never could!”
and when he finally cums—he pulls you back against his chest, lips by your ear.
“you’re gonna call him back tomorrow and tell him you were with someone else tonight.”
Hii!!! I love your writing! If your requests are open would you be up for doing a Roommate Oikawa or Roomate Kuroo smut? Where they lowkey have a thing for us and are jealous cos were about to go on a date?love you! 🤭
ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 ROOMMATES ｡𖦹°‧
cw: multiple!char (seperate), oikawa x reader, kuroo x reader, both of ’em are your roommates, they're jealous asf, no soft shi, dub–con, oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, your date getting CUCKED basically, both of the bois are pure menaces, pwp maybe idk (all the characters are 18+)
oikawa ୨୧
you’re halfway through applying gloss when oikawa steps into your room without knocking, arms crossed, eyes raking down your body like he owns it.
“cute dress. is that for him?”
you give him a look. “yes, for my date. and you’re being weird.”
“weird?” he scoffs, stepping closer. “you’re the one about to waste a perfectly good orgasm on some guy who probably calls it a ‘vajayjay’ and asks for permission to cum.”
you roll your eyes and try to walk past him—try. he grabs your waist, spins you to the mirror.
“look at you,” he breathes against your ear. “all dolled up. and for what? for someone who can’t even make you scream?”
his hand slides under your dress like he’s done it a thousand times before, fingers hooking into your panties and tugging them down, slow.
“let me show you how pathetic he is compared to me.”
you should protest—but then he spits on his fingers and starts to rub circles on your clit like a man with a mission. precise. practiced. you’re gasping, hips jerking into his hand.
“oh? already this wet? he didn’t even touch you yet, and i’ve got you fucking trembling.”
your phone buzzes on the dresser. oikawa picks it up and puts it in your hand.
“text him.”
you stare at him, flushed and breathless.
“now. text him while i make you cum.”
his tone leaves no room for argument. your hands shake as you type a vague “running late” while oikawa sinks to his knees behind you, pulling your leg up over the dresser.
and then he devours you—tongue licking flat, hot stripes over your folds, sucking your clit so hard you drop the phone. one arm wraps around your thigh, holding you still while his other hand slips two fingers deep inside you, curling just right.
“fuck, you taste so good—he’d never know what to do with this perfect little cunt.”
he makes you cum on his mouth, then turns you around and bends you over the bed, pushing in raw, deep, all at once.
“say it,” he pants, pounding into you. “say he can’t fuck you like this.”
“he—he c-can’t—fuck, tooru—he can’t!”
he kisses your neck, your shoulder, your spine, even as he wrecks you.
“good girl. now cum again and block his number.”
kuroo ୨୧
kuroo’s arms are crossed when you come out in your date-night dress, dark eyes sharp, lip curled like he’s trying very hard not to say something reckless. you raise an eyebrow.
“what?”
“he’s not worth it,” he snaps. “he won’t even know where your clit is.”
“kuroo.”
“nah. you know i’m right. you’re walking out here dripping confidence, smelling like sin, and he’s gonna fuck it all up by calling you ‘babe’ and cumming in 2 minutes.”
you blink at him, but something hot coils in your gut when he pushes off the counter and walks toward you—grabbing your jaw, his thumb brushing your glossed lips.
“you’re not going.”
“you don’t get to decide that.”
“don’t i?”
he turns you around and bends you over the kitchen island so fast the breath leaves your lungs. your panties are down in seconds and he’s already unbuckling his belt.
“you need a real man to remind you who this pussy belongs to.”
your phone rings—him—flashing on the counter.
“answer it,” kuroo growls, lining himself up. “and put it on speaker.”
“what—”
“answer it.”
he thrusts in with one hard stroke, and your scream is the first thing that poor bastard hears.
“hello? hey, are you—”
“fuck!” you gasp. “s-sorry, I—ah—I'm—busy—”
“busy, huh?” kuroo slams into you again. “yeah, she’s real fucking busy right now.”
you try to keep your voice steady, but he keeps pounding into you, one hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing between your thighs.
“you moaning? what's going on—”
“nothing! i—i just dropped something, I—”
kuroo grabs your chin and makes you look at him, feral grin on his face.
“he’s really still talking?” he growls in disbelief. “while i’m fucking your brains out?”
then he spits on your pussy and drives back in, so deep your toes curl. your phone drops. the guy is still awkwardly calling your name on the line while kuroo rails you into the counter with every sharp thrust making wet slap sounds echo around the kitchen.
“that dick you were running to?” kuroo pants, low and smug, “could never fuck you like this. never make you cum like this. say it.”
“he—he couldn’t—fuck, kuroo—he never could!”
and when he finally cums—he pulls you back against his chest, lips by your ear.
