#If only they lock in and get in that studio

[baepsays]

Musician Geto Suguru and his never-ending beef with his bandmates over your attention.

The thing is, as their main producer and just a very sought-after producer in the industry, he's barely able to leave his studio. Things were different before the scandal, before he was reintroduced to you, and before you two went official. His schedule was simple then—studio, recordings, shows, parties and clubs he was a regular at, getting high out of his mind on coke and weed, and going back to his studio. He barely saw any light, and his apartment felt foreign; hotel rooms were more homely than his apartment. Now it's lived in, with traces of you and the life he is building with you. Your—and now also his—scoundrel cat's claw marks are everywhere; there are stains on the couch, and all the smooth and shiny furniture is now matted. He also prefers his home studio, which he never came around to using, much better than the one at the company.

To simply say, things are mundane in the best way possible. Having lunches and dinners with his bandmates and just talking about things other than work or how he's losing himself was much more fun, he has to say. Especially when no one is throwing punches at him backstage, ahem—Sukuna—ahem. Of course it took more effort to carve out this new usual than how he used to just live off of drugs, caffeine, burning through cigarettes, and barely any food. He much prefers the boring days where he just goes from work to home to see you only at the end of the day, of course, not more than when you come to their shows. But he'll take anything, just to have you around for more than the mornings before and nights after work; it's a privilege. Even having you for more than just 3 shows for a tour is a blessing, due to the vast difference in your schedules.

Which is why he truly looks forward to days when you drop by to have lunch with him. Those weekdays are always a highlight of his week. So when he has to compete with his own bandmates for your attention or the home-cooked lunch you make for him to eat with him in the privacy of his studio, preferably sitting on his lap.

He wants to fight his own bandmates as violently as he used to. Choso, he gets; after all, Choso is the sweetest of them all; it sometimes does not make any sense to him how he ended up in this edgy rock band. But then again, where was Suguru going to find a vocalist and guitarist of Choso’s caliber? Yet still, Suguru does not appreciate it when he takes up your time when you two exchange recipes. Then there is Toji, always barging in to steal the precious food you made for Suguru, eating up most of the food while always making excuses about just one small bite. Suguru would have made Shiu (their CEO) kick Toji out of the company itself, just because of this petty reason, if there was anyone else better on the drums than him. 

Then there is Sukuna. Probably the one who pisses him off the most. Because why is the broody, scary, and one of the quietest men that Suguru knows like a social butterfly around you? Sure, you legally represent their band, but why is he so chatty around you about everything and anything? Is it not enough that he has to deal with one social butterfly, aka the nation's most desirable man and industry's favorite actor, Gojo Satoru, snitching out Suguru to you? There's now also Sukuna, snitching to you about how Suguru skipped meals to hole himself up in his studio for days or smoked more than two cigarettes a day. The worst part is when you drop by, you text in the group chat you are in with them to see if they would be at work that day. And you bring extra food for them or invite them sometimes to eat out with you two (and yet Toji still manages to steal off of Suguru's plate), and if it's just a you and Suguru kind of day, you still see them before or after your boyfriend locks you up in his studio with him.

Just like today, when you dropped by with a packed lunchbox for him and got roped up, yet again, with his bandmates. He got your text at exactly 13:34 PM that you entered the building, and sure, his studio was on the 19th floor, but it took only 5 minutes or so to get there. Unfortunately for him, he had to wait more than 30 minutes for you because you texted him you were just a floor below, in their practice room with his bandmates. And when 40 minutes were about to pass, Suguru had to essentially go down and abduct you by carrying you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and making a run for it with your bag in his other hand. He could hear Sukuna yelling his name from behind, but he made it just in time to the elevator to get away with you.

“The only reason why I will ever go fully solo is because of your little fan club.” He walked into his studio while grumbling and with you still dangling on his shoulder.

“Issok, I will replace you.” He threw you on the black leather couch and lay on top of you, like he just fought an army of hungry coyotes and ran a marathon at the same time. “Hmm, I see you guys are scheming behind my back now.” He looked up at you from where he buried his face in your chest.

“I say it's very up front.” You giggled and pushed away the loose strands of his hair covering his face, and he didn't reply. Instead, he lifted himself off of you to hover and then moved up to kiss you. It was sweet, smiling, warm faces basically pressed together. Everything still feels surreal, how mundane life is right now for him considering even just two years ago the kind of mess he got himself into. That how his life looked doomed after that moment, and yet here he was.

“I have this new track in the works.” He broke off the kiss and hovered over you with his hooded eyes and a smirk so sleazy, it always made you wonder about your life choices. “Oh, am I hearing it?” You raised your brows at him, and his smirk only widened into a half smile.

“Nope. You're getting on it.” Which basically translates to, ‘I am about to make you moan, and the recording is going into the track.’ You threw your head back into the couch as you tried to push him away and groaned in annoyance. Which was not much avail to you when, despite your efforts, he nuzzled his face in your neck and started leaving a trail of kisses from the base of your neck to your jaw, then up to your lips. And when his lips met yours, a small moan just absentmindedly left your lips as his lips slotted with yours. Suguru’s lips stretched into a big smile while his eyes remained closed, and he continued kissing you until he stopped to murmur into your mouth.

“Ooh. Save all of that for the track.”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE II FIND MORE ABOUT MUSICIAN GETO

a/n: dividers by @/hyuneskkami

you can think about this as the epilogue to the musician geto au :3c which will take time. I have not graduated yet lol fuck lab exams and i am brainrotted by prince geto soooooo. you can assume what the scandal may beeeee you will be finding that and more band dynamics in the fic!

[saoney]

Ocean's Fire

𖠋 Incubus! Rafayel ♡ Fem! Reader 𖠋

After two weeks apart, you return home to find your boyfriend missing and unresponsive. When you track him down, you discover he's been transformed by an experimental aphrodisiac—complete with horns, glowing red eyes, and an insatiable supernatural hunger that only you can satisfy.

⚠️ Please read responsibly - This story contains themes of dubious consent and penetrative sex, m → f that may be triggering for some readers.

🐚 Author’s Note: My smut debut!!! I’m so happy that I finally get to experience writing a proper smut with my beloved Sea God 🥹🎉 props to all of the smut writers because I almost went bald writing this fic (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ

🫧 Comment and reblog are deeply appreciated ‹𝟹

The past two weeks had been torture disguised as duty.

Your field training assignment had you stationed in the wilderness, grinding through Wanderer combat simulations from dawn to dusk. Every muscle ached, every nerve was frayed, but the moment you collapsed into your cot each night, there was Rafayel—bathed in the warm glow from the studio lights, violet eyes heavy with longing as he asked about your day in that honeyed voice that made your chest tight with missing him.

"Did my sweet darling miss me today?" he'd purr into the camera, artistic fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Tell me what you're wearing. Better yet, show me."

Those late-night video calls were your lifeline. Even with his own hectic schedule—flying across the country with Thomas for his upcoming exhibition, managing interviews and gallery visits—Rafayel always made time for you. He'd prop his phone against his easel during breaks, painting with one hand while the other traced suggestive patterns in the air, describing in exquisite detail what he planned to do to you when you returned.

"I've been sketching you from memory," he'd whisper during one particularly heated call, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that made your thighs clench. "Want to see how I imagine you spread out on my silk sheets? How I remember the way you arch when I—"

"Rafayel," you'd breathe, already reaching for yourself.

"That's my good girl. Let me watch you come undone for me."

But on day ten, the calls stopped.

Your phone sat silent. Messages went unread. The absence of his teasing voice, his ridiculous pet names, his constant digital affection—it carved a hollow ache in your chest that grew deeper with each passing hour.

By day twelve, worry had transformed into hurt. By day fourteen, hurt had crystallized into anger.

Your transport touched down in Linkon City under gray skies, and finally—finally—your phone buzzed.

[Rafayel 📱: Welcome home, cutie.]

[Rafayel 📱: Still away for work. Don't wait up.]

The message was ice-cold. Clinical. Nothing like the man who usually greeted your returns with paragraphs of purple prose about how the city had been colorless without you.

Your fingers moved to Find My before you could stop them.

His location pulsed steadily: Mo Art Studio.

Home.

The betrayal hit like a physical blow. He was lying to you. After two weeks of radio silence, he was lying to your face.

Twenty minutes later, you stood before his door, keycard trembling in your grip. The evening air should have been cool, but heat seemed to radiate from behind the entrance like a furnace.

You knocked. Waited. Knocked harder.

Nothing.

Your keycard beeped softly as the lock disengaged.

The moment you stepped inside, the heat hit you like a wall. Suffocating, humid, wrong. Rafayel's home was always perfectly climate-controlled—he claimed his Lemurian blood made him sensitive to temperature fluctuations, though you suspected he just liked giving you excuses to warm him up.

"Rafayel!" Your voice echoed in the dim space. Curtains drawn, lights off, the air thick enough to taste. "I know you're here!"

Silence.

You climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, following the oppressive heat to its source. His bedroom door stood ajar, and through the gap, you could see a figure curled on the bed.

The room was an oven. Dark as a cave. And there he was—shirtless, trembling, breath coming in sharp gasps like he was drowning on dry land.

"Rafayel." All your anger dissolved into concern. "Why haven't you answered me? Why did you lie about being away?"

He didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge your presence.

You reached for his shoulder, and the moment your fingers made contact, you jerked back with a gasp. His skin was burning—not fever-hot, but scalding, like touching a heated stone.

"Jesus, you're sick—we need to get you to a hospital—"

"Don't." His voice was barely a rasp. "Please, cutie. Don't touch me. You need to leave."

He tried to roll away from you, but the movement was weak, uncoordinated. When he finally turned to face you, your heart stopped.

His eyes—those beautiful amethyst eyes that sparkled with mischief and adoration—were nearly crimson. Glowing like embers in the darkness.

"What happened to you?" You knelt beside the bed, hands hovering over him, afraid to cause more pain. "Rafayel, talk to me. Please."

He squeezed his eyes shut, whole body shuddering. "Thomas's colleague. New bar opening in the arts district. They served us some experimental cocktail—said it was a prototype aphrodisiac for Valentine's Day. I thought it was just marketing nonsense."

Understanding crashed over you like cold water. "How long?"

"Three days." His laugh was bitter, broken. "Three days of hell. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't think about anything but you. Every nerve in my body is on fire, and the only thing that helps is—" He cut himself off with a groan.

You reached for his hand instinctively, and his fingers latched onto yours with desperate strength.

The contact seemed to send electricity through him. His breathing hitched, back arching off the bed.

"You have to go," he gasped, but his grip on your hand tightened. "I'm barely holding on. If you stay, I don't know if I can control myself. I don't want to hurt you, don't want to scare you—"

His words dissolved into a tortured moan, his whole body convulsing as if he were fighting a war within himself—and losing. "No, no, no," he gasped, clawing at his own chest as the transformation began to consume him. Dark markings erupted across his skin like living shadows, spreading from his heart outward in intricate, pulsing patterns that seemed to writhe and breathe with malevolent life. The black ink-like designs carved themselves deeper into his flesh, glowing faintly with each ragged breath he took.

His canines stretched into razor-sharp fangs with an audible crack, and you watched in horrified fascination as two elegant horns tore through the skin of his temples, curving back through his disheveled hair like a dark crown. Blood trickled down his face from where they emerged.

Then he laughed—a low, dangerous sound that was nothing like his usual warm chuckle. It was predatory, unhinged, utterly inhuman. When his eyes snapped open, they blazed with primal hunger, all traces of your gentle artist boyfriend buried beneath the creature that now possessed him.

His grip on your hand, which had been weak and trembling moments before, suddenly tightened like a vice, fingers digging into your skin with supernatural strength.

"Too late to run now, cutie," he whispered, voice layered with dark promise.

Then he yanked you down onto the bed with him, his strength making it effortless as he dragged you against his burning body. His lips crashed against yours with desperate hunger, hands tangling in your hair as he kissed you like a man drowning. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, scalding even through your clothes, his body trembling with barely restrained need. Despite the transformation, his touch was still reverent, still unmistakably him beneath the hunger that consumed him.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping, vision blurred, completely at his mercy on the rumpled sheets beneath him.

"I'm sorry," he purred against your lips, voice dripping with dark amusement. "I'm not gonna stop until this fire burns itself out, and you're gonna take everything I give you right, cutie? Don't worry—I'll be gentle… mostly. Now why don't you be a good little hunter for me, yeah?"

His mouth found your throat, pressing hot kisses to your pulse point while his hands worked at your clothes with precision. Each piece of fabric that fell away earned you praise whispered against your skin.

"Perfect," he murmured, mouth trailing down to worship your exposed chest. "I've been dreaming of this. Sketching these curves from memory until my fingers cramped."

He took his time despite the urgency thrumming through him—lavishing attention on every inch of skin, building you up with touches and kisses until you were arching beneath him, completely pliant.

His hands smoothly unclasped your bra, fingers reverent as they traced your curves. Without wasting a moment, his mouth was on your breasts, tongue swirling around your nipples before he sucked them into his mouth, drawing desperate whimpers from your lips.

"Rafayel," you gasped, back arching as he lavished attention on your chest. "Please—"

"Shh, cutie," he murmured against your skin, mouth trailing hot kisses down your belly. "Let me worship you properly."

His hands urgently undid your pants, sliding them down your legs with agonizing slowness. When he finally settled between your thighs, he inhaled deeply, eyes rolling back in bliss.

"I can smell your arousal," he growled, voice rough with need. "So sweet, so perfect. I've been through hell trying to control myself. Do you know how many times I've imagined this? How many sketches I've ruined thinking about eating you?"

"Rafayel, please," you whimpered, hips bucking toward his face. "I need—"

"I know exactly what you need," he whispered, voice dropping to a dangerous octave as those burning red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His expression was beautifully terrifying—tender love warring with predatory hunger. "Now I'm going to worship this beautiful cunt until you forget everything but my name."

He dove in with feral hunger, tongue dragging broad, possessive strokes up your slit before attacking your clit with relentless precision. His mouth devoured you—lapping, sucking, biting gently at your most sensitive flesh with desperate, animalistic need. Every sound he made was pure worship, muffled moans of satisfaction vibrating against you.

"Oh god, oh god," you cried, hands fisting in his hair as he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with wet, sinful strokes. "Don't stop, please don't stop—"

He moaned against your core like a starving man at a feast, the vibrations resonating through your bones and setting every nerve ending ablaze. Each desperate movement of his tongue was calculated to feed the supernatural hunger clawing at his insides while simultaneously destroying every defense you had left.

"Christ, you taste like heaven," he groaned between ravenous licks, pulling back just enough to watch your face contort with pleasure. "You're so addicting. I could spend eternity right here, drinking every drop you give me."

Your first orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, spine bowing impossibly as you screamed his name with raw, broken desperation. But he was merciless—couldn't be anything else—his mouth never leaving you as he lapped up every tremor, every aftershock, prolonging your climax until you were sobbing from the intensity.

"Too much," you gasped, trying to push his head away, but he caught your wrists.

"No such thing," he purred, and dove back in, making you cum again on his tongue until you were sobbing with oversensitivity.

When he finally pulled away, face glistening with your arousal, he cupped your tear-stained cheeks lovingly. "Look at you, already crying for me. We're far from finished, Y/N."

Rafayel rose to his knees, hands moving to unzip his pants with desperate urgency. When he finally freed his cock, it was flushed and angry, precum beading at the tip from hours of torment and anticipation. His burning red eyes locked onto you—taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled beneath him, eyes half-lidded and completely wrecked from his mouth. The vision alone made his cock twitch violently, demanding immediate relief.

"So beautiful," he breathed, voice thick with reverence and lust. "So ready for me."

He wrapped his hand around his lenght, stroking slowly edging himself while his gaze devoured every inch of your trembling form. The sight of you, so perfectly wrecked and waiting, had him practically salivating with anticipation.

With deliberate, torturous slowness, he dragged the head of his cock from your entrance up to your clit, collecting your arousal along the way. The teasing made you mewl desperately beneath him, hips bucking for more contact.

"Please," you whimpered, but he just smirked, slapping his cock against your sensitive cunt with wet, obscene sounds.

The heat radiating from your core, the slick wetness coating him, the way you clenched around nothing—it all made him hiss in pure pleasure.

"So wet for me," he groaned, continuing his torturous teasing.

"Think you can take me, cutie?" His voice was low and teasing as you felt him playing at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your opening. The stretch was burning and delicious—until he pulled out completely, leaving you feeling empty and desperate.

"I don't think so," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You almost felt like crying from his relentless teasing. Without a second thought, you abandoned all pride and begged for his mercy. "Please, Rafayel... I want it. I want you so badly."

"Yeah?" He was still teasing, pressing soft kisses to your tear-dampened eyes with surprising tenderness.

"Yeah," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

For a moment he held your gaze, studying your face as you gave him the most pleading look you could muster, hoping your puppy eyes would finally make him cave. Something shifted in his expression—desire winning over his need to torment you.

Finally, he positioned himself at your entrance again, the head of his cock nudging against your opening. Both of you moaned in unison as he began to slide into you slowly, savoring every inch as he filled you completely. The stretch was overwhelming after your orgasms, making you whimper and claw at his shoulders.

"That's it, take all of me," he breathed, bottoming out with a groan. "You're gripping me so tight. Like your body doesn't want to let me go."

"I don't," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Never want you to leave me again."

He began to move, thrusts deep and reverent, hands mapping every curve of your body like he was committing you to memory for his next masterpiece. His own moans and whimpers filled the air, the desperate sounds making you even wetter.

"You're taking me so perfectly," he praised, voice breaking with emotion. "Like you were made for this cock. Gods, I missed how warm you are inside, how you flutter around me when you're close."

"Rafayel," you moaned, already feeling another orgasm building. "You feel so good, so deep—"

"That's my girl," he groaned, angling his hips to hit that spot that made you see stars. "Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You were cock-drunk fast, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the filthy praise spilling from his lips. When you came again, clenching around him, he nearly lost control.

"More," you gasped against his lips. "Need more of you."

Something primal flashed in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your hands and knees, the sudden change making you cry out.

"You want more?" he growled, hands gripping your hips as he drove into you from behind. "I-ah-can't refuse you."

This angle was devastating—each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you while his hands roamed your body possessively. You could feel yourself getting wetter soaking the bed sheet underneath you, the obscene sounds of your coupling filling the room.

