By default, I write in English, but I’m a native Spanish speaker, so feel free to request a story in Spanish if you prefer, I’m happy to do both :)

You can find my masterlist here.

I’m currently NOT accepting requests.

Pd. please make sure to send the requests through inbox questions, but also send me a dm as notis don't pop up and I might not be able to see it.

I’m always happy to collaborate whether you’re into romance, angst, fluff, or more mature themes. If you’d like to request a custom piece, please make sure to include the following details so I can deliver a story that fits exactly what you’re looking for:

• Character name • Character and reader gender • NSFW or SFW (Please specify your comfort level and boundaries) • Sex Role Preference (Dom!Reader or Sub!Reader) • Topic or Setting (e.g., modern AU, fantasy, college life, enemies to lovers, etc.)

Feel free to be as detailed as you’d like

Updated

What i don't do:

Bestiality

Necrophilia

Any kink involving bodily fluids (piss/poop kink)

Gangbang (i can write NSFW up to three, whether it be three characters or two+reader)

Contains: vampires, manipulative and flirtatious behavior, jealousy, emotional and sexual tension, power imbalance, obsessive themes.

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 3

Pd. After much thinking, i will not add any smut to this story. I will keep it the way it is rn

Pd 2. Next chapter will be general with all the boys. But you can vote for the following one!

Tags (as requested): @iglb12 @ghostlyworld

Dinner dissolves rather than ends.

No one finishes their plate. The food grows cold while the tension around the table thickens into something almost tangible.

You sit there like you belong.

Like you never left.

Ayato notices it first—your relaxed posture, the faint smirk tugging at your mouth as if the entire evening is amusing to you.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue sharply. “Quit staring like that.”

You glance up lazily. “Like what?”

“Like you’re enjoying this.”

Your smile widens.

“Maybe I am.”

Across the table Kanato giggles, dragging the tip of his fork across the plate in slow circles. The metal screeches softly against porcelain.

“Teddy thinks it’s funny,” he hums. “Everyone looks so upset.”

Yui flinches beside him.

Shu says nothing, but his eyes drift toward you again before half-closing.

He looks bored.

You know better.

And at the head of the table—

Reiji hasn’t touched his food.

His posture remains perfectly straight, hands folded beside his untouched utensils, crimson eyes quietly moving from brother to brother as if cataloguing the damage spreading through the room.

Finally they settle on you.

You hold the gaze easily.

He adjusts his glasses.

“Dinner,” he says coolly, “is meant to be eaten. Not used as a stage for petty displays of hostility.”

Ayato scoffs immediately.

“Then tell him to stop grinning like that.”

You lean back in your chair.

“You’re very fixated on my face tonight.”

“Shut up.”

Subaru’s chair scrapes violently across the floor as he stands.

“I’m done with this crap.”

His fork snaps in his hand with a sharp metallic crack before he throws the pieces aside and storms out of the room. The door slams hard enough to shake the chandelier.

Kanato laughs.

Yui shrinks further into her seat.

Reiji exhales slowly through his nose.

Then he stands.

“Excuse me.”

No explanation.

He simply leaves.

Laito watches the door close before turning toward you with a bright, fox-like smile.

“Well,” he murmurs, swirling the wine in his glass, “that was quicker than I expected.”

You rise from your chair.

Ayato immediately slams his palm on the table.

“Oi—don’t go after him.”

You glance back over your shoulder.

“I’m not going after him.”

Laito chuckles.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

You leave anyway.

⸻

The library door closes with a muted click behind you, and the silence that settles over the room feels heavier than the tension left in the dining hall.

The air smells faintly of wax, old parchment, and something colder—discipline, perhaps, the kind that Reiji cultivates like a carefully pruned garden.

Tall shelves loom on either side of the room, rows of ancient books staring down like silent witnesses. The only light comes from the tall candles along the walls and the pair burning on Reiji’s desk, their flames wavering slightly when you walk closer.

Reiji stands behind the desk with his back to you.

He’s removing his gloves.

The motion is slow and methodical, each finger sliding free with deliberate precision, as though the simple act requires concentration. His shoulders are perfectly straight, his posture immaculate even now.

You lean casually against the door for a moment, watching him.

“You left dinner early,” you say, your voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

“I noticed.”

Reiji doesn’t turn around yet.

The second glove slips free from his hand, and he lays both neatly on the desk as if placing them too roughly might disturb the order he works so hard to maintain.

“I wondered how long it would take,” he continues calmly.

You begin walking toward him.

“How long what would take?”

“For you to follow.”

You smile slightly.

“You sound disappointed.”

Reiji turns then.

His crimson gaze lands on you instantly, sharp behind the gleam of his glasses. For a moment he simply studies you in silence, the faint candlelight catching the edges of his expression and sharpening every line of control etched there.

“You returned after decades,” he says evenly, “and within a single evening you have managed to provoke every member of this household.”

You reach the other side of the desk and rest your hands casually against the polished wood.

“They seemed eager enough.”

“That is precisely the issue.”

Your eyes drift briefly across the desk, noting the carefully organized papers, the open book he’d clearly been reading before dinner, the absolute lack of disorder anywhere within reach.

“You’ve been busy,” you remark.

“Maintaining order.”

“Without me?”

Reiji’s gaze sharpens slightly.

“Yes.”

You tilt your head.

“Was it boring?”

A brief pause follows, subtle but unmistakable.

“Boredom,” he replies coolly, “is irrelevant.”

“Of course it is.”

You push away from the desk slightly, circling around one corner of it with slow, deliberate steps. The candlelight shifts across your face as you move, and Reiji’s eyes track every inch of the motion with quiet attention.

“You always did hate unpredictability,” you continue lightly. “I imagine the house must have felt very quiet without someone ruining your schedules.”

Reiji watches you approach.

“And yet you have returned,” he says.

“Does that bother you?”

You’re close now.

Close enough to see the faint tension gathering along his jaw.

Close enough to hear the subtle change in his breathing.

For a moment neither of you move.

Then suddenly—

The desk edge presses sharply into your lower back as Reiji shoves you against it.

Papers slide across the surface with a soft rustling sound as his hand grips your coat and pushes you back onto the polished wood. The movement is swift and controlled, leaving you half-sitting against the desk before you’ve fully registered it.

Reiji steps forward immediately.

One knee moves between your legs, anchoring you there while his hands plant firmly on either side of your shoulders.

He leans over you, glasses catching the candlelight as he looks down.

“You behave as though nothing has changed,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head back against the desk, meeting his gaze without the slightest hint of alarm.

“Has it?”

His eyes narrow.

“You left.”

“And now I’m back.”

“That does not answer the question.”

Your mouth curves faintly.

“It answers enough.”

Reiji studies your face like he’s searching for something buried beneath the confidence you wear so easily. The silence stretches, filled only by the quiet flicker of candle flames and the faint rustle of paper still shifting beneath your weight.

Then your hands move.

They slide up along the front of his coat slowly, fingers brushing the fabric as if testing the texture before settling lightly at his waist.

Reiji stiffens immediately.

“Remove them.”

“You’re the one on top of me,” you reply calmly.

“That is irrelevant.”

Your fingers curl slightly against his sides, holding him there.

“Then move.”

He doesn’t.

The tension between you tightens another degree.

Your thumbs press gently against his waist, feeling the rigid control in the way his muscles hold still beneath the layers of clothing.

“You’re tense,” you murmur.

Reiji’s hand shoots forward, catching one of your wrists and pinning it against the desk above your head.

The motion is precise.

Fast.

Your other hand remains where it is, resting lightly at his side.

Instead of resisting, your fingers slide a little lower, brushing the line of his hip before drifting along the side of his thigh.

Reiji’s breath stills for a fraction of a second.

Then he grabs your other wrist as well, pinning both of them above your head against the wood.

His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose from the movement, and he pushes them back up with a quick motion before looking down at you again.

“You are deliberately provoking me.”

Your voice remains calm.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

Your shoulders shift slightly against the desk, the subtle movement bringing your body closer against his where he stands between your legs.

The contact is light.

But impossible to ignore.

Reiji’s jaw tightens.

“You interfere with the balance of this house,” he says, his voice lower now.

“You always did enjoy fixing my messes.”

“That is not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

The question lingers between you.

Reiji leans closer, his face drawing nearer until the space between you narrows to little more than shared breath and candlelight.

“You are creating chaos,” he murmurs.

Your lips twitch slightly.

“And yet you came after me.”

“I came to prevent further disruption.”

“Is that what you call this?”

You shift slightly again, the movement subtle but enough to brush your body against his once more. The contact pulls a faint crease across his brow before he stills again, forcing his composure back into place.

“You remain insufferably arrogant,” he mutters.

“And you remain very easy to read.”

Reiji stares at you for a long moment.

Then slowly—very slowly—his grip on your wrists loosens, though he doesn’t release them entirely.