“you’re gonna call him back tomorrow and tell him you were with someone else tonight.”
when he’s about to serve, he looks up to the stands where you usually are, and of course this is one of the days you decide to wear his msby uniform, with a big 21 plastered on your back. seeing you with your big smile and wearing his name was the motivation needed to finish this game with another win under his belt!
but what shoyo loves more than seeing you is to hear you choke on his cock after these games. sitting on your knees with a pillow beneath them—gotta make sure his princess is comfortable—you hollow your cheeks as your head bobs up and down on him.
“o-oh yes, pretty—just like that, please—”
you moan at his gentle praise and the hint of a whimper in his voice. with his hands in your hair guiding your mouth. spit dribbled down your lip and chin, and you look up at him with a hazy, half lidded gaze.
fuck, shoyo swears he could’ve came from that sight alone. the sweet little choking sounds you make as your nose touches his navel. the feel of you gripping his strong thighs with your nails digging into the skin. the sight of you in his uniform that’s a little too big on you.
his uniform.
“can i cum in your mouth, baby? please?” he pants out as his thighs begin shaking, physically restraining his climax. you nod as best you can, and you can hear his usual gut wrenching whine escape his lips as he paints your throat the prettiest white.
with watery eyes from the force of his orgasm, he looks down at you with your gentle smile, and he whispers a weak little “can i kiss you?”
how can you say no to that sweet face, with tears littering his lashes and that flush to his cheeks?
your sweet boyfriend AKAASHI, who lazily draws little shapes on your clit as he sits behind you. you’re gasping and hiding your face in the crook of his neck as he shushes you and reminds you to keep your legs open for him. you've been so stressed out recently, so he has to help his angel, doesn't he?
when he sees those pretty tears in your eyes and hears those soft whines of you asking him to please stop teasing, he finally relents and slowly sinks a finger in.
fuck, with your cunt so wet, it's almost too easy for him to slip inside, your warmth happily welcoming him. you croak out a "thank you" as he inserts another and curls his fingers, reaching that sweet spot that you seem to have trouble reaching sometimes.
"there we go, angel, feel me," he murmurs in your hair, watching as your thighs begin to tremble, "feel my fingers."
a/n: i want akaashi to help relieve my stress damn
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BOKUTO very much has a size kink. upon returning home after a match, he loves some victory sex—he’s wired up and just so badly wanting to sink his cock inside you. and truly, no matter how much it may sting in the moment (though he does like it), there’s nothing better than seeing the marks of your nails down his back the following morning.
when he finally gets you in bed, you—with your plush thighs spread and quivering—look up at him beneath your eyelashes as he pulls down his boxers.
fuck, he’s always so big.
“kou, please,” you whimper as he moves to hover over you, and his beefy body completely covers yours. he’s just so strong.
leaking with an angry red tip, his aching cock rests against your navel, positioned right on your belly where you can see just how deep it goes.
“kou—”
“i know, baby.” he lifts your legs to drape over his arms, noticing the slight bulge of his biceps as he holds them up. he grips his length to tease it against your clit, watching your hips buck up against it. oh fuck, he loves seeing you like this—makes him even harder, actually, as another little pearl of his arousal dribbles down his shaft.
sliding in, he’s slow and steady. he’s surprisingly patient with you, but that’s always because—
you whine, gasping out, “kou, too much!! can’t fit—”
oh, and bokuto loves a good competition.
“shhhh, pretty,” he whispers, wiping a little tear from your cheek, “breathe for me. it’ll fit—it always does.”
but the way his fingers are knuckle deep inside, curling them just right against your sweet spot, might be your favorite.
“tetsu—” you whine, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in the study room he’s “tutoring” you in for biochemistry.
“c’mon, baby, if ya get this one right, i’ll add another finger,” he purrs in your ear, “maybe even touch your clit a little too.”
with furrowed brows and the most amount of concentration you’ve ever put toward something, you begin writing—and struggle. he murmurs a little “mhm” and “there you go” as your thighs begin to shake around his hand.
“you miscounted your carbons, go on back and rework that last step.”
you hastily erase the last thing you did and do it over, wanting this teasing to end. you feel that tightness in the pit of your tummy, and kuroo can feel you tightening around him. he pulls out his fingers, clicking his tongue in faux disappointment. “no coming until you get this, pretty.”
so when you finally finish the question correctly, he knows just how to celebrate it. with three fingers and a thumb to your twitching clit, he enjoys how you crumple the paper you just wrote on because you’re holding onto the table as you make the prettiest mess on his hand.
and when you ace your exam, you know you just have to keep going back for more help—you have to keep your grade up!
best. tutor. ever. ᢉ𐭩
to my newest kuroo self shippers: @bakery-anon & @tiredafbruh >:)
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: everybody thinks they know why michael jackson is dating you. unfortunately for them, they’re completely wrong.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ no serious warnings, female reader, age gap relationship. user michaeldiary writing angst, fork found in kitchen. 🙄
Nobody expected Michael to meet her in a nightclub.