"Listen to how wet you are," he panted, one hand sliding up to cup your breast. "So fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock so well. You're mine, aren't you? Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," you sobbed, face pressed into the pillows. "Always yours, Raf— Rafayel!"

"That's right," he groaned, thrusts becoming more demanding. "My petite artiste, so messy and desperate for me."

But he needed more. Needed to see you fall apart in every way possible.

"On your back," he commanded, and when you complied on shaking legs, he pulled your legs up into a mating press, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made you scream, overwhelmed by how deep he could go.

"Look at me," he demanded, his glowing eyes boring into yours. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum for me again. Want to watch you fall apart."

The intensity was too much—the way he watched every expression cross your face, the desperate love and lust warring in his gaze. Your eyes rolled back as he hit that perfect spot over and over, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure.

"There you are," he whispered, voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Look at you, so beautiful when you're completely gone for me."

When your orgasm crashed over you, it was earth-shattering. You came with a broken scream, body convulsing around him as he moaned your name like a prayer. The intensity of watching you fall apart, of feeling you clench around him so perfectly, made blood drip from his nose onto your chest, the incubus potion overwhelming even his supernatural constitution.

"I can't cum anymore," you sobbed, thighs shaking from overstimulation, mascara running down your cheeks. "Please, Rafayel, I can't—"

But your pleas only seemed to spur him on. The sadistic part of the incubus potion loved seeing you so wrecked, so desperate, so perfectly ruined.

"Of course you can, cutie," he purred, pulling out only to maneuver you into his lap. "Look at this tear-stained face—so pitiful, so drunk on my cock. Makes me wanna fuck you even more."

"Please," you whimpered, but whether you were begging him to stop or continue, neither of you knew.

"One more," he coaxed, guiding you down onto his cock. "You have no idea what you do to me"

Face to face now, you could see every expression cross his beautiful, dangerous features. His hands roamed your body possessively while you rocked against him, completely lost in sensation.

"That's my good girl," he whispered against your ear, then bit down gently on your earlobe. "Taking everything I give you, even when you're crying from how good it feels. You're so perfect, so intoxicating when you're falling apart for me."

"Rafayel," you gasped, eyes rolling back again as he hit that spot that made you see white. "I'm going to—"

"I know, baby. Let go for me one last time."

Your final orgasm was devastating, your vision going white as your body convulsed around him. You came with a silent scream, completely overwhelmed by sensation, and watching you reach that peak of pleasure pushed him over the edge.

He came with a broken moan, holding you tight against him as he spilled inside you, nose bleeding more heavily now from the sheer intensity of the moment.

The last thing you remembered was his face above you, handsome and ethereal with his horns and glowing eyes, completely drunk on pleasure as he buried himself deep inside you, whispering your name like a benediction and the satisfaction of finally being able to touch you after days of torment. Your own face was a mess of tears and smeared makeup, eyes glassy and unfocused from being thoroughly claimed by your temporarily-incubus lover.

When consciousness returned, golden morning light was streaming through the curtains, and the softest lips were pressing tender kisses along your cheek like butterfly touches.

"Morning, my sweet darling," Rafayel murmured, his voice back to its familiar warm velvet. The horns had vanished, his eyes returned to that beloved amethyst shade, though delicate traces of the dark markings still lingered like watercolor stains across his skin. "Sleep well?"

You groaned softly, every muscle in your body singing a chorus of pleasant aches as you tried to stretch. "You're absolutely impossible."

He grinned with zero remorse, looking devastatingly handsome in the morning light. "And you love me anyway. Want to take a warm bath? I'll wash your hair and tell you about all the masterpieces I'm going to paint inspired by last night."

Despite your mock indignation, you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "You're buying me breakfast first. The fancy kind. And coffee—really good coffee."

"Anything for you," he agreed easily, then leaned down to nuzzle into the curve of your neck, his voice dropping to that achingly familiar teasing whisper. "But first... want to hear about this incredible dream I had about you in my bathtub?"

You were glad Rafayel was back to normal, but if you were being honest with yourself, Incubus Rafayel was kind of hot… You wondered if he'd be willing to be one for Halloween this year.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Anniversary gift

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Suggestiveeeee, lots of fluff and simp men, 🧶 anon i used all your ideas :p let’s hope i did it justice, let’s not question who took the photos for reader lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You give them a book of very spicy photos for your anniversary

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He’s seated cross-legged in the sun-drenched studio of your estate, purple hair tousled, shirt entirely unbuttoned. Blue-pink eyes are completely locked on the glossy little album you gave him.

He was quiet for a while.

Too quiet.

Then he flipped the page and let out a sound that could only be described as an emotionally-compromised whimper.

“Pearlie… what are you trying to do to me…”

Another page flip.

“You’re actually unreal, baby. This isn’t fair. I’m gonna have to fight a god for this level of beauty. I’ll duel the moon. I’ll—”

He presses the album flat on his chest and throws himself backward on the floor, groaning, curling around it like it’s sacred.

The first photo, you, in a cherry-red bikini, towel wrapped low on your hips, the string of your top cheekily untied and draped over one shoulder, hair tousled from ocean spray. There’s glittering salt on your collarbone. The light hits your skin so perfectly it looks airbrushed.

“This is art. You are art.”

“You knew what you were doing… you minx.”

The second photo, you in your bridal veil, no clothes but a sheer white cloth draped carefully around your chest and thighs, pearls in your hair, eyes all soft and sleepy. There’s a vintage hand mirror in your hand. It was his.

He gets emotional.

“My wife. My muse. My everything. You expect me to function after seeing this?”

The third photo, the tasteful nude. Just your bare back, wrapped in white fabric from the waist down, lounging against the satin sheets he brought back from the North Territory. Your hair’s loose. There’s a fresh bouquet behind you.

“You have one hour to explain why I can’t paint this right now.”

“Actually, No, I’m starting now. I need my brushes. Baby, I’ll cry if you don’t let me immortalize this.”

Rafayel becomes insatiable. He needs a new photo every week. No, every four days.

He makes a whole cabinet drawer in his art room just for them, lovingly labeled “The Pearlie Archive.”

He carries his favourite polaroid in his coat pocket.

If he has to go to a meeting, and someone annoys him too much? He’ll look it mid-conversation just to soothe himself.

Eventually, he even makes a rotating sculpture series based on the photos, each titled something stupid like “Wife in Moonlight No.3 (She Looked At Me After This One and I Died).”

And of course, every time you hand him a new photo with that bashful little smile?

He groans, presses his face into your neck, and says—

“You’re evil. A beautiful, perfect little devil, pearlie.”

“I’m gonna spend the next 17 hours painting your elbow.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The two of you return to your estate after a private anniversary dinner at Linkon’s most exclusive restaurant. He’s been looking at you all evening like you’re the only woman on earth, because to Zayne, you are.

You’re dressed in something elegant and white, your hair done exactly how he loves it, diamond earrings glinting when you lean in to murmur sweet things during dessert. He kissed your hand at the table. He fed you the last bite of your souffle. He looked genuinely weak when you smiled.

Now, back home, you lead him by the hand into the cozy sitting room, your heels already kicked off, makeup still perfect, and you sit him down on the plush velvet armchair. You pull out a small, gift-wrapped item from behind the bar cart. It’s square, not too thick, tied in a delicate ribbon.

He eyes it suspiciously, lips quirking slightly.

“Another gift, sweetheart?” he murmurs, hazel-green eyes sparkling. “Wasn’t dinner and your company more than enough?”

You smile innocently, cheeks warm.

“This one’s just for you. A private gift. Promise you won’t open it until I say so?”

He raises a brow. He’s intrigued.

“You’re starting to worry me, snowflake.”

Still, he obliges, sitting obediently with the album in his lap while you go behind him, slipping your arms over his shoulders.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Now.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens the first page.

And stops breathing.

⸻

First photo, you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly pastel apron over one of his old dress shirts… buttoned only halfway. The hem flutters just below your thighs, leaving your legs completely bare. Your hands are flour-dusted, cheeks pink, and there’s whipped cream on your nose.

You’re bending slightly over the counter, sliding a tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven with the most mischievous smile.

“Sweetheart… what… what is this…”

He flips the page.

Second photo, you licking icing off your finger, eyes wide and innocent, the bow of the apron tied low on your back, the skirt very short. Zayne’s name is scrawled in icing of the cake on the countertop beside you, surrounded by pink sugar hearts.

Third photo, you, from behind, balancing on your tiptoes to reach for a spice jar. The dress has ridden up. There’s no mistaking what’s not underneath. The caption under it reads in your handwriting:

“oops. no panties today, chef~”

He’s silent.

Dead silent.

His jaw’s locked. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, ears turning red.

You lean close to whisper innocently, “Do you like it?”

And Zayne, your brilliant, stoic, always composed husband, finally breathes out—

“I’m going to have a stroke.”

⸻

The album now lives in his locked desk drawer, where no one else will ever find it. Not even if the house were on fire.

But more importantly, you find yourself pinned between the kitchen counter and your blushing husband not even twenty minutes later, his tie long gone, your apron hanging off your shoulders,

“Was this all a plan, darling?”

“Did you intend to drive me mad tonight?”

He kisses you breathless, his hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding beneath the fabric with reverent slowness.