“Stay,” he says quietly.

The word is measured.

Deliberate.

“But understand something.”

Your eyes remain fixed on his.

“If you continue manipulating my brothers,” Reiji continues, his voice dropping into a softer, colder register, “I will intervene.”

A faint smile spreads across your face.

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a promise.”

Your gaze drifts briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to keep a very close watch on me.”

Reiji straightens slightly, releasing your wrists at last, though he remains standing between your legs for another moment longer than necessary.

“I fully intend to.”

You slide off the desk slowly, straightening your coat as you stand.

For a brief moment you’re close again—close enough that your shoulder brushes his as you step past him toward the door.

Then you pause.

“Reiji.”

He glances toward you.

Your smile is faint, but unmistakably amused.

“You missed the chaos.”

Reiji’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Do not mistake tolerance for nostalgia.”

You chuckle softly and open the door.

Behind you, the candles in the library continue to burn steadily, their light flickering across the rigid stillness Reiji resumes the moment you leave the room.

Have the reader play with her breasts while they're growing until she climaxes & then have the reader fuck her breasts while they're still growing until they both climax (As her breasts grow the veins become more visible)

Content: Shameless smut. Friends with benefits. Maledom/Femsub. Huge tits. Breast play. Breast expansion. Sensitive breasts. Titfuck. Multiple orgasms.

Finally finished!!

MDNI 18+

Contains: dom!maleReader x sub!ladyJ, power exchange, supernatural breast expansion, overstimulation, multiple climaxes

Lady J is a woman built on a foundation of iron-clad composure. Whether she’s negotiating a contract or nursing a vintage scotch, her movements are deliberate, her gaze impenetrable.

But as you stand behind her in the dim light of her study, you can see the slight tremor in her hand as she sets her glass down.

She knows exactly why you’re here, and she knows that tonight, her "composed" exterior is about to be dismantled.

You don't say a word. You simply step into her space, your chest nearly brushing her back.

"You’re being particularly quiet tonight," she says, her voice a forced silk, though her pulse is already visible at the hollow of her throat. "Is there a reason you’re looming?"

"I'm just admiring the view, J," you murmur, leaning down so your breath hitches against the shell of her ear. "Though I think it’s about to change."

⸻

You slide your hands around her waist, your palms broad and warm. Slowly, you glide them upward, tracing the line of her ribs until you cup the underside of her breasts.

She gasps—a sharp, needy sound that she immediately tries to swallow.

"Do you feel that?" you ask, your thumbs grazing the undersides of the mounds. "That heaviness?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she lies, her head lolling back against your shoulder.

"Liars get punished, J. But let's see if your body is as dishonest as your tongue."

You squeeze, a firm, possessive knead that claims the weight of her. The reaction is visceral. Beneath the fabric of her dress, a deep, internal pulse begins. They swell upward into your palms, filling the space you've claimed and then pushing further.

The material of her bodice begins to strain, the seams emitting a faint, rhythmic creak as the volume increases.

"Oh, god," she whispers, her hands reaching up to grip your forearms. Her skin is becoming incredibly sensitive; even the light friction of her own clothing seems to make her flinch.

"Stop... no, don't stop. It’s too much... I can feel the skin pulling."

"It's going to pull a lot more," you promise.

You begin to manipulate them with a slow, agonizing rhythm. You roll the soft, expanding tissue between your fingers, focusing on the hardening peaks.

With every surge of growth, delicate blue veins begin to map themselves across the pale skin, branching out like lightning across a summer sky.

They grow more vivid as the skin stretches thin, becoming almost translucent.

"Look at the veins, J," you command, forcing her to look down. "Your body is working so hard just to keep up with me."

⸻

She is a mess of contradictions now—sobbing for air while her chest heaves with a life of its own.

The growth is accelerating, the mounds becoming impossibly round and heavy, spilling over your hands.

The sensitivity has reached a fever pitch; every time your thumb brushes a peak, her entire body jolts as if struck by electricity.

"Please," she whimpers, her voice breaking. "I'm going to... I’m going to burst..."

"Then burst for me."

You deliver a final, heavy squeeze, lifting the massive weight of her chest upward. The sensory overload is the final straw. Her back arches violently, her head snapping back as she screams into the quiet room.

Her body spasms in a massive, shattering climax, and in response to the peak, her breasts surge one more time—a dramatic, throbbing expansion that leaves the skin taut, flushed, and mapped with pulsing violet veins.

You don't let her fall. You turn her around, pinning her against the mahogany desk.

You're already out, your own heat demanding attention.

"You're so sensitive now, aren't you?" you tease, dragging your thumb over a vein that’s pulsing visibly on the side of her breast.

She shudders so hard she nearly loses her footing. "Every touch feels like fire."

"You... you did this," she gasps, her eyes hazy and unfocused.

"And now I'm going to enjoy it."

You grab both of her hands and guide them to her chest. "Hold them together. Give me a place to go."

She obeys, her fingers trembling as she tries to wrangle the massive, heavy mounds. She presses them together, creating a deep, plush valley of heated skin.

You step in, sliding deep between the two mountains of flesh.

The heat is staggering. The friction of the taut, vein-streaked skin against you is better than anything you’ve felt.

You set a brutal, rhythmic pace, thrusting into the cleavage. With every movement, the stimulation causes her breasts to swell further, tightening around you, the veins bulging with the increased blood flow.

"You're so tight, J," you growl, your hands moving to her hair, tilting her head back.

"Look at how they’re hugging me. They don’t want to let go."

"I can't... I can't breathe..." she cries out, her hands struggling to keep the weight together as you pound into her.

The friction builds toward a snap. The scent of her arousal and the sheer heat radiating from her overstretched skin fill your senses.

You watch the veins on her chest darken to a deep, bruised purple as she nears her second breaking point.

"Now, Lady J! Show me how much you can take!"

You drive into the plush valley with everything you have. As you come across the flushed, vein-mapped skin, the heat of your release triggers her second, even more violent climax.

⸻

J is slumped against the mahogany, her chest heaving, the massive mounds of flesh still twitching with residual tremors. But as your hand slides back over the taut curve of her side, her breath hitches again.

"You’re not done," you murmur. "Look at them, J. They’re still reacting."

"I... I can't," she gasps. "Everything hurts... it’s too much—"

"It’s never too much for you."

You use just your fingertips this time, grazing the hypersensitive skin where the veins are most prominent. She lets out a broken wail, the mere ghost of a touch sending a fresh surge of growth through her.

You begin to flick your thumbs over the engorged peaks. Each flick causes a visible ripple to travel through the tissue. They swell further, the skin pulling even tighter, turning a translucent, feverish white between the dark, bulging violet of her veins.

"Tell me how it feels, J."

"It feels... like I'm being unmade," she sobs. "I feel so heavy... please, just give it to me..."

You ignore her plea for friction. Instead, you lean down, taking one stiff peak into your mouth while your hand ruthlessly kneads the other.

The combination of suction and pressure is the catalyst. Her body goes rigid as a third, even more violent climax hits her. Her chest surges in rapid, stuttering pulses.

By the time she slumps back, her breasts have reached a truly monstrous scale, hanging low and heavy, the veins now thick enough to be felt as ridges beneath your skin.

"Back on your knees, J," you command.

She slides off the desk, using both hands to lift the weight of her chest as she settles before you. "Please," she whispers. "Use me. Make them bigger."

You plunge back into the sweltering valley. The fit is suffocatingly tight now. You hammer into her, and with every stroke, the friction sends sparks through her nerves.

"They're growing again!" she shrieks. "I can feel them... pushing against you!"

She’s right. The stimulation forces a final, runaway growth spurt. They swell around your shaft, a glorious vice of heat and vein-mapped flesh. You let out a primal roar as you spill across her once more.

The sheer friction of that final, desperate pace—combined with the crushing weight of her own chest tightening around you—is the final spark.

It triggers a fourth and final climax that is more a convulsion than a release. Her chest surges forward with a violent, massive expansion, the tissue swelling so rapidly that the skin reaches its absolute physical limit, turning nearly translucent under the strain.

She collapses forward, her strength finally spent, her head coming to rest heavily against your thighs. Her breasts are gargantuan now, utterly dominating her frame and pinning her down with their newfound weight.

You reach down, running a hand over the hot, stretched skin. "I think you're going to have a very difficult time explaining this to your tailor."

After decades of self-imposed exile driven by sheer boredom, you return to the Sakamaki mansion. Not as a guest, but as the architect of the brothers' original ruin.

You are a vampire of ancient lineage whose presence once dictated the very air they breathed. Your return is a calculated intrusion designed to see how the "toys" you abandoned have fared in the dust of your absence.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Contains: dom!vampireMaleReader x sub!sakamakiBrothers, dark romance, psychological manipulation, biting and blood-play, jealousy

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 2

Finally!! I took so long to finish it😭 (sorry guys)

Tags (as requested): @ghostlyworld

As you move through the vaulted corridors, the floorboards don’t groan under your weight; they purr, recognizing the rhythmic, predatory strike of a master’s step.