Even years later, the story sounded almost strange coming from him. People preferred imagining his relationships beginning somewhere private and secluded, not in the middle of flashing lights and bass heavy enough to vibrate through the floorboards. By that point in his life, Michael barely existed publicly without layers of protection around him. Security teams. Private entrances. Controlled environments. Fame had turned spontaneity into a logistical nightmare years ago.
But clubs were one of the few places where he could briefly disappear. Not literally, of course. There was no such thing as anonymity for Michael Jackson anymore.
But still, nightclubs created this illusion of normalcy he secretly liked. The darkness helped and the music helped more. Everything blurred together inside clubs. Sweat, noise, lights, bodies moving without thought. People looked absolutely ridiculous there in the best possible way. Human. And Michael, who spent most of his adult life feeling observed down to microscopic detail, liked environments where perfection stopped mattering.
That night he sat tucked into a private section partially hidden from the rest of the crowd, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table while security hovered nearby pretending not to watch him people watch.
Because that’s what he mostly did in clubs. Observed. The thing is, Michael loved people quietly. Their energy. Their confidence. Their weirdness. He liked seeing how others interacted when they weren’t performing for cameras or for other people.
And then he noticed her, she was trying to get his attention either. She wasn’t hovering near his section pretending not to stare like everybody else had been all night. Wasn’t sending drinks over. Wasn’t whispering frantically to friends while sneaking pictures.
She was dancing.
Actually dancing.
Laughing openly with her friends without checking every thirty seconds to see if Michael Jackson was still watching her. Which of course immediately made him watch her. There was something so wonderfully magical about people who didn’t seem consumed by his presence. Michael spent so much of his life being treated like an event instead of a person that confidence fascinated him instantly. Especially in women.
At one point she glanced toward his section briefly.
Just once.
And instead of freezing or acting shocked, she held eye contact for maybe two seconds too long before smiling slightly like she’d privately decided something.
Then she started walking toward him.
One of the security guards shifted immediately, preparing to intercept her before she got too close to the section.
But Michael quietly stopped him first.
“I like that one,” he murmured casually without taking his eyes off her. The guard looked over and Michael leaned back slightly in his seat, amused already. “That’s some good fish right there.”
The guard barked out a startled laugh while Michael grinned to himself beneath the brim of his hat. And just like that, security stepped aside enough to let her approach.
That tiny moment probably changed everything.
Because most people never got close enough to Michael organically anymore. Access to him had become curated by layers of protection and paranoia. Entire teams existed specifically to filter human interaction before it ever reached him.
But Michael chose her immediately, not fully consciously maybe. Just instinctively, curiosity more than anything at first.
She stepped near the table, close enough now that he could properly see her expression beneath the club lights.
Still not nervous.
That fascinated him too.
Most women became visibly affected once they actually stood in front of him. Either intimidated or performative. But she looked almost entertained instead.
Then she leaned down slightly so he could hear her over the music and asked: “Do you wanna dance or are you just gonna sit here lookin’ mysterious all night?”
Michael laughed instantly. A real laugh too—bright and unguarded enough that even security glanced over surprised because people rarely tickled him like that anymore.
And Michael loved teasing. Loved boldness. Loved people willing to pull him out of himself instead of carefully orbiting around his fame.
“Do you always walk up to strangers like this?” he asked her.
“Only the pretty ones.”
Ough. That got him again. He ducked his head immediately smiling into his hand in that shy embarrassed way he still had despite decades of global fame.
“What’s your name?” Oh, he’s so, so tickled by her. He hasn’t been asked that in.. decades but he likes how it feels.
“Michael.” He says shyly.
“I’m (Name).”
And from there, everything happened strangely naturally.
She slid into the booth beside him like she belonged there already while Michael found himself more relaxed within ten minutes than he’d been all night. They talked between music and flashing lights while he kept catching himself staring at her whenever she wasn’t looking. She was beautiful, yes. But she interacted with him normally and that was rare enough to feel intoxicating.
She interrupted him. Challenged him. Rolled her eyes when he got dramatic. At one point she grabbed his restless hands off the table and told him to stop fidgeting so much.
Michael stared at her afterward completely thrown by the casual touch. Nobody touched him casually anymore either. Everything in his life had become loaded and handled carefully, filtered through status and fear and fame.
But her hand around his felt easy somehow, so.. natural.
And maybe that was the real reason he got attached so quickly afterward. Because for one night inside a loud crowded nightclub, she made him feel reachable again.
At first, almost nobody knew and that was intentional.