“Next year,” he murmurs, voice low and hot, “I want one in a nurse uniform. And the year after that? Surprise me.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The evening had been perfect in that quiet, Xavier-esque way.

A soft dinner at home, lights dim, stars glittering through the penthouse windows. The table set with care, he’d even lit candles, though he tried to pretend he hadn’t planned that far ahead.

You’d cooked, and he sat beside you the whole time, sipping wine, brushing his fingers against yours between each course, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the words.

He never needed them anyway.

Not with how he looked at you.

“You’re… beautiful, starlight,” he murmured as you curled into his lap on the sofa after dinner, blanket half-draped over your legs. “You always are. But tonight… I’m starting to believe you really were made to haunt me.”

You giggled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and handed him a small, ribboned album from behind the couch cushion.

“Happy anniversary, Xavier. I wanted to give you something personal.”

He blinked, confused.

Took it delicately, like it was a sacred relic.

“A… book?”

“…Wait.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens to the first page.

And that’s when the nosebleed hits.

⸻

First photo, you in a sheer, pale lilac negligee that hugs your body like mist. Your thighs peek through delicate lace. The neckline drips low enough to give a suggestion of cleavage, hidden by a loosely tied robe. You’re sitting in his reading chair. One hand rests lightly on your collarbone. Your expression is soft. Sleepy. Dangerous.

Blood hits the page.

“X-Xavier?!”

“You’re bleeding!”

He slaps a hand over his nose, face completely red, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“Starlight what did you do.”

“You can’t—you can’t just give me this!”

⸻

Second photo, the robe is slipping off your shoulder now, revealing more of your bare skin, your stocking-clad thighs folded neatly beneath you as you recline on your side like a classic painting. The caption is handwritten:

“I imagined you’d like this one. I was thinking of you when I posed.”

Xavier collapses backward. Still holding the album upright like it’s the last thing tethering him to earth. He’s trying not to breathe too hard. His nose is still bleeding, too frozen to take the tissues you’re offering him.

“I’ve made contact with divinity,” he murmurs dramatically. “It’s her. She’s real. She’s my wife.”

⸻

Third photo, you, standing in front of the penthouse bedroom mirror. The robe is untied. Your back is to the camera, head turned over your shoulder. The light catches on your shoulder blades, your soft hips, the top of your thigh-highs.

Underneath it is another note:

“You can come find me now, if you want. The robe’s still on the floor.”

He gets up. So fast you hear the whoosh of air.

Absolutely frantic.

“Where is it. Where is the robe.”

You laugh, backing toward the bedroom.

He follows like a man possessed.

⸻

Later, after he’s finally calmed down and your poor bedsheets are a casualty of the nosebleed and the aftermath, he insists on making a velvet-lined case for the album.

He keeps it in a drawer near the bed.

Takes it out every few days just to sigh over it.

“You didn’t have to go so far,” he murmurs, tracing the page edges. “You could’ve given me a photo of you in sweatpants and I’d still cry.”

Then his voice drops to a whisper.

“But I am going to need another shoot… same robe… maybe no robe… just a suggestion.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d just come home from a week-long seaside villa getaway where Sylus spared no expense, private chef, marble infinity pool, silk robes delivered every morning, a whole fleet of bodyguards paid to “look the other way” when his hands wandered too far under dinner tables.

He was glowing with pride the entire trip.

“I’m a dangerous man, kitty,” he’d murmur as you swam up to him in the ocean, sunglasses perched on his silver hair. “But I’d give it all up to keep you soft like this. Tucked away. Spoiled rotten. Never needing to lift a finger except to choose which bikini to wear.”

He returned home relaxed, sun-warm, glowing from power and pleasure.

That is, until you handed him the velvet envelope.

“A little souvenir,” you said coyly, settling into the penthouse lounge with a yawn. “From me to you.”

He opened the album.

He paused.

Then he tilted his head.

Slowly. Like a predator smelling blood.

“…Kitten.”

⸻

First photo, you reclined across red silk sheets, wearing a see-through black chiffon robe that slips completely off your shoulders, revealing glitter-dusted thighs, sultry makeup, and the barrel of one of his gold-plated pistols perched lazily on your hip. A diamond necklace is looped between your teeth like candy.

Your eyes are half-lidded. The wedding band sparkles under the camera flash.

“Is that my pistol?” he murmurs, voice strangled.

“Did you take that from the vault?”

Second photo, you’re in the passenger seat of one of his vintage sports cars, door open, one leg outside, the other tucked provocatively on the leather seat. Your silk stockings are barely rolled up. The seatbelt’s undone. The caption below reads:

“ready for a ride, baby?”

He flips the page and laughs.

A dangerous, breathless kind of laugh.

The kind that says you’re not getting out of bed for three days.

“This is evil.”

Third photo, you, laying sideways across the hood of the car, fully naked except for stilettos and a diamond anklet, one of his revolvers laid carefully across your bare stomach.

⸻

He flips back. Again.

And again.

Then he gets up. Walks directly to the foyer. Takes his wallet from the marble console.

Silently, carefully, slides his favorite photo, the red silk sheet one, into the inside flap.

“You are truly born to torture me.”

⸻

You spot him flipping through the album again later, standing shirtless by the balcony with a cigar in his mouth, laughing under his breath.

“I knew you were perfect, kitten,” he drawls. “But this, this is perversely delightful.”

He tosses the cigar into the ashtray. Stalks over to you, scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

“Give me another shoot. In my office next time. I want a shot of you splayed across the desk.”

He grins.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You had a second honeymoon at the tropical resort, It was perfect.

Private beach. Ocean-view suite. Room service for every meal because you “didn’t feel like leaving bed” and Caleb had no problem with that. He spent most of the week either kissing saltwater off your shoulders or carrying you around like his pretty little prize.

“You really gonna let me have you all to myself like this again, pips?”

“No comms. No Fleet. Just my pretty wife lookin’ like paradise.”

Now, back home, sun-kissed and still a little sand-dusted, you hand him a neatly wrapped album as you’re snuggled on the couch, legs over his lap, wearing his oversized academy flight jacket.

He’s already smiling like a golden retriever with a brand new bone.

But the moment he opens the album?

Full body combustion. (He didn’t blow up again, don’t worry)

⸻

First photo, you, provocatively leaning over his fighter jet, hips arched, wearing a custom, skimpy version of his old pilot jumpsuit. The front is unzipped nearly all the way down, teasing a scandalous glimpse of your favorite lacy bra underneath, his favorite color. His name tag is pinned to your chest.

You’re wearing his flight jacket over your shoulders.

Hair tousled. Lipstick smudged.

The note underneath says:

“Reporting for duty, Colonel.”

“BABY.”

He literally shouts. Slaps the photo against his chest. “How will i ever step foot into that jet again without thinking of you?!”

Second photo, you inside the cockpit, half-in, half-out, glancing over your shoulder, lips parted, legs bent, the jumpsuit riding way too high. Helmet beside you, glove between your teeth.

He clutches his chest. Falls back onto the couch. Groaning.

“That’s my cockpit,” he moans dramatically. “You’ve defiled military equipment, and I have never been prouder in my life.”

Third photo, domestic theme. You in a retro gingham dress, pearls and red lipstick, holding a woven basket full of apples. You’re on a ladder, picking fruit, skirt accidentally hitched way too high, revealing sweet white thigh-highs and the hem of lace panties. The sun flares behind you like a lens filter from heaven.

Underneath, in your own handwriting:

“Almost fell off the ladder. Hope it was worth it”

“Oh my GOD,” he whines, flipping back and forth between pages. “Every photo is my favorite. I need one a week. No, twice a week. Actually, start filming them too.”

He grabs your face, squishes your cheeks, eyes sparkling like he just won the universe.

“Next time you wear that jumpsuit, you’re not taking it off. I wanna peel it off myself.”

You tease, “So you liked it?”

He growls.

“Pips, If you weren’t already my wife, I’d marry you all over again for this. I’d drop to my knees right now. I’d burn the Fleet down to make sure i never have to leave your side.”

He tucks the album into his duffel bag. That bag goes everywhere.

He literally calls it his emotional support photo album.

If he’s gone on deployment, he’s flipping through it in the captain’s quarters, smiling like a lunatic.

“God, my wife’s such a bombshell.”

And yes, he starts commissioning a video next.

Wants voiceover. Wants to hear your giggles in the background. Wants you whispering “I miss you, Colonel” while lying on his jet wearing nothing but the flight jacket.

[smutmind]

more jisoo for when it doesnt fit please

Thank you very much in advance

A reignited idea because I saw the latest trailer. This is pure non-sense. just pure lust

The sidewalks of West Hollywood steamed with midday light, jacaranda petals crisp beneath sneakers.

Jisoo jogged at an easy pace, sweat slick on her lower back. Her pink sports bra clung tight, nipples sharp against the stretch fabric. A matching pleated sports skirt hugged her hips, short enough to flash the curve of her thighs and the soft underbounce of her ass with every stride. She’d just left her yoga studio—hot flow, ninety minutes—but even that hadn’t quieted the ache coiling low in her stomach.

Not the ache from the stretch.

The one between her legs.

She slowed at the corner by the bougainvillea hedge, breath soft, ponytail damp. The house was too empty. Her husband wouldn't be back until late—product launch week, which meant meetings, caffeine, barely a glance her way.

