#dee writes

she tells you exactly how to touch yourself, and what to say, and makes you describe it back to her ughhhhh

hi dear!! illi my freaky little perv 🖤 and her girlfriend my other freaky little perv 🖤 i had a fun little time with this one, i always adore doing dialogue so phone sex is kinda right up my alley. hope you enjoy! kisses xoxo nsfw, wc is 542, mutual masturbation, fingering, dildo, term "clit" used for illi, part of just a fantasy..., illi mcmillin x fem!reader

"Please, Illi," You pitch your voice up and breathy while you scissor your digits in and out of your cunt. "I wanna use my dildo so bad, baby."

"You don't sound like you want it."

bakugou katsuki x f!reader @ 8:30 pm

“Your shitty date’s late.”

You glance up from your phone, gaze sliding over to where your brother and Bakugou are sitting on the couch across the room. Hands wrapped around a gaming controller, the blond’s attention is raptly trained on the television screen in front of him.

Your brother mutters a string of expletives as a cacophony of explosions goes off in the game, and you make a pointed effort to ignore the way the tendons in Bakugou’s forearm flex as he makes quick movements with the joystick. 

Fingers idly tracing the edges of your skirt, you roll your eyes. “It’s 8:30, so he’s technically not late yet. Also, how do you know he’s shitty if you’ve never even met him?”

Bakugou spares you a brief, sidelong glance. “8:31. He’s fucking late. Shitty and late.”

“Traffic is a thing,” you counter, going hot all over with annoyance. 

Your brother groans as the words GAME OVER flash across the screen, his controller clattering against the coffee table when he stands up and stalks off toward the bathroom. Attention back on your phone, you don’t realize that Bakugou has crossed the room until his shoe nudges one of your heels.

“Means he’s a shitty driver, too.”

When you tilt your head back to look at him standing over you, you swear there’s a brief moment where his gaze flits over the expanse of your bare legs. 

“Don’t you have like, hero stuff to do?” you ask him hotly.

The mental image of him in his hero suit decidedly does not help the threat of a shiver that starts to wrack its way down your spine the longer he continues to stare down at you, arms crossed. You bite your bottom lip as you resist the urge to make a snarky comment about whatever the hell is going on between his biceps and the innocent bystanders that are the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

Egregious.

When you moved back to Musutafu six months ago after a messy breakup and took over the guest room in your brother’s apartment, you hadn’t quite anticipated just how much you’d be seeing of Bakugou Katsuki again. 

Old crushes die hard, etc.  

Bakugou scoffs, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Yeah, and it’d be a fuckin’ crime to let you—”

There’s a knock at the front door—8:35. But that’s not what cuts Bakugou off. 

He blinks at the finger now gently pressed to his lips while you stand in front of him, something hot like satisfaction stretching inside of you at the way he doesn’t even try to keep talking. 

He waits.

It’s the promise of a quick exit that leaves you feeling brave even when you’re one step away from being enveloped in his warm scent. 

“You gonna wait up to see if I get home late, too?”

Bakugou’s nostrils flare, and you smile. Soft. Flirtatious. 

You make it as far as the door before a hand splayed roughly against the seam of the doorframe stops you. Turning, a bundle of fabric is shoved into your hands.

ukai keishin x f!reader @ 6:35am

18+

The scent of crisp morning air and fresh, damp earth clings to Keishin when he slips back into bed beside you, sheets rustling as his limbs work their way back into the tangled fray you’ve made of them in his absence.

Fingers kissed with the chill of the farm’s morning dew, you wriggle when he splays a hand against the small of your back, the little sound that leaves your tired lips muffled by the way you’re currently facedown atop your pillow. 

‘’s almost time to get up anyway,” he murmurs wryly in between your shoulderblades as you try in vain to burrow even deeper into the mattress. 

“It’s Sunday,” you whine pathetically, fingers curling even tighter around the edges of your pillow as Keishin’s fingers ghost a path along the waistband of your underwear. 

“The farmer’s market doesn’t sleep in,” he teases, palm gently gliding over the globes of your ass.

You huff out another defiant sound, though it’s wholly betrayed by the way your thighs seem to spread of their own accord when Keishin’s hand slips into the space between them, fingers stretching as if to nudge them apart. 

“We have a farm right here,” you protest weakly, punctuating your sentence with a sharp, undignified inhale when he traces the line of your clothed slit.

Keishin hooks a finger in the gusset of your panties and decidedly does not tease you for the way your ass instinctually arches into his touch. 

“Suzuki-sama’s apples’ll be gone if we get there too late.”

You whimper then, both at the thought of disappointingly empty bushels—and the sensation of Keishin plunging a finger right into the embarrassingly wet heat of your tight, soaked cunt. 