You can feel the others through the thick masonry, their auras spiking like jagged glass.

In the west wing, a violent crash echoes—Subaru has likely pulverized another marble bust, his destructive way of screaming that he hates how easily your scent still fits in these halls.

Downstairs, the frantic clinking of porcelain suggests Reiji is over-polishing tea sets to maintain a fading sense of control.

You catch the metallic scent of Kanato’s manic giggling as he whispers to Teddy about how "exquisite" your corpse would be, while Laito’s presence is a physical, voyeuristic heat following you from the shadows.

Even the human, Yui, is a mere fluttering pulse in the periphery—a fragile bird realizing the hawk has returned to the nest, and he isn't looking for seeds.

⸻

The air in the music room is the thickest, heavy with the scent of rosin, old velvet and ancient grievances.

You push the double doors open, the gold leaf flaking under your touch like dead skin. Shu is exactly where he belongs: draped across the chaise lounge like a discarded silk shroud, the blue light of his MP3 player flickering against the pale column of his throat—the only sign his heart is still bothered to beat.

"The acoustics in here were always better when you weren't pretending to be a corpse, Shu," you drawl, your voice a low, resonant velvet.

You stroll to the grand piano, your boots clicking with a deliberate rhythm that mocks his forced stillness. You trail a single finger over the lid, leaving a sharp, clean line in the thick dust. "And here I thought you were the one who valued 'proper' maintenance. Or did you let the help go as soon as I wasn't here to keep you upright?"

Shu doesn’t move, but his breathing hitches—a minute, jagged break in his rhythm that tastes like victory.

"You’re noisy," he mutters, his voice raspy from a century of curated apathy. "The dead don't talk. Why can’t you follow their example? It would be the first time you've ever been considerate."

"Because the dead are boring, and I’ve had quite enough of boring," you reply, rounding the piano to stand over him. Your shadow stretches long and domineering across his prone form.

You look down at the violin case in the corner, shrouded in cobwebs. "You haven’t touched it since the night I left, have you? Such a dramatic silent treatment for an audience that wasn't even here to watch. Tell me, did you enjoy the martyrdom, or did it just get lonely playing for the dust?"

Shu finally opens one eye. It’s a piercing, crystalline blue, stripped of the lethargy he uses to ward off his brothers. He sits up with a fluid, predatory grace, the atmosphere in the room dropping until your breath mists in the air between you.

The lazy mask is gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened resentment.

"You left because you were bored," Shu says, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a rare, low growl. "You played with us until the strings snapped, and then you walked out. Now you're back, flirting with that human girl downstairs just to see us twitch. Is that it? Are we just your favorite toy box?"

You step into his personal space, close enough to feel the cold radiation of his skin and the faint scent of cedarwood that clings to him.

You reach out, your hand moving with agonizing slowness, and flick the earbud from his ear. The tinny, frantic sound of a Wagnerian crescendo spills into the silence.

"I came back because the world out there is full of sheep, Shu," you murmur, leaning in until your chest brushes his blazer. "And I missed the way you look when you're trying not to break. No one else bleeds with such... dignity. I wanted to see if I could still make you compose a masterpiece out of your misery."

His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with a strength that would shatter a lesser vampire’s bones. His skin is ice, but his grip is a desperate, grounding iron.

"Don't," he warns, his eyes darkening to a shade of midnight, his fangs lengthening. "I'm not Ayato. I won't bark for your crumbs, and I won't let you play master in my room just because you're feeling nostalgic for the way we used to beg for your gaze."

You don't pull away. Instead, you use your free hand to tilt his chin up, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, pressing just hard enough to feel the sharp edge of a fang.

Then, you lean down, your lips hovering just a hair’s breadth from the sensitive junction of his neck and shoulder.

"You say that," you whisper, your voice a seductive, manipulative hum, "and yet your heart is thundering against your ribs like a caged bird."

You graze the heated skin of his throat with your teeth—not a bite, but a deliberate, scraping pressure that promises violence and pleasure in equal measure.

Shu’s breath hitches into a choked sound, half-growl and half-gasp. His grip on your wrist doesn't loosen; if anything, he pulls you closer, dragging you down until you’re looming over him on the lounge.

"You think you can just walk back in and pick up the conductor’s baton?" he hisses, his eyes narrowed and searching yours for a hint of the cruelty he remembers. "You haven't changed. You're still a parasite that feeds on the chaos you create."

"And you're still the one who provides the most delicious vintage," you counter, sliding your hand from his chin to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his messy blonde hair.

You pull his head back slightly, forcing him to expose the length of his throat.

"You didn't stop playing the violin because it was 'too much effort,' Shu. You stopped because every note you played sounded like my name, and you couldn't stand the harmony. You've been waiting for me to come back and finish the song, haven't you?"

Shu’s composure fractures completely. The "Lazy Master" mask slips, revealing a raw, starving need that has simmered for decades.

He pulls your hand toward his mouth, his lips brushing your skin—not in a kiss, but a threat, his breath hot against your pulse.

"If you stay," he hisses against your wrist, his fangs grazing your skin as his blue eyes lock onto yours with terrifying focus, "I’ll make sure you regret finding your way back. I’ll turn this mansion into a cage you’ll never want to leave, and I’ll be the one holding the key this time. I'll break your legs before I let you walk out that door again."

"Promises, promises," you smirk, leaning down to graze the sensitive skin behind his ear with your teeth, relishing the way his entire body freezes under your touch. "Let’s see if you have the energy to keep them, or if you’ll just fall asleep on me again the moment things get interesting. But for now..."

You pull back just enough to look at him, your thumb tracing his lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the sharp, gleaming points of his fangs. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you hated the silence I left behind."

Shu’s eyes cloud over with a mix of loathing and undeniable heat. He doesn't answer with words.

Instead, he lunges upward, his mouth finding yours in a collision that is less of a kiss and more of a battle for territory—violent, desperate, and tasting of a century’s worth of unspoken obsession.

Shu’s mouth is a cold, desperate fire against yours, his teeth grazing your lip with a lethal lack of restraint. It’s the kiss of a man who has been starving and trying to pretend he didn't have an appetite.

His hands, usually so limp and useless, are now claws, one tangled in your hair to keep you from pulling away and the other anchored at the small of your back, crushing your chest against his.

You let out a low, muffled hum of amusement against his lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of total submission. You bite back, hard enough to draw a bead of copper-sweet blood, and the metallic tang on your tongue only heightens the electricity crackling between you.

"Still so aggressive when you're backed into a corner," you murmur against his skin, pulling back just an inch, your breaths mingling in the frigid air. "I missed this version of you. The one that actually has a pulse."

Shu’s eyes are wide, the pupils blown so large the blue is just a thin, jagged ring of ice.

He’s panting, his chest heaving against yours, his dignity stripped away by the sheer force of his own reaction. "I hate you," he rasps, the words vibrating with a raw, jagged honesty. "I hate every breath you take in this house. I hate that I can still smell you in the curtains and the floorboards. I hate that you’re the only thing that isn't... boring."

"I know," you whisper, your fingers tracing the frantic thrum of his carotid artery. "It must be exhausting, loving someone you want to kill. But we both know you’d never let the light leave these eyes, Shu. Then who would be left to look at you like this?"

You lean down again, your teeth scraping the sensitive cord of his neck, lingering just above the vein. You can feel him trembling—a fine, violent shudder that speaks of a century of restraint finally snapping.

"Do it," you challenge, your voice a dark, velvet lure. "Claim your territory, or get back on your lounge and go back to sleep like the good little corpse you pretend to be."

⸻

His fangs are just a millimetre from your skin when the heavy oak doors of the music room are thrown open with a sharp, echoing thud.

"I believe," a cold, clinical voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel, "that we have a guest who has quite forgotten their manners. And a brother who has forgotten his place."

You don't startle; you simply turn your head to see Reiji standing in the doorway. He’s the picture of aristocrat perfection, his gloved hands clasped behind his back, but the way his glasses catch the light hides a gaze that is pure, unadulterated venom.

Behind him, you catch the silhouettes of the others—Ayato looking like he’s ready to commit fratricide, and Laito leaning against the doorframe with a smile that doesn't reach his burning emerald eyes.

"The human has prepared dinner," Reiji continues, his voice tight enough to snap. "Though I suppose you’ve already begun your own... feast."

Shu doesn't move immediately. He lingers for a second longer, his forehead resting against yours, his grip on your hair tightening in a final, silent act of defiance before he slowly, sluggishly detaches himself.

He falls back onto the lounge, the mask of the Lazy Master sliding back into place with practiced ease, though his lips are still stained a faint, incriminating red.