She bent forward slightly to stretch her calves, hands on her knees, ass angled back without thinking.

"Afternoon like this, you're gonna get yourself followed."

The voice was deep. Amused. Male.

Jisoo straightened slowly. He was across the sidewalk, leaning against a low brick wall. Black, tall, lean with shoulders broad under a white tee damp at the collar. He held a cold bottle of water, condensation trailing down the plastic.

She smiled with a tilt of her head. "Maybe I don't mind."

He let his gaze roam. Not subtle. From her flushed cheeks to her tight chest to the round bounce of her rear, where the skirt lifted slightly with the breeze. She saw it happen. Let it happen.

"You're new around here."

"Been here a year."

"And I'm just noticing you now?"

"You sure you haven't looked before?"

He grinned. "Oh, I would've remembered."

She laughed, a light, breathy sound. The kind that could've meant anything.

"You always flirt with tired housewives fresh from yoga?"

"Only when they look like they need more than a jog."

Her face warmed, not just from the sun. "Bold."

He took a swig from his bottle, then held it out to her. "Cold?"

She hesitated, then took it. The plastic was wet, chilled. She tilted it to her lips, watching him over the rim.

His voice dropped. "You got a name, stretch queen?"

"Jisoo."

"Pretty."

She handed the bottle back. Their fingers brushed. Warm skin.

"Yours?"

"Ty."

She nodded. "You live close?"

"Couple houses down. Been working remote this week. Landscaping startup."

"Tech adjacent," she teased. "My husband's in tech."

"Yeah?" His tone cooled slightly. "He let you out like this?"

She held his gaze. "He doesn’t notice much anymore."

That hung heavy.

He stepped forward, slow. She didn’t move. Just let him come into her space. The air between them buzzed.

"You try to jog off the itch?"

Her lips parted. "What itch?"

"The one that yoga and miles don’t touch."

The line was crude, direct. It shouldn’t have thrilled her.

But it did.

She pulled her ponytail tighter, needing something to do with her hands.

"And if I did?"

"Then maybe you need a different kind of stretch."

She sucked in a quiet breath. Her thighs clenched. She shouldn’t be doing this. But God, she missed being wanted. Looked at. Touched. Used. Or maybe—maybe she wanted to be the one using him. For now.

He shifted his weight, the front of his shorts clearly shaped by interest. No attempt to hide it.

"You gonna let me walk you home?"

She glanced at the sky. Then at him. Then nodded.

He didn’t take her hand. Didn’t need to.

They walked. Side by side. Her pace slow again.

His villa caught the late sun like fire on glass, the open living room lit gold. Jisoo stepped inside slowly, skin still tingling beneath her pink sports bra and matching skirt. The pleats swayed around her thighs, still damp, clinging to her shape.

Ty followed close behind, his presence a slow burn at her back. She heard the door shut, heard the lock click. No turning back.

"Damn," he muttered, eyes on her hips. "You wear that just for yoga?"

"Not always. Sometimes for the walk home."

She felt his stare travel, devouring every inch. It made her pulse beat in strange places. She didn’t look back.

"You want something to drink?" he asked.

"Surprise me."

She let her hips roll a little extra as she crossed the room, toeing off her shoes, stretching her arms above her head. Her flat stomach pulled tight, sports bra lifting slightly. She could feel her nipples press forward in the cool air.

"You keep stretching like that, I’m gonna think you’re trying to tempt me."

She turned, smirking. "Aren’t I?"

He came over with two glasses. Whiskey. Neat. She took a sip, eyes locked on his.

"So what do you usually do after yoga?" he asked.

"Shower. Pretend my husband notices how good I look."

His smile dropped, turned darker. "That a hint?"

She shrugged, stepping closer. "Maybe just a complaint."

Ty set his glass down and pulled her in gently by the waist. One hand found the small of her back, the other cradled her jaw. Their lips brushed. Then met fully.

His mouth was soft, sure. He kissed like a man who didn’t ask twice. Her hands curled into his chest, nails grazing muscle through cotton. When he deepened it, tongue sliding in, she moaned into him.

He tasted like sweat and bourbon.

"You're shaking," he murmured against her lips.

"I haven’t been kissed like that in a long time."

His hands slid lower. Her ass filled his palms perfectly, soft and firm. He squeezed, pulling her against his crotch.

"That skirt makes it hard to behave," he said.

She laughed, then gasped as he thrust his hips just enough to let her feel how hard he was. She answered with a slow grind of her own.

"You got a dangerous body for a married girl."

"You keep saying 'girl' like I'm not thirty."

"You're a woman," he said, voice thick. "A tight little wife with a body that doesn’t quit."

His hands slid up, under the sports bra. Cupped her bare breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened. She arched into him, breath hitching.

"Fuck," he whispered. "They're perfect."

He bent, mouth closing around one nipple. Sucked it slow, then switched. She whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Ty..." she breathed.

He kept tasting her, then licked the sweat from under her arms, tongue slow and reverent.

"God, you’re so raw," he groaned. "I love it. Don’t clean up for me."

Her thighs squeezed. Wetness soaked her panties. He slid one hand between her legs, found her soaked through.

"You this wet just from kissing?"

"I—I didn’t expect..."

He slipped her panties aside. Fingers found her slit. Pressed. Explored.

She gasped. "Ty—"

"You're dripping. Fuck. You want it."

She bent forward instinctively, ass grinding into him, skirt flipped up now. His fingers worked her slowly. Then faster.

When his cock pushed against her entrance, thick and real, she froze.

"Wait," she said suddenly. Her whole body went still.

He didn’t move. Just breathed, steady.

"Wait. Ty... I can’t. I can’t do this."

He stayed close, breathing slow, voice low. "You already are."

Her hands trembled against the back of the couch. Guilt surged in her throat like bile. Her husband’s face—quiet, tired, familiar—flashed through her mind. Their silent dinners. His back always turned to her in bed.

"I'm married," she said, softer now, like she was reminding herself.

Ty leaned forward, his presence hot along her back. "And married women don’t get to want things?"

She turned slightly, hips quivering, breath shaky. "It’s just... too much. You're huge."

His hand smoothed up her spine, stopping at her neck. He didn’t push. Just held her steady. "But you let me this far. You let me taste you. You let me touch you. Your body’s not saying no."

He slid the head between her folds, slow and deliberate. She gasped. Her thighs quaked.

"Ty..."

"You want me to stop?" he asked again.

She hesitated. Then whispered, "Just one time."

"One time," he echoed, gripping her hip.

He pressed against her slowly, the thickness forcing her open. The stretch made her cry out, forehead collapsing into the couch.

"Oh my God... Ty… you're..."

"Big? Yeah. And you're taking it. Slow, baby. I got you."

He rocked forward gently, inch by inch. Her walls gripped him like velvet. Her breath came in gasps. Her guilt swirled with arousal until she couldn't tell them apart.

He bent low, chest to her back, hand sliding around to hold her throat gently.

"Fuck," she moaned. "You’re splitting me."

He kissed her jaw. Her neck. Her shoulder.

"You're taking me so good."

She arched deeper into him, body bowing to meet every inch.

He kissed her mouth. She kissed back, hard. Needy.

"You're loving this," he murmured.

She nodded into his kiss, voice a shattered whisper.

"I am."

Something inside her unraveled. Guilt was there, tight as a thread through her chest, but lust tugged harder. Her knees threatened to buckle.

Ty didn’t rush. He lifted her, hands under her thighs, her skirt riding high to her waist. She clung to his shoulders, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips.

He backed her into the nearest wall.

Her back hit the cool plaster, a jolt that made her gasp. He pressed into her, forehead resting against hers as their chests heaved. His cock, heavy and hot, rubbed along her soaked slit.

"Still good?"

She nodded, unable to form words.

He slid in again, slowly. Not all the way. Just enough to stretch. Enough to sting.

"Fuck… still tight. You grip like a fist."

Her head fell back against the wall. "You’re… so deep..."

He thrust again, a little more. Her breath broke. She clung to him harder.

"You take it like a champ, baby. You were made for this."

Each motion forced the air from her lungs. He set a rhythm—slow, grinding, claiming. The wall braced her. His body drove into hers, deeper, firmer, until her eyes rolled back.

"God… Ty..." she moaned, nails dragging down his back.

He grunted, sweat beading at his temple. "Say it again."

"Ty… fuck… Ty—"

He grabbed her throat again, not hard, but tight enough to own her posture. His other hand slid behind her knee, hiking her leg higher.

"You think about your husband?" he whispered.

She whimpered. "No. Just you."

He kissed her again—messy, tongues clashing, teeth grazing. The slap of skin filled the room, thick and raw.

"That little pussy’s got no business taking all this dick," he growled, pulling back just to push in again.

She shook beneath him. "Don’t stop. Don’t ever fucking stop."

He shifted, lifting her slightly. Changed the angle. His next thrust hit something inside her that made her cry out.

Her voice cracked. "Right there… oh God, right—"

He kept it steady. Brutal. Precise. Her legs quivered. She came hard, walls pulsing around him. He gritted his teeth, holding back.

"You're loving this," he said again.

She could barely breathe. "I… I do. I love it."