“Oh,” you gasp, too unraveled by your slick, oversensitive, half-asleep shivers of pleasure to mind the feeling of your own drool soaking into the pillowcase as you pant and writhe.

Keishin slips a second finger in, groans under his breath at the obscene squelch that follows as he fucks both digits into your dripping hole in a steady rhythm. Lips trace the column of your neck as he leans in, messy blonde hair tickling your cheek. 

“Cum for me, and then you can go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ll go get your apples.”

kuroo tetsurou x reader @ 2:00 am

You’re on the verge of nodding off when your dimmed phone screen flashes back to life, bright light shining through the grasp of your fingers. It’s two in the morning, and it’s entirely reflexive, the way you answer the call without hesitation as you see the name that appears.

“Hello?” You stifle a yawn.

You’re met with silence, save for the distinct, muffled sound of tires on asphalt, wind buffeted against glass. Fingers tapping against a steering wheel. A soft sigh.

“Sorry.”

Tetsurou’s voice is low, rough. Like he’s just as tired as you feel. 

He’s quiet for several moments before clearing his throat. You imagine the way he’s probably dragging a hand through his dark hair. 

“I don’t know why I—” he cuts himself off.

You shift, blanket pooling in your lap as you sit up. 

“It’s okay.”

It’s like a phantom bruise—the feeling of your thumb absently tracing the empty space on your fourth finger. You press your nail into the crease, trying not to dwell too hard on the way you still gravitate to this side of the bed. It’s been two years.

Your ex-husband sighs again, and the weak walls of your ribcage shudder in time with your heartbeat as you close your eyes, rub a hand over your face.

If you press your fingers hard enough against your closed eyelids, you can pretend you’re eighteen again. You can pretend it’s just another night where Tetsurou’s on the road at some ungodly hour, and you’re talking aimlessly on the other end of the phone just to help him stay awake.

“Eyes on the road,” you say into the thick weight of the silence. 

You think you hear him laugh, like you haven’t said it a thousand times before.

Your chest aches.

“You okay, Tetsurou?”

Inhale.

“Not really.”

Your palm slides over cold sheets to your left.

shinazugawa sanemi x reader @ 11:59 pm

Genya must pay a fortune in rent for this view.

You mull over the thought as you gaze out over the vast expanse of the city skyline laid out in front of you, the lapping waves of the bay beyond glittering under the reflection of the moon. The balcony’s metal railing is cold against your bare forearms, and you spare a longing thought for the coat that’s now buried under a pile of other jackets deep inside the warmth of your best friend’s apartment.

The muffled sounds of music and laughter suddenly shift into loud clarity, shoes scuffing against concrete as someone steps outside. Silence falls back into place as quickly as it left when the sliding glass door hisses shut. 

“For fuck’s sake,” a voice that you know like the back of your hand grits out, weight dropping over your shoulders, ensconsing you in lingering body heat and a musky scent.

You don’t have to turn to know that it’s Sanemi standing behind you, but you do anyway, chiding yourself for the way your chest swoops under the heat of his disgruntled gaze. He crowds you against the railing, boots grazing your heels while he mutters something else under his breath and adjusts the jacket.

His white hair’s mussed, like he’s been running one of his scarred hands through it. You avoid letting your eyes trace the path where the top two buttons of his shirt have been left to their own devices. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms.

You try not to think about the last time you were alone together.

About the feeling of Sanemi’s mouth of yours. His hands on your hips. His thigh between your legs. 

You try not to think about the sting of his rejection, his rough tone as he said, “We shouldn’t.”

You try not to think about the way you’ve been more than a little in love with him for far too long. About the way your heart unfurls, stretches like a flower toward sunlight even now as he traces the lip of the beer bottle clutched in his hand.

You can’t blame him, can’t fault him for the misguided guilt that flashed across his face when your phone screen lit up with Genya’s name inches away from where you were arching and panting beneath him on the couch. As the sobering, stark reminder that you were his little brother’s best friend yanked him back to reality.

You wish it made you want him less.

“You should be inside,” he mutters, adjusting the jacket again like he can tuck you even deeper into the thick fabric.

Like some part of him isn’t already nestled deep inside of you, in the narrow gaps between your ribs.

“So should you,” you counter, swiping the beer out of his grasp and downing the rest of it.

He huffs as you blanch at the taste, taking the empty bottle back and placing it on the little round table to your right. 

“Genya buys shitty beer,” he comments, looking almost amused as you frown, wiping your lips on the back of your hand. 

“The worst,” you agree.

Both of you go quiet after that, Sanemi’s eyes sliding over your face. His gaze softens, if only minutely. 

“Weird way to break your streak of avoiding me for almost two months,” you breathe out, shifting restlessly under the weight of his stare.

“Weird place to be during a party just before midnight on New Year’s Eve,” he counters.