"Dinner," Shu mutters, closing his eyes as if the very concept is a chore. "How tedious."

You stand up, smoothing your coat. You look at Reiji, then at the brothers gathered in the hall, your smirk growing wider as you realize they’ve all been standing there, listening to the symphony of Shu’s undoing.

"Well then," you say, your voice echoing with a teasing, dangerous edge. "We wouldn't want the human's hard work to go to waste. Shall we see if the rest of you have grown as much of an appetite as the eldest?"

Fandom: Edens Zero

Scenario: After the defeat of Drakken Joe Y/N & Maria Slime become bounty hunters. The only issue being Y/N finds Maria's elasticity to be "distracting."

Content: Friends to lovers. MaleSwitch/FemaleSoftdom. Elasticity. Oral sex. Eye contact. Come swallowing. Rough sex. Doggy style. Creampie. Aftercare.

I hope you like it! ^^

MDNI 18+

Contains: switch!maleReader x softDom!Maria, oral sex, rough intercourse, creampie, bodyshifting (elasticity)

The credits chime on your wrist, a cold, digital ping that signals the end of another day’s work. But the heavy, rhythmic thrum of your pulse tells a different story.

Ever since you and Maria started this bounty-hunting partnership post-Drakken Joe, the line between "partners" and "something more" hasn't just been blurred—it’s been stretched to the breaking point.

The warehouse door groans shut behind you, leaving you in the dim, flickering amber of the cargo bay.

You turn to find Maria leaning against a stack of rusted crates. She looks normal at first, but as you watch, her posture shifts. Her neck begins to elongate, her head drifting toward you like a serpent, tilting curiously while her boots stay rooted ten feet away.

"You're staring again, Y/N," she purrs. Her face is now inches from yours, her breath warm on your skin, while her torso remains casually leaned back across the room. "You get this look in your eyes every time I move. Like you’re trying to calculate exactly how far I can go."

"It’s hard not to," you grit out, your eyes tracking the smooth, pale line of her extended throat. "You’re doing that on purpose. You know it’s... distracting. It makes it hard to focus on the job when you're literally bending the laws of physics right in front of me."

"Is it?" She smiles, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. Her head snaps back to her shoulders in a fluid, wet blur.

She stalks forward, her hips swaying with a liquid grace that defies standard anatomy. "Maybe I want you distracted. If you're looking at me, you aren't looking at the exit. And I’m not ready for you to leave yet."

"You've been teasing me since the Belial Goer," you mutter, reaching out to steady yourself against a crate as she closes the gap. "What do you want, Maria?"

"I want to see if you can handle how 'distracting' I can really be when I’m not holding back," she whispers, her voice a low vibration that thrums in your bones.

She doesn't wait for a rebuttal. Her arms suddenly lash out like silken whips, wrapping three times around your waist and pulling you flush against her.

You grunt as the impact hits, but her body isn't solid—it’s soft, yielding, and molding itself perfectly to every curve of your frame.

"Maria—"

"Shh," she whispers, her legs lengthening just enough to hook behind your knees, locking you to her like a second skin. "Don't talk. Just feel. Tell me, Y/N... do I feel real enough for you right now?"

"Too real," you groan, your hands finding the small of her back.

She sinks to her knees, but she doesn't move her body away. She keeps her torso pressed against your thighs, her arms still coiled around your hips, while her spine stretches and thins.

It allows her to reach your fly without letting go of your waist, her fingers nimble and warm. When she frees you, the cool air of the warehouse hits your skin, followed immediately by the scorching, velvet heat of her mouth.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Because she can control her internal density, the friction is perfect—snug, wet, and impossibly smooth. You groan, your hands finding her hair, but Maria is only just beginning.

While keeping her mouth firmly seated on you, she stretches her neck upward. Her head rises higher and higher, her throat elongating so she can look you directly in the eyes while she works.

The sight is surreal and intoxicating—watching her swallow you from a foot away, her eyes locked on yours with a predator’s intensity and a lover's heat.

"Look at me," she mumbles around you, the words vibrating through your skin. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see exactly what I'm doing to you."

She makes herself tighter, her internal muscles pulsing in a rhythmic, undulating wave that drags a ragged, breathless shout from your lungs.

"God, Maria... you're—" You can't even finish the thought before she intensifies the pressure, her throat rippling as she takes every inch of you.

When you’re on the edge, she doesn't pull away. She drinks every drop, her neck retracting as she gulps, a stray line of heat escaping the corner of her mouth.

She looks up at you, thumbing the moisture away, her expression a mix of smug triumph and pure, unadulterated hunger.

"I’ve wanted to do that since we left Nero 66," she admits, her voice husky. "Now, I want to feel you. All of you."

You move to the crates, turning her around. She drops into a crawl, her palms flat against the metal. But as you enter her, she proves just how "unfair" her powers are.

As you thrust, Maria’s upper body doesn't just stay down; she bends her spine backward in a complete, impossible U-turn. Her chest presses against her own thighs, her back arching until her face is right there, looking up at you upside down while you take her.

"Is this distracting enough for you?" she gasps, her eyes wide and dark, reflecting the flickering warehouse lights.

"It's driving me insane," you growl, slamming into her.

"Harder," she commands, her voice strained but steady. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile. I can take as much as you can give."

You oblige, gripping her hips. Maria responds by constricting. You can feel her internal walls shifting, wrapping around you like a living vice, molding to every ridge and vein.

You’re hitting her deep, and with every strike, she adjusts her elasticity to maximize the friction, making the fit tighter than humanly possible.

The pace turns rough, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the empty warehouse. Maria’s body is a masterpiece of flexibility; she wraps her legs around your waist, then stretches them further to hook behind your shoulders, pulling you deeper into her with every surge.

"You're perfect," you breathe, your forehead resting against hers as she remains bent backward, her face inches from yours.

"I'm yours," she counters, her breath hitching.

"I'm... I'm going to—"

"Do it," she gasps, her eyes never leaving yours even as her head lolls back against your chest, her neck wrapping slightly around your shoulder to keep you close. "Fill me up, Y/N. I want to feel every bit of it. Don't leave a single part of me empty."

You lose control, a desperate growl ripping from your throat as you spill inside her. Maria whimpers, her body rippling in a series of rhythmic contractions as she holds you tight, her internal muscles pulsing to draw everything out of you, ensuring none of it escapes.

⸻

The silence that follows is heavy, filled only by the sound of synchronized, ragged breathing and the distant hum of the ship's engines.

Slowly, Maria uncoils. Her limbs return to their natural proportions, though she stays draped over you, her skin warm, damp, and smelling of salt and spice.

She turns in your arms, resting her head on your shoulder. The "distraction" is gone, replaced by a profound, grounded weight. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the steady, human beat of her heart against your ribs.

"So," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "Now that you've seen what I can do... are you still worried about our partnership?"

You kiss the top of her head, leaning back against the crates and pulling her closer. "I think the partnership just got a lot more interesting. But you’re still a brat for the neck thing."

She giggles, a light, melodic sound, her body softening one last time as she drifts toward sleep in your arms. "Maybe. But I’m your brat. And I think you like the distraction more than you admit."

Reader: Older male genie reader (he/him),

NSFW: Chastity, bondage, gags and humiliation (i dont have strong limits. I just ask that the reader isnt abusive towards Tonraq nor does he or anyone engage in any forms of misogyny).

Sex Role: Dom reader

Setting: Set in an Aladdin AU, Tonraq is the Sultan of the kingdom and is recognized as a man of power by everyone. But no one knows that hes having sexual relations with a genie who has him locked in a chastity cage, which is his lamp, and makes him perform sexual acts in secret. You can decide on the intimate acts between them as long as Tonraq is kept caged and cloth gagged.

I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long :,)

MDNI 18+

Contains: sub!Tonraq x dom!maleGenieReader, bondage, cloth gagging, gag speak, male chastitsy, public humiliation, power exchange, orgasm denial

The Palace of the Southern Water Tribe rose from the coast as a monument to endurance—a citadel of stone and water-polished marble. To the outside world, Sultan Tonraq was the immovable force.

He was the ruler who had stitched the southern clans back together. Yet even the strongest current has an unseen undertow, and Tonraq’s was bound to the dull gleam of an ancient lamp and the entity who owned what he had surrendered.

The burden of rule had crushed him years earlier. He needed a place where the crown did not exist.

You had emerged from the lamp as something absolute. By day, you lent him the resolve to govern. By night, he yielded his freedom entirely.

Beneath ceremonial robes, Tonraq lived with a constant awareness of his submission. The chastity device—smooth, unyielding steel—was a permanent fixture. It pressed into him during councils, a silent, pinching reminder that while he commanded the South, he had no authority over himself.