He pounded into her now, deep and rhythmic, kissing the tears from the corners of her eyes.

She was wrecked.

And she wanted more.

As he thrust faster, deeper, she gasped and gripped his shoulders.

"Wait! Don’t cum yet—please. Let me ride you."

He froze, cock buried deep. "You sure?"

She nodded fast, trembling, eyes wild. "Please. I want it like that."

He carried her to the couch, cock still inside, lowering her gently onto the cushions.

She straddled him, peeling off her bra and tossing it aside. Then the skirt. Her panties. She stood naked above him, flushed and glistening.

He stayed fully dressed, sprawled out, arms wide. Cock thick and slick, pulsing upright between her legs.

"Look at you," he said, smirking. "Cheating wife. Already addicted."

Her face burned. She bit her lip.

"You know what this makes you?"

She hesitated. He reached up and pinched her nipple.

"Say it."

"A slut," she whispered.

"That’s right. My little slut. Come ride me."

She sank down slow. Inch by inch. Her thighs shook as he stretched her open again.

"Fuck... you’re too big."

"You take it. You love it."

She moaned loud, circling her hips. Her ass bounced as she rode, small tits jiggling with every grind.

"Oh my God—Ty—fuck—yes—"

She lost rhythm, falling into his chest, gasping. He grabbed her hips, helping her move.

"You fuck better than a loyal wife. You were meant for this."

"Yes—yes—just like that—"

Their rhythm hit deep. Wet. Loud. Her voice became broken cries.

"I'm gonna cum again," she moaned, hands on his chest.

He sat up, kissed her hard. "Then do it. Show me what kind of slut you really are."

Her climax hit like a wave crashing through her bones. She screamed, high and broken, then collapsed forward against Ty's chest. Her body trembled in the aftermath—legs weak, pussy pulsing in overstimulation. Sweat slicked her spine, her arms hung loose around his neck.

But he didn’t stop.

His hands locked tight on her hips, guiding her as he continued to thrust up into her. His cock throbbed, stretching her, dragging wet noises from her soaked cunt.

"Ty—oh fuck—I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," he growled, breath ragged. "You’re still open. You’re still taking me."

She moaned helplessly. Her body spasmed each time he drove up, the overstimulation forcing her head back, lips parted in silent cries.

"I’m close," he whispered against her ear, voice rough. "Gonna cum."

Her eyes snapped open. Panic threaded her next breath. "Pull out," she gasped.

He didn’t slow. Just looked at her, sweat streaking his temple.

"Ty—please—outside."

"You really want that?"

"Yes. I can’t—my husband—please—"

He thrust harder. Deeper.

"You want me to paint you inside, don’t you? Stretch you full. Leave it dripping down your thighs."

"No—I can’t—" she sobbed, body rocking.

"Then stop riding. Get off me."

She didn’t move.

"You want it," he said, voice low, taunting. "You want all of me. Say it."

She whimpered, torn. Her pussy clenched around him, betraying her.

"Please... just cum outside. I’ll swallow, anything. Just not..."

"This pussy’s already mine. Doesn’t matter where I finish."

"Ty—please—"

Their bodies slammed together again. The pressure mounting.

At the last moment, Ty groaned and pulled out, his cock twitching against her slick folds. Hot breath fanned her neck as he held back the final push.

Jisoo's eyes fluttered open, surprise softening into a blush. He had listened. Respected her plea. Something in her chest tightened—not lust, not guilt. Gratitude.

"Now your end of the bargain," he said, voice still thick with restraint. "Make it worth it."

She caught her breath, lips swollen, eyes dazed. Then she whispered, almost shyly, "You can use my ass."

Ty went still.

Then his expression shifted. Hunger twisted into something darker. Possessive.

"You sure?"

She nodded slowly, already shifting her body forward on the couch, presenting herself on all fours, ass lifted, glistening with the mess of her orgasm.

That made him a monster.

He moved behind her, slowly. Deliberately. His hand ran down the curve of her spine, resting on the base of her back.

"Keep still," he growled.

Her breath hitched. The anticipation bloomed hot and fast.

Ty knelt behind her, his breath steady, cock slick and pulsing in his hand. He spread her cheeks with both hands, taking in the view. Her body trembled beneath his gaze, vulnerable and open, yet utterly inviting.

He leaned in, tongue tracing slow circles over her rim, warm and wet. Jisoo gasped, her body twitching.

"Oh—God, Ty..."

He moaned against her skin, then pressed a thumb gently to her entrance. "Relax," he murmured.

She nodded, pressing her forehead into the cushion.

The pressure came slow. Deliberate. She winced, breath shallow, fingers clawing the couch.

"Ty—it hurts."

"Breathe. You're doing perfect."

Inch by inch, he worked inside her. The burn was sharp, but her body yielded. Her thighs shook, toes curled.

Then, as he bottomed out, the pain curled around something electric. She moaned, broken and guttural.

"Fuck—it’s too much—"

He held her hips, still for a beat, then rocked in and out slowly.

"You're so tight," he groaned. "So fucking good."

Her cries filled the room. Pain tangled with pleasure until she couldn’t tell them apart. Her face twisted. Her walls pulsed again—another orgasm crashing through her without warning.

She sobbed into the cushion. "I’m cumming—again—oh my God—"

He kept thrusting, deeper, harder now, her body gripping him with every movement.

This was nothing like she had ever felt. Not with her husband. Not with anyone.

And it wrecked her.

His pace turned urgent. Every thrust rocked her forward, her ass slapping against his hips.

Then he grabbed her tits from behind, fingers rough and possessive, pulling her back into him.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned, breath hot against her spine.

She gasped, too gone to answer. Her nipples ached in his grip, the pressure lighting another spark low in her belly.

He slammed deep once, twice—then froze.

A thick, guttural growl ripped from his throat as he came, cock pulsing deep inside her, his hands squeezing her breasts as if anchoring himself to her body.

She shivered through it, breath caught in her throat, completely, utterly used.

He held her for a long moment, breath heavy in her ear. Then he gently pulled out, making her flinch, body still trembling with overstimulation.

"Jesus," she whispered, collapsing sideways onto the couch.

Ty tugged her close, one hand stroking her side, the other trailing down to rest possessively at her hip. His lips found her nipple and began sucking slowly, lazily, over and over.

"You okay?" he asked between licks.

She laughed weakly. "I can't feel my legs."

He grinned against her breast. "Good."

Jisoo shifted slightly, wincing as his mouth continued to toy with her, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

"You did more than scratch an itch, Ty."

"Told you I would."

She turned her face into his chest, breath slowing, his lips still working at her nipple.

"I don't think I can walk."

"Then don’t," he said, brushing hair from her face with one hand while the other kept her breast in his mouth. "Just stay."

[mai505]

Now playing || The Other Woman by Lana Del Rey

Heimweh (2)

Large hands roamed her body as they settled on her hips gently pushing them into the hands owners. She whimpered slightly as she let her hands sink into his hair. The neatly styled back locks now a mess for her to enjoy. His kiss grew harsher bitting at her lower lip. She moaned at the forced contact as his plump pleasure traveled down her neck catching her sweet spot. Grinding her feminine hips back into his he clutched her waist tightly.

“Save that for later baby” his voice rasped into her collarbone. As he finnaly pulled away to gaze at his masterpiece his eyes falling onto her heaving chest and swollen lips. The deep chuckle reaching her stomach making her desperate for more as she lay her arms around his neck once again pleading for contact with his lips again.

“ Let’s eat darling I’m famished” he mumbled pecking her softly. She had been in Berlin for the duration of 3 months. 3 months in which she had complete changed the fatefulness she called life. Arriving at the stuffed airport the summer sun had stung against her sunscreen less skin. The scholarship had promised accommodation and tuition yet how she actually survived was her lone mission.

The city was big Berlin was big buses trams in colourful advertisements drove past her. Her heart filled with nothing but excitement. After harassing a younger woman to help her get to her accommodation the tram ride was peaceful. Berlin was apparently full of underground trains something uncommon and new to her. So she took one a long trip of about 30 minutes took her past monuments and ever so slightly a pint of daylight before disappearing in the depths of underground’s again.

Her apartment was no different to hers back home. The big building blocks reminded her of the russian brutalism she had experienced on her school trip to Moskau after choosing Russian as her second language.

The apartment overall was quite pretty she confessed it had large studio windows and in the distance the city of Berlin showed the gorgeously gruesome colours. The preordered mattress stood outside the door. Overall the naked space lacked in furniture something she would have to devote her mind to.

On her first day there she had found out the large amount of students which lived in her block. A girl had knocked on her door during the nights interrupting her previous staring at the wall time. The blond bombshell could only be at least 20 and had introduced herself as Lisa a German media student who lived next door. The invitation of going out to a club had seemed tempting yet the thought of her make shift bed overruled the thought of a sweaty drink packed atmosphere. Lisa a woman who apparently had never heard the word no simply frowned before promising her return tomorrow night and had yelled the words you better be ready before disappearing behind the elevator doors.

The first night had been peaceful. The stillness something she was used to and only in the morning when the dawn had tickled her cheeks the fact that she was alone had settled in.

With a move came the load of paperwork. The tall towering building displaying large words of confusion caught up with her as she pushed the pull door. She had a meeting with the bank. Quite frankly she wasn’t sure what exactly she had to do.