You shrug, rolling your eyes as you start to turn back around. He catches your arm, steps closer into your space. 

Your fingers itch with the need to touch him.

To feel him.

To—

Inside, the sounds of the party hum louder through the glass in what you can nearly make out as a countdown.

“Maybe I like doing things that I shouldn’t,” you counter, looking over his shoulder at nothing in particular. It sounds childish, petulant. 

Sanemi scoffs.

The voices inside reach a fever pitch.

You let your gaze slide back to his, to the frown on his stupidly handsome face.

He grasps your—his—jacket, tugs you against him.

“You’re gonna catch a goddamn cold out here,” he growls, his breath hot as his lips hover inches from your own.

The party inside erupts into cheers, a sound that echoes throughout the city below. A cold breeze whips against your cheeks. Fireworks burst into the sky.

Your hand tentatively finds a home pressed flat against the warmth of his broad chest, his heartbeat thumping into the curve of your palm.

(hope you have so much fun writing any of these! <3)

meian shuugo x f!reader @ 4:37 am

18+

It’s early when you stir, hovering on the syrupy edges of sleep, limbs warm beneath the blankets. The sky outside your bedroom window wears the final vestiges of darkness like a cloak, the day’s first light biding its time along the lip of the horizon. 

You nearly slip back under, but the feeling of the mattress dipping behind you buoys your consciousness. There’s a gentle touch of fingers at your shoulder, the whisper of warm lips at the back of your neck. A familiar scent envelopes you. Awareness prickles down your spine, and you stretch your toes in the tangle of sheets, eyes blinking open in the darkness.

“Shuugo?”

Your mouth is dry, and his name comes out as a whisper over your parted lips. 

He huffs, the sound equal parts fond and amused as he gently strokes your hair. The bed dips further, blankets shifting, and the heat of his body sinks into your own. A tired smile makes its way across your face.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, nose grazing your nape.

“Thought your flight didn’t get in till this afternoon,” you whisper, making no attempt to hide the greed with which your fingers tangle with his as he begins to trace your forearm. 

You kiss his palm, lips against callused skin. He’s been gone for nearly two weeks, off at a training camp with the rest of MSBY. 

“Mmm, yeah,” he agrees, fingertips gently tracing the outline of your mouth. “I switched my flight.”

Tendrils of warmth expand inside of you. Shuugo’s large hand slips down your chin, slides along the curve of your neck to rest in the hollow of your throat.

You turn your head to look at him in the dark, squinting. “Who would willingly take a red-eye?” 

Fingers catch on the low neckline of your thin, cotton tank top, and you gasp softly when Shuugo finds one of your pebbled nipples through the flimsy fabric. Back arching, you find him hard against you.

You can feel Shuugo’s smile as he kisses the curve of your shoulder, lips giving way for teeth and tongue as you grind back into him. A hot shiver wracks through you, nerve endings humming with oversensitive need.

-🐾

hi 🐾!! i had so much fun writing for (sweet and shy) alien g, and i've been in such a hesitant alien mood recently so this was such a great way to get back into writing. i'm picturing 90s for the time period, in a vaguely rural area, a classic "alien ship landed in my backyard and now i've got to take care of them" setup, and also this look, but you're welcome to picture whichever ha look you'd like 🖤 wc is 2k, nsfw, p in v (slight alien anatomy), degradation, praise, mention of porn, alien!gerard x fem!reader

When you gave Gerard (the name the alien had chosen for themself) free reign of your movie collection you probably should've gone through it first. But you had needed to do other things and figured it'd keep them busy long enough to not have to field a million questions about the minutia of human life. You love the alien and their innate curiosity, but sometimes you have to do shit without being bothered, so movies were the obvious solution. You show them how a VHS player works and explain that they're make-believe stories about humans and they're hooked. When you had left they were watching the opening to The Breakfast Club, you figured it'd be a nice warm up to the format.

“—the Prince should be horrified.”

“And to think there are still seven moons until the wedding, he could change his mind yet!”

A derisive snort interrupts the incessant, judgemental titters from the gaggle of ladies-in-waiting, and a hush falls over the group as they find the Captain of the Royal Guard staring at them.

Bakugou stands nearby as you dismount from your horse, breeches and boots covered in mud. His gloved hand twitches at his side with the instinctual urge to assist you, but he knows you’d shimmy backward off the creature ass-first before accepting any help.

You manage well enough, landing on the ground with just enough force to send a spray of mud across the—quite frankly hideous—assortment of dresses that stands nearby.

Bakugou makes no attempt to hide his grin as the women balk in outrage. He meets your eyes, and it settles something inside of him to see it—the freedom of the meadow’s vast, open fields still dancing in your own.

“Captain,” you nod to him, a small smile twitching across your lips.

Your hands brush when he takes hold of the horse’s reins.