⸻

The tension sharpened during a formal banquet for Earth Kingdom emissaries. You moved unseen, a presence like dry heat against coastal air. Tonraq presided at the table, posture flawless. Your voice brushed his ear as your unseen hand slipped beneath the table. A single touch against the lock of the cage was enough. His shoulders stiffened, the wine in his cup trembling.

“They believe your attention is on patrol routes,” you murmured. “But you’re counting every breath instead.”

Tonraq cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain the deep, steady baritone the public expected. “The naval rotations must remain consistent,” he said, his tone authoritative despite the fire blooming in his gut. “Any lapse would be costly.”

An elder across the table frowned slightly. “Sultan, are you unwell? You seem... distracted.”

Tonraq did not turn, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “The hall is warmer than expected,” he replied evenly, his eyes fixed forward. “Nothing more.”

Outwardly, he was the perfect sovereign. Internally, the contrast between his royal dignity and the cold steel locking him away left him burning with a secret shame.

⸻

When the last guest departed and the doors to his chambers sealed shut, the ruler ceased to exist. Tonraq undressed to the waist, revealing a body scarred and disciplined.

“Kneel,” you said, your tone final.

He obeyed, knees striking stone with a heavy thud. He offered his wrists, and you bound them high with coarse silk cords, pulling until tension settled in his shoulders.

Then you brought the cloth—heavy linen, folded thick. Tonraq opened his mouth on instinct. You filled the space, layer by layer, until his tongue was pinned and his jaw ached. The final wrap sealed his lips, knotted with a brutal snap at the back of his head.

“So this is the great Sultan,” you said, circling him. “The voice of a nation, reduced to silence. Tell me—does the title still matter now?”

He strained against the bindings, breath forced through his nose. He fought to perform his duty, to answer with the strength you demanded through the obstruction.

"Mm b-l’ng t’ yoo. Mm sh-p’k o-nlee wh-n a-l-ow’d." ("I belong to you. I speak only when allowed.")

⸻

The hours that followed were a slow, methodical dismantling of the Sultan’s dignity.

You moved with the unhurried grace of a master who knew their subject’s limits better than the man himself.

Tonraq remained on his knees, his torso a map of tensed muscle and glistening sweat, his arms pulled so high behind him that every breath was an exercise in endurance.

⸻

You draped yourself over his broad back, your chest pressing against his scarred shoulder blades. The contrast was striking—your cool, ethereal touch against the furnace of his skin.

You reached around his waist, your fingers dancing just above the cold steel of the chastity cage. You didn't unlock it; instead, you manipulated the device, tugging it just enough to make him grunt into the heavy linen of his gag.

"You’re so responsive tonight, Tonraq," you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Even through the steel, you're trying to reach for me. Show me how much you want it. Show me how the Sultan begs when he’s been silenced."

He bucked his hips instinctively, a sharp, rhythmic motion that sent the metal biting into his flesh.

The frustration was visible in the way his thighs shook, his knees grinding into the stone floor. He was a man built for action, for conquest, but here he was trapped in a cycle of rising need and clinical denial.

You used your magic to heighten the sensitivity of the skin trapped within the cage, making the confinement feel twice as narrow.

He tried to respond, his voice a deep, vibrating wreck that rattled against the padding in his mouth.

"‘T h-rr-tsh... b-t Mm n-ee-d m-rr. D-nn’t sht-pp." ("It hurts, but I need more. Do not stop.")

You increased the pace, your hands wandering over his pectorals, your thumbs catching his nipples and pulling sharply.

Tonraq’s head snapped back, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as a long, muffled wail of "Mmmph-nnngh!" tore from his throat.

You shifted your weight, grinding your own hips against his lower back, ensuring he felt every curve of your form while he remained encased in his metal cage.

The sensory overload was absolute.

You began to stroke the length of his bound thighs, your touch sparking like lightning against his skin, while the heavy cloth in his mouth forced him to swallow his own desperate groans.

"You look so beautiful like this," you purred, reaching around to grip the knot of his gag, tilting his head back until he was forced to look at you. "Muted. Bound. Caged. A ruler of thousands, but you can't even touch yourself. Tell me, who is the real master of the Southern Tribe?"

He heaved, his chest expanding to its limit, the silk cords around his wrists creaking with the strain as he tried to speak through the thick layers of the linen.

"Yoo ah-rr. Mm’m n-th’ng b’t yoor t’oy. P’lee-sh, Mmm-maish-t’rr." ("You are. I am nothing but your toy. Please, Master.")

⸻

You didn't give him the release he craved. Instead, you pushed him to the very brink of a ruined peak, using your influence to keep his body on the jagged edge of climax without ever letting the steel lock yield.

You spent time tracing the lines of his abs, your nails lightly scratching the skin, while he shuddered uncontrollably.

When he was at his most desperate, his muffled cries turning into rhythmic, animalistic hums of "Mmm-mmm-mmm!", you suddenly pulled back, leaving the heat to simmer into a dull, throbbing ache.

"Stay there," you commanded softly. "Let the cold remind you of the lock. You'll remain like this until the sun touches the horizon. Only then will I allow you to be the Sultan again."

He could only nod—a slow, heavy movement of his head that signaled his total, unyielding acceptance.

The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of a man who had found his only true peace in the complete surrender of his power.

⸻

The hours until dawn were a marathon of forced stillness. Tonraq remained exactly as you left him—kneeling on the frigid stone, his wrists cinched toward the ceiling, his jaw aching under the unyielding stretch of the linen gag.

He did not fight the discomfort; he wore it like a secret uniform that meant, for once, he didn't have to be the man with all the answers.

When the first sliver of grey light touched the frost on the window, the magic receded.

Tonraq worked his hands free and untied the knots of the gag, his mouth feeling cavernous and dry once the fabric was removed. He sat on his heels for a moment, savoring the lingering heat of the humiliation.

By the time the palace stirred, the Sultan had returned. He dressed in his heavy, fur-lined regalia, the weight of the blue fabric hiding the steel lock that still pinched his skin.

He stood on the Great Balcony overlooking the capital, his face a mask of iron-hard resolve.

"The South is strong!" he proclaimed, his voice booming over the harbor with an authority that seemed to shake the very ice. "We do not break. We do not falter. We endure!"

The roar of the people was deafening. They saw a conqueror who bowed to no one.

They would never know that their leader’s greatest strength was his ability to be utterly broken in the dark.

⸻

As he stepped back inside, Tonraq felt a dark, private thrill. The more they cheered for his "unbreakable" spirit, the more he cherished the memory of the night’s ruin.

He realized that he wasn't burdened by the bargain; he was unburdened by it.

By surrendering his will to you in the dark, he found the strength to carry the world in the light.

So now, are you familiar with any of the following? Yugioh, the Disney movies, the legend of korra, dangan ronpa, akudama drive, my hero academia, hunter x hunter, samurai jack, dbz, mob psycho 100, pokemon, gravity falls, jjk, one piece, voltron, urasawa's pluto.

I know disney, legend of korra, mha, hxh, dbz, mob psycho 100, pokemon, gravity falls, jjk and one piece

Now, do you only write for characters from your masterlist or can you do other shows and characters as long as you're familiar with them?

Also, how do you feel about the following kinks? Male bondage, chastity cages, gags, exhibitionism, drowning, male orgasms, public nudity, hypnosis, duct tape mummification, consensual servitude, dub con, humiliation, harem boys, prostitution. Ill choose the ones that you're most comfortable and interested in.

i write for any character you ask for, in case i dont know them i can either read a bit about them to know the context of the anime/serie or invent the au based on their personality alone, that's up to what your request is

about the kinks you just listed:

About the harem, just as mentioned in my rules i don't really like to do gangbang, if you want nsfw with more than three people in total i cannot do that. If what you want is more like a story with no explicit scenes then it's perfectly fine for me

Feel free to ask whatever's in your mind!

Contains: vampires, manipulative and flirtatious behavior, jealousy, emotional and sexual tension, power imbalance, obsessive themes.

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 1

The iron gates open slowly, their groan swallowed by the fog curling around the Sakamaki mansion. You step forward without hesitation, boots crunching against gravel, posture relaxed like you own the place. In a way, you always have.

The mansion hasn’t changed—still dark, still suffocating—but the memories hit harder than you expect. Laughter echoing through endless halls. Blood-stained nights disguised as games. Six boys who were never just friends, no matter how much they tried to pretend.

You stop at the front door and don’t bother knocking.

It opens almost immediately.

Reiji stands there, immaculate as always, glasses catching the dim light. His eyes narrow the second they land on you, surprise flickering for only a heartbeat before being buried under composure. “I should have known,” he says coolly. “Only you would return as if nothing happened.”

You smile, slow and confident. “Good to see you too, Reiji.”

You step inside, brushing past him deliberately close. His jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening despite himself. The entrance hall suddenly feels smaller, heavier, like the mansion itself recognizes you. Somewhere upstairs, hurried footsteps echo. Somewhere deeper inside, a low scoff cuts through the silence.