Michael had become deeply protective over the private parts of his life by then because experience had taught him what public attention did to anything soft. Fame didn’t just observe relationships. It distorted them. Pulled them apart at the seams. Turned ordinary affection into spectacle.
So for the first couple months, their relationship existed mostly behind tinted windows and locked gates.
Late night phone calls stretching until sunrise (that phone was HOT). Private dinners at hotels rented out entirely for security reasons. Her falling asleep curled against him during movie nights at Neverland while he absentmindedly played with her fingers, he couldn’t stop touching her once he got used to her there.
And the strange thing was how quickly Michael attached emotionally once he realized she was safe. Michael had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people who wanted pieces of him. His fame created this constant uncertainty around human intention. Everybody wanted something eventually. Access. Money. Proximity. Validation. Stories.
But she seemed startlingly uninterested in exploiting him and that sincerity affected him deeply. Probably deeper than he intended.
Within months, she had clothes permanently left in his closets. Her favorite snacks started appearing stocked automatically in his kitchens. Staff learned her routines. Security stopped treating her like a visitor and started treating her like part of Michael’s orbit.
And Michael himself became softer around her in ways even people close to him noticed immediately: lighter. More openly affectionate. He smiled differently when she entered rooms. And that was the first thing people picked up on, not the age gap or even the relationship itself But his happiness, ut radiated off him too obviously.
The problem was that happiness only intensified media obsession once rumors started leaking publicly. At first tabloids framed her like a passing fling. Young nightclub girl catches Michael Jackson’s attention. Something temporary. Disposable. The kind of story gossip magazines churned through weekly.
But then the sightings kept happening.
New York.
Vegas.
Paris.
She appeared beside him consistently enough that speculation hardened into narrative. And suddenly the age difference became the centerpiece of every conversation because it disrupted people’s emotional image of Michael.
The public had always struggled categorizing him properly. He existed in this strange place culturally where people simultaneously infantilized and demonized him. To some, he still seemed emotionally frozen somewhere younger than his actual age. To others, he was mysterious enough to project danger onto automatically.
So dating a significantly younger woman made people deeply uncomfortable in ways that had less to do with the relationship itself and more to do with what Michael represented psychologically to the public.
And the scrutiny became relentless.
Everywhere they went, cameras zoomed in on the difference between them. The way she dressed beside him. The age in her face compared to the exhaustion in his. Reporters started asking subtly cruel questions disguised as curiosity.
“What do you two even talk about?”
“Does the age gap create insecurity?”
“Do her parents approve?”
As if she weren’t a grown woman sitting right there.
Michael hated that part immediately, not criticism directed at him. He’d learned to survive that years ago. But criticism directed at her unsettled him badly because unlike him, she hadn’t spent decades building emotional armor around public cruelty. Michael understood fame as violence already. Understood how dehumanizing it became once millions of strangers decided they owned opinions about your personal life.
She was still learning that and Michael watched it harden her in real time over those months.
The comments online. The tabloid photos.
The headlines reducing her into stereotypes: Gold digger. Groupie. Child. Manipulator. Victim. Just to name a few.
The world couldn’t decide whether she was exploiting him or being exploited by him, so they accused her of both simultaneously.
One night after paparazzi followed them through an airport aggressively enough to leave her visibly shaken, Michael found her crying privately inside the hotel suite afterward. Just silent tears while she sat curled on the edge of the bed staring down at her hands.
Michael’s chest practically caved in seeing it.
Because the thing people misunderstood most about him was how emotionally absorbent he was. Other people’s pain affected him almost too deeply. Especially people he loved.
And by then, he loved her. That was obvious now. Michael loved with frightening intensity once he fully trusted somebody.
He crossed the room immediately and crouched in front of her, hands sliding gently around hers.
“Hey,” he whispered softly.
She wiped at her face quickly. “I’m okay.”
Michael frowned instantly because he recognized the lie for what it was. “No.. you’re not.” The tenderness in his voice nearly made her cry harder.
“I just..” She swallowed shakily. “I didn’t know people could hate somebody they don’t even know this much.”
Michael went very still after that because unfortunately, he did know. Intimately and probably more than almost anybody alive. His thumb brushed slowly across her knuckles while he searched quietly for words.
Then finally: “They don’t know you.”
The simplicity of it made her look up.
Michael’s eyes looked exhausted in the dim hotel lighting. Sad too. But calm in the way people become calm after surviving cruelty too long.
“Not me,” she said softly. “you.”
Then his expression shifted slightly, becoming gentler again as he looked at her. “Me?”
“People are so mean to you, I cannot stand it.”
The room went still, completely still. Michael was used to people crying over what fame did to them. The pressure. The media. The chaos surrounding his life.
But nobody ever cried for him, not really in this way.
