𓂃 𓈒𓏸 𝑴𝑱

𝐿𝑒𝓉’𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒…

𝙄 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚.

Trapped in a beautiful nightmare you feel the weight of yearning, obsession & possession hanging thickly in the air. A world where men lose themselves in you, where obsession masquerades as worship & where every beating heart belongs to someone who cannot bear to let it go. Ever.

Welcome to the dream & to the nightmare. Welcome home.

cw ⌇ morning sex

The morning light seeped in through the curtains, warm and pale against your sheets. The apartment was silent. No voices, no traffic, no alarms. Only the soft, steady rhythm of breath.

Sae had been awake for a while. Always been the one waking up first, but this morning he didn’t move.

He stayed behind you, chest to your back, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, the other heavy around your waist. His face was pressed into your hair, his breath slow and even. The blankets were tangled between your legs, heat pooled beneath your skin, and he could feel every part of you. Bare. Soft. Warm.

His hand shifted slowly, sliding down over your stomach, brushing over your hips, tracing the dip between your thighs. Your breath caught softly, thighs twitching.

He found you wet already. It wasn’t surprise, because this was your man and the passion he showed only to you had you filled with need. That quiet ache you carried for him. Your body had long since learned him and now craved him without warning.

He rutted forward once, slow and shallow, grinding the head of his cock between your thighs. He swallowed hard, jaw tight. The only sound was the soft rustle of sheets, the slow drag of skin on skin, the barely-there whimper in your throat.

He lined up, and stretched you so good. His thickness filled you inch by devastating inch until your thighs shook. You both exhaled. A soft gasp from you, and a shaky breath from Sae.

Sex with Sae could be loud and filthy sometimes. But this morning it was this slow drag.

Your stomach fluttered as he went in deep, unhurried. Instead of brutal snaps you get spoiled to feel every vein and the curve of his cock. He was so patient, dragging it out. His lips barely lifted off the mattress as he took you gently.

Your fingers curled into the pillow as your thighs trembled slightly. His mouth found the back of your neck. He kissed, he breathed you in, he moaned quietly.

It was so quiet and so intimate.

The wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the soft slap of skin, the occasional sigh when your breath caught on his name. It was everything. It was all there.

He held you tighter, fucked into you just a little deeper. Your back arched slightly, pressing into him, and that made him groan throatily, buried in your hair because he couldn’t help it. Your hips moved now, matching him.

Lazy, desperate, but so full of heat.

And when you came, it wasn’t with a scream. It was a gasp. A soft, choked moan pressed into the pillow as you clenched around him, trembling so quietly it felt like dreaming.

Sae held still inside you, throbbing, devastated. He fucked you through it, gentle, slower now. A few more thrusts and he spilled into you with a stuttering breath, head pressed between your shoulder blades like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

You stayed there, joined and trembling.

i’m soooo not normal about this thought. can we imagine bunny who just won the world cup?? and maybe he even was the reason for the winning goal???

and then he’d proudly walk the field with you and maybe he even cries into your chest and it’s just soooo emotional.

but you know what happens when bunny is pumped with adrenaline after a win. suddenly his large hand is covering your mouth and you hear the team celebrating in the background while he wrecks your cunt. and i mean wrecking, cuz he had been hard since the winning goal and now he drills your hole with precision.

You weren’t sure when teasing Sukuna became your second job. When that deep respect for the king of curses turned into something sinfully playful.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, acting like he already owned every inch of you and was just letting you pretend otherwise. So tonight you pushed it further. Short skirt, no panties, sitting in his lap all big eyes and fake innocence.

Big mistake.

Now your thighs burned from how long you’d been riding his two cocks, knees digging into the plush bed while his massive hands kept your hips in place, forcing your pace. You tried to slow down, a breathy whine catching in your throat. That earned you a hard slap to your ass.

“Sukuna!” you pouted.

“Who told you to stop?” he growled. “Keep bouncing. You wanted to act like a whore, now earn it.”

You whimpered, body twitching from overstimulation, but your hands scrambled for his chest. For that mouth on his stomach that licked your wrists teasingly.

You tried to balance as you moved again, grinding down on the thick, pulsing cocks splitting your cunt and asshole open.

He watched you from beneath half-lidded eyes, his mouth curls into a lazy, hungry smirk.

“Look at you,” he mumbled, “Dripping like a bitch in heat. Thought I didn’t notice the way you were eye fucking me all night?”

You gasped as he thrust upward suddenly, stealing your rhythm and making you cry out. His hand gripped your throat to hold and own. He pulled you down until your forehead pressed against his and you could feel the rumble of his amusement in your chest.

“These holes are mine,” he hissed deadly. “Every time you walk, you’ll feel me. Every time you sit, you’ll remember this.”

Your legs began to shake. His name left your lips, praising him, cursing him and everything in between. Sukuna smirked, dragging one of your hands down between your legs.

“Touch yourself. Let me see you fall apart while you fuck yourself on my cocks.”

Your fingers slid over your swollen clit, slick from both your arousal and the mess he’d already made of you. The sensation tipped you over too fast and your body arched into him as you cried out his name, vision going white.