Ayato storms into view, irritation written all over his face—until his eyes land on you. For a brief second, his confidence cracks. “You’ve got some nerve,” he snaps. “You think you can just come back after disappearing for decades?”

You shrug casually. “You survived without me. Barely.”

“Tch—!” His fangs flash as he scowls, but his gaze lingers far too long, burning like he’s trying to memorize every detail again. Like some part of him is relieved you’re real.

Kanato peeks out from behind him, clutching Teddy tighter than before. His smile is thin, unstable. “You came back,” he says softly. “That’s not fair. I was getting used to hating you.”

You crouch slightly to meet his eyes, your voice gentle but deliberate. “You were always bad at that.”

His breath stutters, fingers tightening around the stuffed bear.

From the couch, Shu finally looks up. His lazy expression falters when his eyes meet yours, something dark and unresolved passing through them. “Annoying,” he mutters. After a pause, quieter, “Why’d you come back now?”

Before you answer, soft footsteps echo down the hall, drawing your attention.

A human girl steps into view, holding a tray like it might save her if she drops it. Blond hair frames her face, catching the dim light, and her pink eyes widen the moment they land on you. Her heartbeat is loud—nervous, human, fragile. Yui Komori.

Interesting.

You turn fully toward her, your tone instantly warmer. “Hey,” you say. “You look like you’re about to drop that.”

She startles. “O-Oh—sorry, I—”

You reach out and steady the tray, your fingers brushing hers on purpose. She freezes, breath hitching. “Careful,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Her face flushes deeply. “Th-thank you… sir.”

Ayato clicks his tongue sharply. “Oi. Quit flirting with her.”

You glance back at him, amused. “I’m just being polite.”

Subaru grips the banister nearby, wood creaking under his strength. “Don’t touch her,” he growls, eyes locked on your hand like he’s imagining snapping it.

You ignore him and lean slightly closer to Yui, lowering your voice. “Yui, right?” you say, tasting her name. “It suits you.”

Kanato’s smile twitches, eyes darkening. “Why are you talking to her like that?” he asks. “You used to talk to us like that.”

The air thickens instantly. Reiji clears his throat, irritation sharp. “That is enough. You are intentionally provoking them.”

You finally step back, lifting your hands in mock innocence, but your smile only widens. “If they’re bothered, that’s not my fault.”

Yui bows quickly and hurries away, blond hair swaying as she disappears down the hall. Every one of them watches her go—then their attention snaps back to you, expressions darker than before.

For a moment, something feels… incomplete.

Then a familiar chuckle drifts down from above.

“Well now… this brings back memories~”

You look up.

Laito is leaning lazily against the railing at the top of the staircase, hat tilted low, emerald eyes gleaming with unmistakable interest. He descends slowly, eyes never leaving you, smile playful but sharp around the edges. “I was wondering when you’d finally show your face again, mein Schatz.”

Ayato scowls immediately. “Don’t start, Laito.”

Laito ignores him, stopping far too close to you. His gaze drags over you openly, unapologetic. “You disappeared without a word,” he says lightly. “That hurt, you know. I hate being abandoned.”

You meet his stare without flinching. “You never liked being left behind.”

A flicker of something dark crosses his eyes before he laughs softly. His attention shifts briefly toward the hallway where Yui vanished. “And now you’re charming the little human already,” he adds. “How cruel.”

The jealousy in the room sharpens instantly—Subaru’s anger, Ayato’s irritation, Kanato’s instability, Shu’s quiet intensity, Reiji’s restrained displeasure. All of it coils tighter around you.

“Should I not?” you reply calmly. “She caught my attention.”

Laito’s smile thins. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re reopening old wounds.”

⸻

Later that night, the mansion feels restless, like it hasn’t slept since you arrived.

Ayato corners you in the hallway, slamming a hand beside your head. “You think this is funny?” he snarls. “Coming back and messing with her—and with us?”

You lean in slightly, voice low and teasing. “You’re the one getting worked up.”

Shu watches from the shadows, eyes heavy with something he never said. Subaru’s anger simmers just beneath the surface. Kanato’s jealousy twists into something dangerous. Reiji observes you like a problem with no solution. And Laito—Laito watches like a predator who just found something he lost.

And Yui—sweet, human Yui—keeps glancing your way when she thinks no one notices.

You didn’t come back to be forgiven.

You came back because none of them ever stopped wanting you—and now that you’re here again, the balance of the mansion is already breaking.

I've been kinda busy these past months (i was studying abroad) and i'll start soon a new job, buuut i'll try my best to keep posting as i really like it

I've opened the requests, you can find the rules in my pinned post

I'm running out of ideas so DONT HESITATE TO ASK FOR YOUR FAV CHARACTERRRR

MDNI +18 only

Contains: dom!maleReader x sub!Kageyama, jealousy, creampie, possessive behavior, mild praise/teasing, post-high school AU

( This is long )

The low hum of your motorcycle filled the street as you pulled into the familiar lot outside Karasuno’s gym. Even years after graduating, the place still carried the same energy—the faint thud of balls, the rhythm of sneakers squeaking against the floor, and the chatter of players determined to leave everything on the court.

You killed the engine, swung your leg over the bike, and tugged off your gloves, sliding them into your jacket pocket. A few university students passing by slowed their steps, stealing glances at the sleek machine and the rider who handled it with such ease. You barely noticed. Your eyes were already on the gym doors.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed just like it always had, only now the players were older, stronger, sharper. A practice match was winding down, and the sound of Hinata’s laughter rang above the rest.

“Oi!” he called when he noticed you, bounding over with the same energy he’d had in high school, only taller now, more filled out from years of training. “You came at the perfect time—you should’ve seen my last jump. I’m telling you, one day I’ll get higher than Kageyama for good.”

You chuckled, leaning down slightly so he didn’t have to shout. “Yeah? You’ll have to prove it to me sometime. I’ll be the judge.”

Hinata grinned, chest puffed out in pride, before jogging back to the others.

You watched him go, amusement tugging at your lips, until the weight of a stare pressed against you. Across the court, Kageyama stood with his arms folded, his posture stiff and eyes locked directly on you. His expression might have looked unreadable to anyone else, but you’d known him long enough to catch the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the sharp, unblinking focus that spoke louder than words.

You excused yourself from the others and crossed the gym. The moment you were within arm’s reach, you dipped your voice low. “You’re glaring so hard, you’ll scare your teammates.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” he muttered defensively, though his voice betrayed him. He looked away, arms crossing tighter. “You were smiling too much with Hinata.”

Your lips curved slightly. “So that’s what this is about.” You leaned in closer, letting your hand ghost against his arm. “Are you jealous?”

Kageyama’s face flushed instantly. “No! I’m not—” He stopped, biting down on the words, but his silence said everything.

“Mm.” You chuckled softly, tilting his chin with two fingers so he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “Then maybe you should stand closer next time, instead of sulking across the gym.”

He huffed but didn’t pull away, his ears red, his pride crumbling under your steady gaze. “…I don’t like it,” he admitted finally, barely audible.

“That’s better,” you said, brushing your thumb across his jaw before stepping back. “Now come on. You’re done here anyway.”

The ride back was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Kageyama clung to you firmly from the back of the bike, his grip tighter than usual, and you could practically feel the tension lingering from earlier.

⸻

At your apartment, he stepped inside first, pulling off his helmet with an awkward kind of relief. He set it down carefully on the counter, then turned to you, eyes sharp but restless.

“Why do you always talk to him like that?” he blurted suddenly, the words rushing out before he could stop himself.

You raised a brow, amused by how worked up he still was. “Like what?” you asked, stepping closer until his back brushed against the wall.

“Like—like you’re interested,” he muttered, eyes flicking away.

Your hand landed firmly on his waist, steadying him in place. “I was being friendly. But if you think anyone else matters compared to you, you’re wrong.”

He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven as your closeness ate away at the last of his defenses. “…Then prove it.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

His eyes darted back to yours, determined despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “I do.”

The room seemed to shrink between you as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt. He melted quickly, his stubbornness unraveling under the firm press of your mouth.

One hand tangled in his hair while the other stayed on his waist, holding him steady as his hands fumbled to grip the front of your jacket.

When you pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed deep. “Still worried about Hinata?” you murmured against his lips.

He frowned, biting his lip before answering. “No… just—” His voice caught, then steadied. “I don’t like sharing your attention.”

“Good,” you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Then don’t make me waste it on anyone else.”

Before he could respond, you kissed him—harder this time, leaving him breathless as he grabbed fistfuls of your shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You guided him backward, lips never leaving his, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch and he collapsed onto it. You followed, caging him in, one hand gripping his thigh firmly.