She looked genuinely heartbroken on his behalf now, tears slipping down her face while she spoke.
“They treat you like you aren’t human,” she whispered. “Everywhere we go people stare at you and say awful things and you still keep being so kind to everybody anyway and I just..”
Her voice broke apart and Michael couldn’t speak for a second as something in his expression changed completely.
Softened? Opened? Like her words had reached someplace in him untouched for years.
Because admiration wasn’t rare in his life. Love wasn’t even rare.
But this? This.. was different.
She grieved for him.
For the loneliness of his life. For the cruelty surrounding him. For the exhaustion he carried so quietly all the time.
And suddenly Michael realized with terrifying clarity that he wanted this woman beside him forever. She saw the human being underneath all the mythology and loved him with almost painful sincerity.
Michael lifted his hand slowly to her face then, brushing tears beneath her eyes with his thumb while looking at her like she’d just unknowingly handed him something sacred.
“You’re so sweet..” He says with a small smile before he leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be okay.. don’t cry, too pretty to cry..”
synopsis: after losing his virginity, michael is basically hard 24/7.
cw: smut, mentions of oral (m!receiving), mentions of virginity loss, dry humping, p in v, creampie (sorry this is like a baseline for all my fics atp), handjob, wet dreams, praise, dirty talk, whiny!michael (my fav), mutual obsession..? yo gang i stink at tagging stuff
requested !! (ty anon ily)
based off either otw/thriller!michael
michael’s face was buried so deeply in the crook of your neck that his desperate whines were muffled directly against your skin.
he was shoved deep inside you, his chest pressing into yours as he frantically thrusted, his hips jerking with a clumsy urgency that overrode his usual gentleness.
he couldn't stop the high whimpers escaping him every single time his hips slammed flush against yours, his hands clutching at the sheets on either side of your head because he was absolutely losing his mind.
should you say that you didn’t expect this?
no, you definitely did.
ever since the night of the 1980s grammys, your relationship had been rewritten into something insatiable.
you had both come home riding the high of the awards and lost your virginities to one another, and god, did that unlock a monster.
they always say that once you finally cross that line, it changes your body completely.
it was true.
giving your innocence to one another didn't satisfy the craving; it only made the hunger twice as bad.
now that your bodies knew exactly how good it felt to fuse together, the physical need for each other had become an actual addiction.
it was like a switch flipped, and suddenly neither of you could get enough of each other. you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you, but michael was so much worse at hiding it.
he would literally whine and beg to take you, his voice cracking with a needy pitch that left him embarrassed afterward – yet he just couldn't help himself.
he got hard the absolute second you crossed his mind.
sometimes that desperation got so overwhelming – so violently thick between you, that there wasn't even time to pull your clothes off. he’d get so needy that he would grab you by the waist, dragging you onto his lap to straddle him.
you’d both start humping against each other like animals in heat, grinding together with a feverish friction that left you both mewling into each other’s necks as you chased the relief.
your underwear would already be drenched, soaked through with your slick arousal. michael would lose his mind at the wetness of it, his hips jerking uncontrollably against yours, fucking into you harder and harder until he’d choke out a broken cry as you both came, soaking right through your clothes.
it was a constant, beautiful torment for him.
frequently, you’d wake up in the dead of night to the heavy press of his weight. he’d be trapped in the grip of a vivid wet dream, his long fingers subconsciously wrapped around your waist to anchor you tightly against his hips.
hearing his frantic breaths and the desperate whines vibrating against your neck, you'd reach up to gently run your fingers along the ends of his curls, softly whispering his name to pull him out of it.
he’d wake up with a shudder, his movements coming to an abrupt halt. the second he realized he’d been dry-rutting you in his sleep, he’d squeeze his eyes back shut and bury his face deep into your shoulder, his skin burning hot.
"’m sorry," he’d mumble, sounding embarrassed.
“‘s okay, baby” you’d whisper, stroking his hair to settle him as you reached back down between your bodies, your fingers slipping under his waistband.
michael would let out a gasp at the contact, his body locking up tight. he’d be too embarrassed to say anything else, just letting out a small, needy whimper as his hips instinctively jerked forward into your palm, his body quivering as he shot his cum straight into your hand.
and it didn't matter how public or innocent the setting was; his mind was entirely corrupted by you.
just a few weeks ago, during a particularly hot day by the pool, the backyard had been full of his siblings laughing and playing music. you had been sitting on the edge of a lounge chair, completely oblivious, casually eating a blue popsicle to stay cool.
across the pool, michael had been completely hypnotized.
he watched the way your lips wrapped around the popsicle, his chest tightening as his mind drifted to how good it felt when you hollowed your cheeks to suck him just like that, or how incredibly filthy it would look to see his creamy white cum dripping against the bright blue stain on your tongue.