But Sukuna wasn’t done. This wasn’t only stamina, but pure possessive dominance.

cw ⌇ ex boyfriend sae ◞ bathroom sex

The last person you wanted to see when you slipped into that half-lit bar was him. Sae Itoshi, leaning back against the counter like he owned the whole place, hair shorter than you remembered, eyes still carrying that bored, cutthroat gleam. The years hadn’t softened him at all. Not his arrogance, not that sharp tongue.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

His gaze flicked up and a smirk curved his lips. “Well. If it isn’t my favorite headache.”

You rolled your eyes, already heading toward the door, but his voice followed you. “Still running away when you can’t handle me?”

You stopped. Turned. “Handle you?” you scoffed, fists clenched at your sides. “You’re an arrogant, insufferable bastard.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pushing off the counter, closing the distance between you in measured steps, “You keep coming back.”

You should’ve left. Should’ve brushed past him and let him drown in his own ego. But something in the way his eyes pinned you in place held you still, like he knew every little nerve to set on fire. And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you’d hated him for so long it twisted into something else entirely, but one second you were glaring and the next your back hit the bathroom door with his mouth crushing against yours. It was a war disguised as a kiss, teeth clashing, lips bruising, his hand already dragging your thigh up against his hip.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your mouth, pulling it open with his tongue, tasting every inch. “Always so loud, so self-righteous. But look at you now.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, but your voice broke into a gasp when his hand slipped under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, pressing you harder into the door.

“Make me.”

The words came with a thrust of his hips, already hard against you and you hated the way your body betrayed you. How you arched your back, how you let out that needy little sound in your throat.

He smirked, catching it, exploiting it. “That’s what I thought.”

The bathroom was locked a second later, and he had you bent over the sink, the mirror reflecting your flushed, furious face as he yanked your jeans down.

“You don’t deserve—” you tried, but your voice faltered as his fingers slid through your wet pussy.

“Don’t deserve this?” he interrupted with venom, pushing two fingers inside without warning. “Tell me to stop, then. Tell me you don’t want me.”

The worst part was you couldn’t. Your body clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking, the heat in your stomach boiling over until words died on your tongue. He leaned down, mouth by your ear, thrusting his fingers harder, deeper. “Exactly. You hate me, but you’d let me ruin you any night I want.”

The sound you made only proved him right. By the time he slid into you, rough and unyielding, you were already trembling, nails digging into the porcelain. He didn’t give you time to adjust as he set a sharp, brutal rhythm that had your breath shattering into ragged moans.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, head dropping against your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Been waiting for this, haven’t you? All those years and you’re still mine the second I touch you.”

“I’m not—” the denial cracked into a cry when he drove in harder, hips slamming into yours.

He laughed, almost cruel, one hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back so you had no choice but to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look. Even you can’t lie to yourself right now.”

Your reflection showed everything: the tears gathering in your eyes, the flush across your cheeks, the way your lips parted around every choked sound.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, biting the curve of your jaw. “And perfect.”

Every thrust was sharper, angrier, fueled by years of tension you both pretended was hate. The bathroom filled with the wet slap of skin, the sharp edge of your cries, his ragged groans muffled against your neck. One more thrust and your body convulsed, your legs nearly gave out as his name spilled from your lips like a curse. You hated how good it felt, how much of a traitor your body and little cunt was.

He followed seconds later, grinding deep, spilling into you with a guttural sound that made your stomach flip.

thank you friend 🤭❤️

cw ⌇ secret public sex

It was late night. Bus humming. The windows fogged with cold air and warm breath. The REST of the team was scattered across the seats. Some snoring, others passed out with headphones in.

You sat quietly next to Rin. Your hand had slipped beneath the blanket, so had his. You didn’t look at each other. Not when your fingers curled around the thick shape of him in his sweats. Not when his breath caught in his throat.

He shifted and pulled you into his lap like it was nothing. The blanket draped around both of you, shielding the truth. You straddled him under the fabric, thighs spread wide across his lap, the warmth of his body dragging a moan from your throat you had to swallow.

The bus rocked gently, engine thrumming. Rin’s hands were already pushing your panties aside, dragging his cock against your slick pussy. He slid in. You bit his shoulder with a muffled whimper. One hand held your waist, anchoring you. The other crept up your back, cradling the BASE of your neck. His face was buried in your throat. Yours in his.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t messy. It was intimate, a filthy little secret wrapped in silence and sweat.

Your hips rolled over him, making his thighs flexed beneath you. His cock dragged deep inside you with every rock of your hips, the blunt head brushing your sweet spot so perfectly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just a quivering breath. Your fingernails dug into his hoodie, anchoring yourself there, in his arms, in his lap, in the middle of a team full of oblivious boys who would never, ever guess what he was doing to you.

His hand slid beneath your shirt to feel your skin, your warmth. You. You looked down. His eyes were on you, half-lidded, flushed, mouth parted. His brows furrowed like the pleasure hurt. Like it was too much, and holding back was killing him.