⸻

The air in the apartment was heavy now, thick with the heat of your kiss still lingering on his lips. Kageyama’s chest rose and fell quickly, he looked up at you from the couch, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Take this off,” you said, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He hesitated only a second before pulling it over his head, dropping it onto the floor. His body was tense, his muscles firm from years of volleyball, but the way he squirmed under your gaze gave him away.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss his collarbone, dragging your lips across the skin until you felt him shiver. “All of this is mine.”

“Yours,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

Your hands moved down, undoing the knot of his shorts and sliding them down along with his briefs.

He hissed when the cool air hit his heated skin, his cock already hard and straining. You wrapped your hand around him immediately, firm and slow, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted with a soft moan.

“You get like this just from me touching you,” you said, your thumb brushing across his tip, spreading the bead of slick there. He choked on a sound, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

“Please—” he gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t—don’t make me wait too long.”

You chuckled darkly, pressing your palm against his chest to keep him pinned down when he tried to arch up. “You’ll take what I give you. You understand?”

His throat bobbed as he nodded quickly. “Yes.”

Satisfied, you slid lower, kissing down his stomach, biting lightly at the sensitive skin of his hip before finally taking him into your mouth. His entire body jerked at the contact, his fingers immediately tangling in your hair.

“Ah—! Wait—” he gasped, his voice cracking into a strangled moan. His grip on your hair tightened as you sank deeper, your tongue pressing against him, your pace slow and deliberate at first.

You could feel the way his thighs trembled under your hands as you held him open, his breath ragged, every sound spilling out of him raw and unrestrained.

“You’re so loud,” you murmured when you pulled back just enough to breathe, stroking him with your hand as your lips brushed his tip. “What if the neighbors hear you?”

“I—I don’t care,” he panted, desperation thick in his voice. “Just—don’t stop, please—”

You smirked before taking him fully again, this time faster, your hand stroking the base while your tongue worked the rest. Kageyama’s moans grew louder, broken pleas tumbling from his mouth as his body arched against the couch, unable to fight the overwhelming pleasure. His hands clutched at you like he was afraid to let go.

It didn’t take long before his breathing hitched, his body going taut as he spilled into your mouth with a sharp cry of your name. You swallowed every drop, keeping him there until he sagged back into the cushions, trembling, his face flushed scarlet.

When you finally pulled away, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, you leaned back over him, kissing him deeply so he could taste himself on your lips.

“You’re mine,” you whispered against his mouth, your hand cupping his cheek gently now. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

His voice was weak, hoarse, but certain. “I know. I don’t want anyone else.”

⸻

Kageyama’s body was still trembling from your mouth, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His lips were red from biting down to muffle himself, though he hadn’t done a very good job—his voice had carried, raw and unfiltered.

You kissed him again, slow but deep, tasting the way his breath stuttered against yours. When you pulled back, your hand slid down, gripping his thigh firmly.

“You’re not done,” you murmured, watching his eyes widen slightly.

He swallowed hard, his body already reacting even though he was still sensitive. “I… I can keep going.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

You spread his legs wider, pulling him down so his hips rested at the edge of the couch. The way he looked up at you—nervous but needy, his hands fisting the cushions—only made you harder.

Your fingers slid lower, teasing him first. You rubbed circles against his rim, slicking your fingers before pressing one inside slowly. He gasped, his back arching as he grabbed at your wrist, not to stop you, but to ground himself.

“Relax,” you whispered, kissing his neck as you pushed deeper. “Breathe.”

His chest heaved as he nodded quickly, forcing himself to loosen up. The sound he made when you added a second finger was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, his thighs trembling against your sides.

“Good,” you praised, scissoring your fingers carefully. “You’re taking it so well.”

“Feels… weird,” he admitted, voice hoarse, but then his head fell back when you brushed that spot inside him that made his whole body jolt. “Ah—! There—”

You smirked, working him open until he was writhing beneath you, sweat beading at his temples. When you finally pulled your fingers out, he let out a desperate sound, already missing the fullness.

“Don’t worry,” you said, undoing your jeans. “You’ll get more.”

His eyes flicked down, then back up, wide with anticipation. His hands gripped the couch tighter as you lined yourself up against him. “Wait,” he breathed, nervousness flashing across his face.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body.

That was all you needed. You pushed in slowly, stretching him inch by inch. His breath hitched, his nails digging into the cushions, but he never told you to stop. You kissed the corner of his mouth, whispering encouragements until you were fully inside, buried deep.

“Fuck—” you groaned, clenching your jaw at how tight he was around you. “You feel incredible.”

Kageyama whimpered, his arms wrapping around your shoulders like he needed to hold onto something solid. “It’s—so much,” he gasped, his voice breaking.

You gave him time, kissing along his neck until his grip loosened and he nodded faintly. Only then did you start moving, shallow thrusts at first, letting him adjust. His moans grew louder with each one, his body finally relaxing enough to meet you halfway.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your pace quickening. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, his voice mixing with your low groans. His legs tightened around your waist, pulling you deeper, his desperation showing in every movement.

“Right there—” he cried out suddenly, his whole body shuddering when you angled your hips to hit that spot inside him. His eyes squeezed shut, his mouth falling open as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him.

“That’s it,” you urged, thrusting harder, your hand sliding down to stroke him in time with your movements. “Come for me again.”

He broke quickly, his release spilling hot across his stomach, his body clenching so tightly around you it dragged you over the edge too. You buried yourself deep as you came, groaning his name into the crook of his neck.

⸻

You stayed there for a while, both of you still catching your breath, his chest rising fast against yours. His skin was warm and damp, his hair sticking to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to care—he only clung tighter, his legs still looped lazily around your waist.

When you shifted to pull out, he let out a quiet sound, almost a whine, burying his face in your neck.

“Don’t move yet,” he murmured, voice hoarse but small.

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Greedy.”

He gave you a weak glare, but it melted quickly into a sheepish look. “…Just stay.”

So you did. And later, when he finally let you move, it wasn’t long before you found yourselves tangled together again—his body eager despite his earlier exhaustion, your patience wearing thin whenever he whispered your name with that needy edge.

By the time everything slowed, Kageyama was sprawled across your chest, his breath steady, his hand clutching the hem of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away in the night. You brushed your fingers through his hair, the silence comfortable now, heavy with contentment.

“You know,” you said quietly, breaking the stillness, “you’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.”

He groaned, burying his face deeper against you. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“But it’s true.” You kissed the top of his head, chuckling when he swatted at your side half-heartedly. “Don’t worry—I’ll keep all my smiles for you.”

There was a pause, then a muffled, almost embarrassed reply: “…Good.”

You tightened your arms around him, feeling him finally relax completely. Outside, the city was quiet, the faint glow of streetlights slipping in through the window. Inside, the only thing that mattered was the steady warmth of him pressed against you.

Hi!! Oh my god i'm sorry i didn't see your request until now (idk why my notis don't pop up) and i havent been active lately.

Rn the requests are closed as i'm gonna be a bit busy the upcoming days BUT i'll gladly do the second part of it, just wait for a bit!!

Again i'm sorry 😅 And i hope you like it as much as the first part :)

HERE IT GOES!! updated

Second place looks good on you

Part 2 (as requested) Here is part 1

Contains: dom!reader x sub!Character, academic rivalry, jealousy, teasing, touch teasing, flustered reactions, slow-burn tension, obsession

It starts small.

The shift is subtle, almost unnoticeable at first—except you notice everything about him. The way he doesn’t pull away quite as quickly when your knee brushes his under the desk. How his glare lingers a second too long, heat replacing the sharp edge. How, when you slide into the seat beside him, his body stiffens… but never moves.

And then, the slips.

Like the day in the library when his hand accidentally brushes yours as he reaches for his pen. He freezes, breath caught, but he doesn’t jerk away. He just sits there, staring at the overlapping space like it’s a sin he can’t stop committing.

You smirk. “Careful. Keep touching me like that and people might get ideas.”

His ears burn. “I didn’t—! You—shut up…” But he doesn’t move his hand. Not right away. Not until you let your pinky nudge against his, slow, deliberate, watching him practically combust.

It becomes a pattern. You tease. He denies. And yet, he stays. Every single time.

⸻

One afternoon, the two of you end up assigned to work on a project together.

The classroom’s nearly empty, just the quiet scratch of pens and the hum of the air conditioner. He’s hunched over his notebook, trying so hard to focus, scribbling equations like his life depends on it. You, on the other hand, are much more interested in watching the way his hand shakes when your arm brushes against his.

“Relax,” you murmur, leaning closer, chin nearly resting on his shoulder as you peek at his notes. “You’ll break your pencil if you grip it any tighter.”

He stiffens, teeth gritted. “Don’t… lean so close.”

“Why not?” Your voice dips, teasing but soft. “Does it make you nervous?”

His pen stills. His jaw clenches. “You’re… distracting.”