It wasn’t even two steps in when she ran into someone. Her accented English immediately catching the man of guard. His questioning look only raised when she asked him on forms and fillings eyes wide and smile forced. The man only mused her, young at least 20 years younger his eyes flew over her attire the simple jeans and well fitted blouse showing faux professionalism. He stopped her nervous rambling introducing himself to the poor foreigner. Arthur he had mustered sticking his hand out before leading her to his office.

The papers had been easy and she knew it would not kill her to admit that she and Arthur got along just fine. He owned parts of the company apparently the bank a certain branch. He looked the part she had figured he did at least something remotely important. From the styled hair to good looking blue suit and disgustingly polished shoes she reminded her of the people she saw on TV when she was younger.

Arthur was kind snd funny. He wasn’t German either his American accent a clear indicator. When he had asked her for coffee and they had ended talking the bare facts like his age which was 38 or his favourite colour a painful fact since it was grey, had stuck. She would even go as far as considering him her first friend in Berlin.

Even though they barely knew each other for two hours she was still the person who had asked him to accompany her to IKEA. And he was the one who accepted. The endless maze formed a comforting bubble as they both walked soft conversation with the ever so often judge of a sofa filled their space.

Him inviting her to his flat was purely out of coincidence. Both of them haven’t eaten and Arthur had offered to make food.

So that’s exactly how she had ended up being perched on the bar like counter top Simon standing between her legs as his lips hungrily locked with hers. Her soft whimpers fuelling him to coaxing more of those sounds out of her. The dinner was long forgotten and it stayed that way when they made their way to Simon simple bedroom. No surprise to find the interior grey. Her jeans has ended up next to his shirt in the floor and the clothes stayed there till morning.

The morning where Arthurs guilt about taking such a younger woman ate him alive. Yet she seemed carefree. Her second night in Berlin spent in the bed of a stranger where she even she failed to admit that this certainly was a first for her exactly like the different kind of first he had taken from her last night.

Yet Arthur didn’t let his slight regret show when he drove her home and gave her his phone number urging her to call him is something happened.

And so she did. The loneliness of her apartment had caught up with her. Her classes had just started leaving her academic value faltering. So she had found herself back at his door step on the third night and then the fourth.

Almost 2 weeks had passed when she lay in his bed Arthur himself seated at the far end of the bed his head resting against the wall in the dying sun. He was reading something she had found out he did a lot. Because Arthur was smart. In her eyes the smartest man she had ever met. Arthur overall was a lot of things he was gentle cared for her with such ease she shut her brain off whenever she was with him. He felt a sense of responsibility for the maturing woman and she felt safe around him.

Plus she really loved his bed. He had helped build a couple of things back at her apartment yet nothing compared to the sleek flat dipped in luxury.

An exaggerated sigh left her lips the 17th one in a span of 5 minutes. As Arthur finally raised his eyes at the sheepish girl she simply grinned. She didn’t understand the page she had been reading since the last 20 what felt like hours. With a defeated groan Arthur lay the book back on the side table as he opened his arms reckoning for her to join him. She did so with no hesitation as she settled against his large chest. “What’s the problem baby” came his deep grumble. It was his thing. Calling her baby . She adored it. The nickname holding a cherish ring to it.

His tired eyes flew over the pages as he gently nodded before explaining her the mechanism. He was a great teacher she had to admit. He took his time and patience to explain her things and never really made her feel stupider than already. Arthur was great. The void of nothingness their relationship was floating in was fine for her.

Arthur was leaving in a few days which she was aware of. Berlin wasn’t his Home and she knew that. Getting attached was the last thing she needed. The bond they shared was special and when she had dropped him of his arms a straining weight on her waist as he explained her to not hesitate to call him even in London she knew that bond probably wouldn’t break.

Going back to her apartment hadn’t felt as welcoming as her thoughts had let her see it. The not even made bed held a certain coldness to it despite the high summer temperatures. The furniture looked scattered like it didn’t belong. So she did what any sane person would do.

Her summer dress got caught for the 6th time in the same loose screw of the sofa she was trying to turn. She let out an ugly cry as she felt the softened fabric rip the pretty flower pattern tearing. The knock at her door led her out of her little meltdown.

So far the studio looked at least a bit different. The bed not even standing in the same corner of the apartment everything was moved. It was her way of productivity the rotting questioneer in her bag a weighted block of stress. The door opened with a jolt hitting the discarded shelf the grey colour chipping. Indeed the bombshells face came into view. The clear fake tan and puckered up lips pulling into a large smile.

“What the hell are you doing” came an exhausted laugh. She simply opened up the door Lisa taking it as an invite her long legs carrying her into the apartment. “Need help” came Lisa’s voice her question an unanswered surprise.

They ended up finishing the studio barely recognisable anymore. In exchange she would be joining Lisa at the club. And so she found herself in an itching tight dress the red solution poured onto her every curve. The heels added height and she fought back to shove them away while Lisa battled her hair.

A groaning long car ride later they found themselves in one of the stickies clubs she had yet to witness. Lisa had yelled the lines of enjoy yourself before pouring herself toward her friends someone she maybe had originally been here to see.

She had never been a big drinker. Her first drink haven been taken with Arthur in his bed when he had opened a bottle of wine and she had falsely pretended to know the taste only to cough it up later. He once again had been taken aback from her innocence but had laughed it out when she miserably failed again.

Yet now 5 drinks later she was swaying her hips with the deafening sound of bass the ickling techno music a pain it her ears. Lisa was behind her holding her waist as she laughed incoherent things into her ear.

Long ago Lisa had claimed a Man had taken interest in her friend and said man now stood in front of her questioning her presence. Lisa knew Berlin this exact situation a norm for her since the age of 16. So she left her phone number with the young woman sending her a wink before disappearing. The man revealed himself as Luke. It wasn’t his real name she would later find out but right now she quite frankly didn’t care.

With eyes of clearest blue and blond hair he looked like the definition of a German good boy. yet the young technology student found himself entranced by the woman in-front of him. Over the night his arms slowly found their way onto her hips her hand behind his neck and in the end the tight dress and worn out heals relieved themselves onto her bedroom floor listening to her sweet screams of pleasure.

It took a while to get used to the new system here . Cultural differences had eaten her alive and Lisa had been a great help. The friend was the textbook definition of a party girl yet she was quick to realise that Lisa also had other sides. Helping her with school grocery shopping adapting to the new train system Lisa had grown to be her closest friend here. They went out a lot. Clubs concerts sickening events yet she never let it falter. It was part of her process. Changing swiftly into a new person. She took all the greeting she could to expand her social life.

Yet she still felt lonely. Two months in she then realised she did actually have a family. Suddenly missing her mothers rare cooking or her brothers disgusting tardiness. It had been a hard evening. School had taken a toll on her university life not being like how the movies so clearly displayed the act of freedom. She had wandered down. Convenience stores which still held opening of her late night craving being her saviour.

Her phone like the last twenty minutes held open her mother’s number. Her thumb hovering over the call button. The flashing of the broken bulb illuminates her teary eyes as she pushes open the heavy glass door. Grabbing a restless sandwich she piles it near the cashier her broken German offering the pay in cash. She was still jobless the small amount of money she made from a tutoring job wasn’t enough looking into waitressing a new question in her mind.

Outside the store cool autumn wind hits her as her phone rings the loud tone screeching in the deadly silent night. The name luke flashes across the screen as her eyes narrow threatening to roll. Luke who apparently was the exact opposite of a German good boy was her current situation. They didn’t date nor were they friends yet occasionally he called his tired voice filling her ears as he claimed he needed her badly right now. The first few times she indulged in this episode feeling appreciated that someone would need her so badly that it stuck to their voice. But soon she noticed she was simply a fix. The disgusting feeling of being used after each time left her with the enough regret to throw up. Luke wasn’t even what she would consider nice. He came and left then only barely 5 minutes later. Her fix unasked for as she lay dirtied by his mess on her bed.

Her eyes still glared at the flashing name as it slowly disappeared showing once again the contact of her mother. Taking a deep breath the sandwich a forgotten obstacle she sat on the dying sidewalk. The rough cobble stones bit her skin her fingers dancing across the screen as she called her mother. Yet as soon as her mother picked up she regretted it. Her mother cursed screamed at her that it had been two months that her disgusting daughter left her here alone while she lived her ever glorious life in Berlin.

Five minutes was enough when the hang up button seemed oddly tempting the tears pressing against her eyes blurred her sight. Distracting herself she untangled the broken earphones playing loud music to drown out her depressing thoughts. The plastic wrap from her sandwich seemed to bother her as she ripped it ungently from its contents. Her mother’s word reapplying in her mind as the high pitched voice of Beyoncé filled her ears the now she realised tomato sandwich leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. But then the tears fell. If she hadn’t noticed the pain running down her cheeks she would have thought it was raining.

She hadn’t cried in a while yet the embraced the familiar feeling of sadness. The ever pressing water a silent relief for her situation. As she choked up more tears the mascara she had placed so carefully on her lashes in the morning leaving black streaks across her face she for the first time in a while felt lost. Guilt and regret tugged at her sleeve as life cooed her to give up and leave that independence wasn’t in her future cards. She didn’t want to be alone. Lisa wasn’t the helping hand she wanted to reach out to. She really was alone.