his eyes dragged down, eyeing just how good your body looked in that swimsuit, fiending over the sight of you.
he couldn't stop staring at your soft curves, his gaze locked onto how plump your ass looked pressed against the lounge chair.
he felt so dirty – so guilty for thinking that way about his sweet, precious girlfriend, but the blood rushed straight to his dick so fast it made his head spin. he just couldn’t seem to look away.
it could be something as sweet as you gently playing with his curls, absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest while cuddling under a blanket, or even just the mere scent of your perfume. all of it – every single little thing you did – had him losing his mind.
whenever you caught him like that – feeling the thick length of him pressing against you during a simple hug – you couldn't resist teasing him.
you’d shift just enough to grind subtly against it, whispering a soft, teasing comment about how bad he wanted you, even though the sheer sight of his needy state made your own thighs rub together, completely soaked with the knowledge that the slightest thing you did could turn him like this.
which was kinda how you ended up in this predicament tonight.
you were standing by the edge of the dining room, just listening to the loud chatter of the family gathering, when you felt the unmistakable warmth of michael hovering right behind you.
without speaking a word, he leaned over your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against your jawline before trailing a slow path down the sensitive skin of your neck.
your stomach flipped. you quickly looked around the crowded room, your heart hammering against your ribs as you tried to make sure no one was watching.
"michael..." you whispered, your voice a nervous warning as his mouth sank right into the crook of your shoulder.
he didn't care.
he didn't even look up at the crowd, engulfed by the scent of your skin. his fingers slipped down to lock tightly with yours, his palm burning hot as he gave an insistent tug and started guiding you away from the room. you obviously didn’t object. you wanted him just as bad.
so you swallowed hard, letting him lead you quickly past the noise of the hallway and straight up the steps.
the second you crossed the threshold of his bedroom, the door clicked shut, wasting no second to lock it.
michael didn't even give you a second to breathe before he was pressing you back against the wood.
he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started out deceptively gentle. it made you melt against him, but it only lasted for a heartbeat.
you let out a soft sigh, and his tongue took advantage of that, pushing past your lips. he completely consumed your mouth, his tongue deep and demanding as it slicked over yours with an uncoordinated hunger.
you could hear the wet, sloppy friction of your lips sliding together, the heat of his saliva slicking your chin as he tilted your head back to get a deeper angle.
he swallowed your quiet gasps as his mouth tasted you, his tongue stroking yours with heat. you mewled into his mouth as your thighs shifted together, trying to relieve the ache between them.
“michael–” you tried to gasp out, your hips jerking forward to grind against his cock.
he interrupted you, muffling the sound of your voice under another kiss, his mouth sliding hungrily over yours. you managed to pull your mouth away from his, your breaths coming in ragged pants.
“michael, wait– they’re gonna notice we’re gone,” you breathed out, your head tilting back against the door to look up at him.
he didn’t care though, his eyes were glued to your mouth. instead of answering, his lips dropped to your neck. he sucked hard, bruising the sensitive skin under your jaw, leaving a mark that will definitely darken later. his tongue lapped at your skin as a moan escaped your lips, which only drove him crazier. your moans alone were pulling guttural groans from his chest.
his hands were all over you.
his long fingers dug bruisingly into your waist, anchoring you tight before his palms slid down, his large hands roughly cupping the plump flesh of your ass through your clothes and lifting you slightly to grind his rock-hard cock right into your dripping center.
a breathless whimper tore from his throat into your mouth, his grip tightening as his hands slid back up your torso, his palms slipping hungrily under your shirt to map out every inch of your bare skin.
he was squeezing your waist, his thumbs tracing the curve of your ribs, utterly fiending for the feel of you as the kiss grew messier.
“oh god, baby, please– need y’so bad,” he gasped out against your lips.
michael's hands slid down your sides to hook firmly under your thighs. he hoisted you right up off the floor, your legs locking around his waist. keeping you anchored against his chest, he stumbled away from the door, his long legs moving quickly across the room towards the bed.
he leaned forward, laying you down flat on your back as he climbed over you, his frame crowding over yours. he was breathing like he’d been running, his fingers shaking as he hooked them into the hem of your shirt.
"take it off, baby. lemme see you," he rasped.
he yanked it up and over your head in one clumsy motion, tossing it onto the floor. you didn't wait either, your hands scrambling to take his shirt off, peeling the fabric off his shoulders.
you planted your open palms firmly against his bare chest and gave him a push, catching him off guard just enough to roll him over onto his back, shifting your weight so you were the one straddling his lap.
your hands flew down to your waist, quickly peeling your bottoms and underwear off your legs and kicking them away entirely.
sitting bare on top of him, you felt his throbbing cock pressing perfectly against your soaking core through his jeans.