You grin, letting your breath ghost against his ear. “Good.”

He shudders, the tiniest sound escaping his throat—half groan, half surrender. His pencil falls, forgotten. For a second, he just sits there, trembling, like fighting you off has drained every ounce of willpower he had left.

And then, in a voice so quiet it barely reaches you: “…You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” You smirk, letting your hand slide across the desk until your fingers brush his. “But you like me anyway.”

He glares—weak, half-hearted—but he doesn’t argue.

⸻

The cafeteria is where it happens next.

You sit beside him, tray clattering down as if the seat’s always belonged to you. His friends throw each other looks, whispering, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell you to move. He doesn’t tell you to stop.

Instead, when your knee bumps his under the table, he presses back. Not hard. Not bold. But steady. Intentional.

You glance at him, smirk tugging your lips. “Oh? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

His face is crimson, eyes flicking anywhere but you. But his leg doesn’t move. Not even when you push a little harder, until the press feels more like a claim than an accident.

⸻

Over time, the teasing sharpens into something else. Something that feels less like mockery, more like a language only the two of you speak.

“Still in second place,” you hum one morning, dropping your bag onto his desk without asking.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet—” You lean down, your breath brushing his cheek, “—you’re still here.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours for a heartbeat too long. His lips part, words caught on the edge of breaking free. But then he mutters, “Shut up,” and shoves his notebook at you like it’ll hide the heat in his face.

You chuckle, settling into the seat beside him. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

⸻

It happens one evening, when the campus has already gone quiet and most students have cleared out.

The two of you are still in the library, textbooks spread across the table, a shared silence broken only by the faint rustle of pages. He looks exhausted, hair falling into his eyes, pen tapping against his notebook in distracted rhythm.

You stretch, leaning back, watching him with lazy amusement. “You know, you could take a break.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, not looking up. “If I stop, I’ll fall behind.”

“Behind me, you mean?” You grin.

His pen freezes. Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze. And for the first time, there’s no glare. No sharp retort. Just… rawness. Tired, vulnerable, real.

“You don’t get it,” he says quietly, almost pleading. “It’s not just about the grades. It’s you. It’s always you. You’re in my head all the time and I can’t… I can’t think straight.” His voice cracks. “I hate it.”

You stare for a beat, your smirk softening into something else. Something warmer.

And then, slowly, you reach out, letting your hand rest over his. Not teasing. Not fleeting. Just steady, grounding.

“Maybe,” you murmur, “you don’t hate it as much as you think.”

He swallows hard, eyes wide. His hand trembles under yours—but he doesn’t pull away. Not this time.

⸻

From then on, it changes.

The teasing doesn’t stop—of course it doesn’t—but it deepens. Shifts.

A hand brushing his under the desk turns into fingers lingering just a little longer. A playful taunt in the hallway turns into whispered words close enough that his breath catches. A casual bump of the knee becomes his knee pressing back, steady, certain.

He still denies. Still stammers. Still flushes crimson every time you catch him staring. But now, when you lean in, he doesn’t just endure it—he leans back, just enough to meet you halfway.

And one night, walking side by side after class, the air heavy with words unspoken, you let your hand graze his. He jolts, as always… but then, hesitantly, he threads his fingers through yours.

No words. No teasing. Just silence.

And for once, you don’t ruin it. You just squeeze his hand, steady, sure, and keep walking.

Because you already know.

Contains: dom!maleReader x sub!Tartaglia, jealousy, possessive behavior, heated rivalry, intense physical tension (non-explicit), enemies-to-lovers au

The halls of the stronghold glimmered with frost, torches hissing faintly in the draft. Tartaglia leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes locked on the far side of the chamber.

You were there, as always. Commanding attention without trying, speaking easily with another officer. The man laughed, head tipping back as his hand brushed your arm. You didn’t move away — in fact, you leaned in, lips quirking into a sly smile as if you were in on some private joke.

The sound grated on Childe’s ears. He looked away, jaw tight, but his eyes betrayed him, dragging back to the scene again and again until the other officer finally left.

Only then did you turn, as though you had felt the weight of his stare the entire time. Your smirk was instant, deliberate, as you crossed the hall with unhurried steps.

“Something bothering you, Childe?” your voice purred, low enough to be for him alone.

His lips curled into a humorless smile. “Not at all. Just wondering if you’re capable of keeping your hands to yourself.”

You chuckled, tilting your head. “Funny. He touched me, not the other way around. Unless…” You leaned slightly closer, eyes glittering. “Unless you’re saying you wanted to be the one doing it.”

The tips of his ears burned. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Mm. Denial,” you mused, circling him like a predator that had caught the scent of weakness. “You wear it well. Almost convincing, if not for the way you’re glaring holes through anyone who looks at me.”

He pushed off the wall, straightening to his full height. His smile was sharp, sarcastic. “Maybe I just hate your face. Ever think of that?”

You stepped closer until your chest nearly brushed his, your voice dropping. “Then stop staring at it like you’re starving.”

His breath hitched, barely audible, but you caught it. You always did.

⸻

The storm screamed outside the ruined outpost where you’d made camp. A fire snapped in the center, throwing shadows against the cracked stone walls.

Childe sat hunched forward, one hand braced on his knee, the other gripping the hilt of his blade. He was silent, too silent, his eyes fixed on the flames as though they’d done him personal wrong.

You lounged across from him, one leg crossed over the other, chin resting on your hand. The firelight carved gold into your features, highlighting the smug curve of your mouth.

“You’ve been sulking since we left the stronghold,” you remarked. “I can guess why.”

His eyes cut to you, sharp and defensive. “You think too highly of yourself. I don’t care who you flirt with.”

“Oh?” you asked, your voice a purr. “Because you looked ready to tear that officer’s throat out earlier.”

He barked a short laugh, all sharp edges. “Please. If I wanted him gone, I wouldn’t have wasted time glaring. I’d have buried him in the snow.”

You grinned, pushing off your seat. Slowly, deliberately, you walked around the fire, boots crunching against loose stones, until you stood in front of him. “Then why didn’t you?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked away instead, jaw clenching.

You crouched, resting one hand on his knee, leaning close enough that his breath stirred against your cheek. “Because the problem wasn’t him.”

He flinched, muscles taut beneath your touch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you whispered, fingers trailing lightly up his thigh. “Don’t say what you’re already thinking? Don’t notice how your pulse jumps when I touch you?”

He grabbed your wrist, eyes blazing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re trembling,” you countered, your grin widening.

“From rage,” he snapped, though the crack in his voice betrayed him.

“From wanting,” you corrected softly.

His grip faltered. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his sarcasm failing him for once. He turned his face away, but you tilted his chin back with two fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Say it,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lip. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

⸻

The fire crackled, the storm howled, but all Tartaglia could hear was the pounding of his own heart. His fists clenched, his pride screamed for him to shove you away, to spit another sarcastic remark, to prove he wasn’t caught in your game.

Instead, he surged forward, crashing his mouth against yours.

The kiss was rough, heated, full of teeth and fury. His hand fisted in your coat, dragging you closer, as if daring you to laugh at him. You did — a low, dark chuckle against his lips — and then you kissed him back harder, your grip sliding to the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place.

His breath came ragged, his lips swollen as you claimed every ounce of fight he tried to muster. He broke away only long enough to rasp, “I hate you.”

You caught his jaw, tilting his head back into another kiss before he could say more. “You taste like lies,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but the words trembled, his voice betraying the hunger in his chest.

You pressed your forehead to his, your thumb stroking along the line of his jaw. “Make me.”

The words hung heavy between you, daring, taunting.

Childe’s breath stuttered. His fists clenched tighter into your coat, pulling you against him as if to prove he still had control. But the way his lips trembled, the heat radiating off him, betrayed the truth. He didn’t want you to stop — he wanted you closer.

So you obliged.

You pushed him back until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall, your body caging his in. He hissed at the impact, but the sound melted into a gasp when your mouth caught his again, deeper this time, slower — a deliberate claiming.

His sarcasm faltered. The proud mask he wore cracked under the weight of your touch, his body arching just slightly toward yours despite himself.

“Still hate me?” you murmured against his lips, your hand sliding up to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing the heat blooming there.

“Yes,” he breathed, but the word shook, soft and unconvincing.

You smiled, pressing your forehead to his, your voice low and velvet. “Then kiss me like you mean it.”

And he did. This time without the veneer of anger, without the shield of sarcasm. The kiss that followed was raw, desperate — a silent confession of everything he refused to put into words. His hands clutched at you like he was drowning, as if letting go would mean surrendering more than just the fight.

When you finally pulled back, his lips were red, his breath uneven, his blue eyes burning with something he couldn’t disguise anymore.

You held him there, steadying him with your hand at his throat — not choking, just reminding him who had cornered who.

“Good boy,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the storm outside.