You clenched around him. He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tight, arms trembling. The blanket shifted. You held it tighter around you both, just in case. Not that either of you could stop.

Your pace quickened. Still slow, still careful, but with a rising, trembling urgency. Your thighs quivered with effort, body slick and hot with tension. Every quiet grind pulled soft friction across your clit, and Rin’s cock felt so deep, so thick, you couldn’t breathe.

His forehead pressed to yours as his hand tightening at your nape. The soft slap of your skin beneath the hum of the wheels, and the stutter of your hips as your orgasm crept closer, higher, harder.

You came with your face still buried in his neck, shaking silently in his lap. Your fingers clutched his hoodie. Your mouth opened but you didn’t dare make a sound. Your body spasmed, your walls pulsing around him. And Rin held you through it, fucked you through it. Until he followed, his head thrown back against the seat, hips twitching, breath shuddering out of his lungs as he spilled deep inside you.

cw ⌇ sex ◞ sae loves to mark you

He never said it out loud, but you could tell. Sae was obsessed. Not with the curve of your waist or the sway of your hips (though he admired those too), but with the canvas of your chest, your throat, your collarbones. That soft stretch of skin he marked again and again, always in the same way.

You’d tease him sometimes, whispering between kisses, “What, you hate the idea of finishing inside me?”

His lips would brush your ear, voice flat but firm, “No. This is better.”

He never let you push further than that. Sae Itoshi, the genius, the cold prodigy, reduced to something raw and unflinching when it came to you. It was ritualistic, the way he’d pull out at the last second, fist tight around his cock as his jaw clenched, the heavy breaths breaking his perfect composure. And then warmth, thick and hot, spilling onto you in heavy ropes.

He watched it every time. The way it painted your collarbones, slid down your sternum, streaked your throat until it dripped lower, lower. His eyes burned into you, dark teal catching the mess like he was memorizing a masterpiece only he was allowed to make.

You learned quickly that he hated when you wiped it away too soon. The first time, you’d giggled and reached for tissues and he’d grabbed your wrist mid-air. “Don’t.” his voice was sharp. “Leave it.”

You had swallowed thickly, cheeks flushed and let it dry sticky on your skin. His gaze softened then and that was the closest Sae ever came to saying please. So you let him. Let him have you the way he wanted. Sometimes he’d push you back against the headboard, hands spreading your thighs wide as he thrust into you slow, controlled, every stroke calculated to make you tremble. He never lost focus, not even when you whimpered his name into his skin.

His endgame wasn’t just the orgasm. It was the mark he left after. The heat of him spilling across your chest became something you craved too. Because Sae didn’t just release on you, he worshipped the sight. His thumb would drag through the mess, smearing it up to your throat, pressing it into your pulse point to mark and claim.

“Look at you,” he murmured once, uncharacteristically hushed, his breath warm against your ear as he shifted his cock against your folds again, already hard. “My pretty canvas.”

Your thighs had quivered at the words, his possessive obsession seeping into your bones. He grew worse about it over time. Sometimes after training, still buzzing with sharp adrenaline, he’d shove you up against the mirror in your bedroom. His clothes half-off, your shirt pushed down, and he’d fuck you fast, desperate. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pulling out, groaning as he spilled thick white across your reflection. You, smeared in his release, glowing under the mirror lights, he’d hold your chin up, make you look at it.

“No one else gets to see you like this,” he said, tone cold but eyes dark with hunger. “Just me.”

Other nights, he took his time. On those nights, you swore he was an artist. His strokes deep but measured, his body angled so that when he came, he could spread it exactly where he wanted. Sometimes across the swell of your breasts, sometimes high enough to catch your throat so it dripped down over your collarbones.

And when you asked him why, soft and breathless in the quiet aftermath, Sae only tilted his head, teal gaze piercing.

“Because it’s mine,” he said simply. “This. You.”

a/n ⌇ obsessive behavior ◞ chubby!reader

Hoodies. The whole thing had turned weird when all the hoodies started to show up.

But let’s go back to the beginning of you being the roommate of one of the infamous duos on campus - Michael Kaiser and Alexis Ness.

They hadn’t actively looked for a roommate. Might even have preferred someone playing in their league. But then you came along - all soft curves, shy smiles and they decided you were the perfect fit.

A part of you understood it. You were the calm to their chaos. The one who liked too cook and didn’t complain when they threw parties until five in the morning.

Well. Let’s get back to these hoodies which randomly showed up in the shared space. You could call it a collection at this point.

Michael Kaiser owned expensive clothes. Designer sneakers lined the hallway. Jackets that probably cost more than your monthly grocery bill hung neatly by the front door.

And yet every single oversized hoodie somehow ended up forgotten on the couch. Or draped over a dining chair. Or tossed over the armrest of your favorite spot.

never been much of a fanfic reader myself tbh. @sweethearticism is my absolute favorite. of course my girl @loverstv as well. love love @kurooangel & @corpus-archon

i don’t write for rin anymore. but i still have a few stories with him i wrote back then. maybe some needy rin is there too 👀

thank you, darling. thank you.