“need to be inside you,” he rasped.
you reached down to unbuckle his belt and pop the button of his pants, shoving the denim down his hips just enough to let his length spring free. his cock was obscene – flushed dark, with veins raised under the skin, the tip slick with precum.
you leaned your weight forward, holding yourself up with your hands as you ground yourself over him, a slow slide from the base of his cock all the way to the wet tip.
the friction was dizzying.
the contrast of his searing heat rubbing directly against your sensitive, soaking folds felt so overwhelming, sending a wave of electricity to the pit of your stomach.
michael looked like he was losing it beneath you. his head rolled back into the pillow, his jaw locked tight as his chest heaved for air. he could feel every single ridge of his cock being squeezed and slicked by your wetness.
"baby, please... you're killing me," he choked out, his voice strained with desperation.
his fingers dug bruisingly deep into the flesh of your hips, his knuckles turning white as he completely lost his grip on his self-control. "i can't... i can't take it– need to feel you..."
before you could grind against him a third time, his large hands clamped down hard on your waist, halting your movement. with an upward thrust of his hips, he guided his tip and buried himself all the way inside you in one deep push.
your head snapped back, a loud, high-pitched moan ripping from your throat that michael quickly caught by throwing his hand over your mouth, his own body trembling violently as he filled you completely. he let out a shuddering groan against your neck, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.
"y'have to be quiet, sweetheart" he choked out, his hips twitching inside you as he adjusted to the heat of your core.
the sensation of being buried deep was too much to handle.
a broken whine tore from his throat as his body took over, entirely overriding his brain.
he completely lost control of his hips, his lower body jerking up against yours in frantic, uncoordinated twitches. his cock pulsed within your gummy walls before he could even find a rhythm.
"can't– baby, i can't stop," he panted, his eyes completely blown out.
michael gripped your waist and pushed you backward, forcing you flat onto your back. you let out a squeal as his large hands slid down to hook under your knees, lifting your legs high and draping them over his shoulders.
he let out a high, pathetic mewl at how incredibly tight you felt from this angle, his face flushing a deep red.
he didn't waste another second.
gripping your hips for leverage, he began fucking into you, slamming his pelvis against yours with a frantic urgency.
the bedroom filled with a symphony of filthy noises. loud schlick, schlick, schlick sounds echoed with every thrust, his cock dragging a creamy ring of mixed precum and your own arousal out before plunging right back inside.
the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin was deafening. every single time he slammed flush against you, his pelvis hit perfectly against your clit.
both of you were miserably failing to muffle your noises. the force of his desperate ruts was so intense that the headboard began slamming violently against the wall.
any thought of staying quiet was completely forgotten. despite his own warning, michael was far too gone to care anymore, letting out loud, unbridled whines with every slam of his hips.
"ah... god, you're soakin' through the sheets, baby," he rasped. "milkin' me so hard... it's so wet, makin’ such a mess."
hearing those vulgar words come out of his usually polite mouth made a hot blush rise to your cheeks. a thrill shot through you, causing your walls to instinctively squeeze around him.
"m-mike, michael," you stammered out, your voice cracking, completely breathless as your head thrashed against the pillows. you were so overwhelmed by pleasure that you could barely mutter coherent words. "you feel so fucking good–"
the words dissolved into a high whine as he gave a particularly deep thrust right into your sweet spot.
it felt so heavenly, the pleasure was so intense, that hot tears slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped down your temples.
his pace sped up even more, his curls damp with sweat as he looked down at you like you were his entire world.
"’m so close, mikey, please," you whined, your hands tightly clawing at his bare shoulders.
michael let out a broken moan at your begging, a breathless sob tearing from his throat. he looked so overwhelmed – almost in pain from how good it felt.
"gonna give it all t'you, baby. every single drop," he choked out.
he didn't slow down for a single second. the headboard battered against the wall as he buried himself to the hilt.
michael went rigid after he gave one final thrust.
a high, broken cry tore from his throat, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his eyes squeezed shut.
the first rope of his cum shot out of him with a pulsing force, flooding your womb.
michael let out a trembling sob against your neck, his fingers digging bruisingly deep into your thighs as his cum spurt inside you in heavy ropes, painting your insides, filling every single fold and crevice until you were overflowing with his seed.
the volume of it felt endless, coating your walls and sending a wave of pleasure that triggered your own climax.
"baby, baby, baby," michael whimpered as his hips continued to twitch helplessly against yours.
he was spent, his chest heaving heavily against yours as he melted into you.
even as the spurts slowed, he didn't pull away.
he collapsed into the crook of your neck, his face buried deep as his skin burned hot. he let out small, shuddering breaths as the creamy mixture of his cum and your slick slowly began to leak out from between your thighs, cementing the mess you had made together.
michael shifted slightly, lifting himself up on his elbows just enough to look down. his gaze drifted to where you two were still joined, staring right at the thick white mixture slowly oozing out onto the sheets as he pulled out.
"you're so nasty, michael," you teased, though you couldn't take your eyes off it either.
michael huffs out a breathless laugh, biting his bottom lip as a deep blush rushes to his cheeks.
"you're lookin' too," he mumbled softly.
"but you looked first," you countered with a soft laugh, fingers gently tracing at the nape of his neck as he shook his head at you.
once the silence of the bedroom settled over you both, the house suddenly felt terrifyingly quiet.
michael shifted slightly, his cheek pressing against your shoulder. he blinked for a second, the fog in his brain clearing just enough for the stillness of the house to register.
"christ..." he breathed out. "do y'think they heard that?"
you let out a weak laugh, your hands playing with the ends of his hair. "michael, you literally slammed the bed into the wall for like fifteen minutes straight."
he raised his hands, hiding his face as his skin burned a bright red. "don't say that... oh, god, please don't say that. we're never going back downstairs."
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
sorry i always get carried away w/ sub!michael
also i edited this like 8 times n i got sick of rereading so if anything sounds off PLEASE let me know n ill take a look
—tags: suggestive, Michael Jackson x black reader, fluff, teasing, and establish relationship.
— michael era: bad ❀ word count: 599
Blurb: Michael comes home after touring and finds you in a cheetah print moomoo, acting like you’re mad at him for being away. But he can’t help but get distracted by how good you look in your little moomoo.
────୨ৎ────
You were at home cooking spaghetti. As much as you didn’t really enjoy it, it was something quick to eat after you got home from work. You took in a sharp inhale as you heard Michael's voice on the box television.
You turned your head, placing a hand on your hip. Michael has been gone, touring, if you didn’t say that didn’t make you frustrated you’ll be lying.
You then heard a knock on the door, you opened it and looked at the man with the big bouquet of flowers in his hand. His curly hair hit his shoulders, one curl was resting on his forehead. Your head tilted a bit as if you were acting irritated.
But the moment you saw him, all that anger flushed away.
“Mmcht.” You sucked your teeth.
“Hey baby..” Michael said softly, you moved out the way to let him in.
“Hurry in you lettin bugs in, damn.” You kept the hostile act up, and you closed the door. Michael gave you the bouquet of flowers. You held it, and he stood still watching.
Looking at you up and down.
The oversized cheetah print moomoo hung loosely on your frame, the soft fabric brushing against your calves whenever you moved. The neckline dipped just enough to show your collarbone, while the chest area fit a little better than it probably should have. While the loose fit made it perfect for lounging around the house after work. It was perfect for Michael to just rip off. A matching cheetah-print headscarf was tied neatly around your hair, keeping the rollers that you just curled in tucked away.
He didn't know what he was feeling, but he was into it. “Preparing for bed I see?” He teased you.
You placed the flowers down, and walked over to him. “Didn’t expect anyone to come over so late. Especially you.”
His face dropped, he knew you were mad about him being away all the time. But he knew how to make you not stay mad at him for long.
He stepped closer, gently pinching a piece of the moomoo’s fabric between his fingers. “This is so sexy on you. Why didn't you wear this fa’ me sooner?” His fingers then traced the outline of the moomoo. He couldn’t help but let his hands wander.
“My auntie left it here. I decided to wear it, but it wasn't really on purpose.” You said nonchalantly.
“Y/N.. you can’t stay mad at me forever.”
“I can and I will.” You hissed back at him.
“So when I go away again.. don’t be calling me on how much you missed me. And how you should’ve touched me when you had the chance when I was here.” His big hands wrapped around your waist. As he kept speaking sweet nothings in yours ears.
It was true. You were lonely, you didn’t even try to see anyone else besides him. He was the only one who could make you feel this way.
He peppered your neck with soft kisses, you let out a shutter breath. He guided you to your wall letting your back hit it.
A picture that you had hung fell down. The two of you didn’t even bother to look at the direction of the fallen picture.
“Ya still mad?” He teased as he whispered in your ears, as his hands quickly found their way exploring down your legs. He comes back up his hand finding itself underneath your moomoo.
The moomoo was hanging around your waist, not touching your feet anymore.
“Shut up, and just continue..” You pleaded, and Michael smiled.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine
-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-
Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and F! reader
Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.
CW- Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- he'll have a whole retainer and he'll dance to boys to men a la the movieee
WC- 57k- ongoing
playlist:
Extras- Sukuna's POV here
Kofi link (if you feel generous & wanna buy me a ☕️
so i know its been like... 9 months lmao, but I am finally gonna finish this damn story 🥺 they need their end so it'll be out this week! - i am anything if not a completionist 🤭