Arthur opened the door. The unironic banging on his apartment at 2 am was enough to wake him out of the little slumber he wished to catch. Yet the biggest surprise of the night was yet to come as he ripped open the wood ready to yell curse out the person who dared to pry into his life at this horrid time. There she stood. The woman who had infiltrated his life 2 months ago. While he knew not every single thought was devoted to her he would be lying if he would say that he hadn’t often wondered where she was.

Apparently this was the universes sick way of giving him an answer. He simply started at her dishevel form the fading hoodie matching her paling face sickening black streaks mixed with her puffy eyes and cheeks tinted a soft pink. Her soft sob came to his ears and broke a tiny bit off his heart. The young woman looked destroyed.

A deep sigh left the man he himself not in a presenting matter. The simple sweatpants and shirtless chest focusing her eyes on his bed mused hair she blinked back rapid tears appearing as Arthur glanced at her in a concerned matter. Like he actually cared. He didn’t say a word opening his arms gently pulling her into the haven of his flat. She let herself fall toward him her arms wrapping around his torso as he lay his head on top of hers his lips placing reassuring kisses into her hair his hand tracing her back.

As the tears fell the weight lifted from her chest. She didn’t know what she was thinking when she took the tram to his place. Also not what she was thinking when she nearly broke his door in the process. Yet as she stood in his arms his warm form comforting her something she hadn’t felt in a while she knew she had made the right decision. He had tugged her toward his bedroom wrapping at her clothes giving her fresh clean ones that smelled familiar of him.

When he urged her to lie down he took her into his strong arms. Not letting the broken woman go. They hadn’t spoken. Arthur had decided there was time for this later. Tomorrow. His mind already realing to the meeting he had to attend or cancel.

Morning came quick waking up her head a throbbing mess along with the bundled sheets next to her. Memories of the night before come flushing in as she glanced around the otherwise empty room. Growing steam emerged from a room following a fully dressed Arthur. He looked exactly as she remembered him. Tall Crisp white shirt and stern look on his face. His eyes softened ever so slightly as he took in the young woman lying on his bed.

He reached over to the plush seating leaning onto her he placed a soft kiss on her forehead“I’m sorry baby I’ve got an important meeting but incase you need me call me alright darling“ he rasped. She nodded merely the thought of a warm shower crowding her mind.

She wanted to leave. The desire too ignore the previous night and simply flee was strong. She knew Arthur would talk about it. He was the type to do so. Yet she didn’t know if she was ready to confront the issue. To accept that even though she constantly told herself she didn’t feel the hurt her family causes her she did indeed.

Getting dressed had been a struggle as she tugged on her faded hoodie no appropriate clothing for the raging heat outside of the pale glass. A plan in mind to apologise to Arthur and ask him politely to forget the night , she took the train to the familiar busking of concrete he called his work.

Walking in she felt out of place in the sea of grey suits and pencils skirts ash she approached Arthur’s secretary. A woman she now learned was Amelia. Her kind withered face smiled at her before she took a step closer asking for the whereabouts of Arthur. The woman’s smile broadened “ Oh he’s with his wife dear right now but give them five minutes he doesn’t have any meeting right now so go asked and see him”.

Her brain short circuited for a moment. Her face drained of colour as she stared at the woman. Wife. Arthur had a Wife. The word repeated in her head as she was ready to walk away bury this awful information away.

Just then the door opened as he in all his glory stepped out ,arm wrapped around a beautiful woman’s waist. She smiled softly at him giving him a peck on the cheek as she moved closer to Amelia’s desk.

The woman was gorgeous almost ethereal. With a simple blouse over a pretty skirt she looked the part of perfect wife. The bold diamond glimmering on her finger as her heels clicked against the marble floors.

Arthur followed her swiftly before his gaze caught on her. His eyes widening slightly as he took her shocked face in. The moment didn’t last long as she got her consciousness back. Turning on her heal and leaving. She couldn’t do this. Not right now.

Even though it broke her to admit it she had really liked Arthur. Well as much as an 18 year old could like a man. Yet she felt used disgusted at the things she had shared with him pained about the situation she was in but most of all shame. Shame for being the other woman shame for being naive and shame for trusting blindly.

Maybe her mother was right maybe she wasn’t ready for this maybe she was too young to naive to stupid to really live her life.

Picking at her skins she walked down the darkening streets stoping at a sign which seems all too familiar. It was a bar one of the places Lisa had introduced her too.

Pushing the door she heard the tell tale sign of the bell above the door ringing as she took a seat close to the bartender. Him immediately turning to her ignoring the slight tears drumming at her eyes and the sad demeanour.

“You look like you could use something sweet” he smiled slightly at her while she simply nodded. He placed the colourful drink in-front of her adorning the orange peel with a pink umbrella. Slowly taking a sip she quickly drowned the drink immediately flagging the bartender down for another.

She did not know how long she had sat there yet the hours seemed to be ticking by like seconds as the pile empty cups slowly grew next to her. She hiccuped slightly as she reached over to wrap her lips around the straw again , her eyes catching on movement beside her.

As her gaze flicked to the heavy arm placed beside her she got lost in the dark swirls of his tattoo. Staring intently she was drawn out of her daze by his gruff tone. “You gonna stare all night sweet’art or you gonna piss off to somewhere else?

[yuzusfinest]

Reeve's Bruce Wayne and Gunn's Clark Kent literally have the potential to be the most awkwardly cute couple pairing due to Clark's nerdy behavior and Bruce being a socially inept emo loser. Like imagine how awkward their interviews are and how much pining they would have omfgggg, too bad we're probably never getting them in the same geographical location ever.....

[lettuce-gremlin]

Something Something Beckett declaring that he doesn't want anyone to feel the pain of losing a loved one again, but by self isolating to the extent that he is, he has basically caused his family and friends to lose him anyway

[fleeceyang]

writing the script for my interactive audio game which i’ll narrate and record sound effects for myself. it’s gonna be a lot of work but i’m excited!

[meat4meat]

I do not have the artistic stamina or frankly skill to create a visual adaptation of tlt but I saw someone say they didn't think they could watch a visual adaptation of tlt because of the dissonance of things like seeing Palamedes' lines come out of Naberius's body BUT that just made me think about all the heartbreaking ways this could be depicted visually, especially in video format with clever shot composition and editing choices.

Like there's so much weight put into seeing how the memories of others linger on in the people who survive them, especially dialed up to 11 in lyctors. And we have that visual with the eyes but for a screen adaptation what if we...pushed it?

Faceless shots of hands (I know it's cliche but listen-) where Ianthe is working on the dress for Harrow in HTN, talking about how good Naberius was with a needle- but it's his hands sewing.

-it's Augustine's hand lighting her cigarette

-It's Lovelady's hand turning the the page of those trashy romance novels

In HTN it's always just Harrow, to show her disconnect to her grief over Gideon

Doesn't even just have to be Lyctors. Gimme shots of Aiglamene's footwork on Cannan house tiles over Gideon's internal monolog as she tries to recall her dueling instructions.

I think if someone cared enough about adapting it there's so much potential in a visual adaptation of the books.

But God I'd be so scared of what any studio who picked it up would do to it-

[yourqueenb]

This is interesting to look at. I think I’m gonna get it 🤔

[cadybear420]

One of my least favorite things about Choices Reddit is how half of the time someone talks about how MC is always sub/passive/bottom/fem and LI is always dom/active/top/masc it's always about how it's a problem specifically for male MC players or any non-wlm players. Yes the route was probably written with wlm in mind but this is a problem for any and all players who prefer more masc/active roles, wlms included!!! Stop acting like it isn't!!!

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Gojo doesn't usually fuck his clients. This was supposed to be a normal massage. But with hands like that and a cock to match... "professional" was never on the table.

PAIRING ᯓ Masseur!Gojo x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ smut MDNI, happy ending massage!, oral (f receiving), size kink?, PIV, spanking, biting/marking, dirty talk, possessiveness if you squint!

WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.3k

You’d driven past the place at least a hundred times.

It’s a stupidly sleek little building tucked perfectly between a Pilates studio and one of those overpriced juice bars. Like the kind with an obnoxiously chic and overly sensual neon sign that says TOUCH. White letters on smoked glass, all minimalist and judgy and expensive.

Every time you passed it you’d scoff.

“They probably charge three hundred fucking dollars just to rub your back and judge your pores.”

You’d even spat out an insult once like the building itself would crumble under the weight of your words, hitting the gas on your way home from work. Said it with the kind of righteous confidence that only comes from truly believing you’d never be that kind of girl. The kind who just… lets someone touch them like that. Oil-slicked and half-naked, moaning on some fake leather table while a stranger pretends it’s “therapeutic.”

Weird, isn’t it?

Definitely not for you.

And yet, here you are.

Saturday morning. Pillow hair, soul cracked like a boiled egg, lying in bed with your phone half on your face as you text your best friend in a fugue state,

you ever feel like your spine is just floating? help

You expected a “same.”

get a massage. i’m serious.

You snort. Riiight, a massage, huh?

You stare at the screen, eyes locked to the message like if you stared long enough it’d dial itself.

No amount of sarcasm or dignity can fix the way your shoulders feel like cement. Or the way you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Or the way your boss sent a “quick favor” email at precisely 11:48 PM last night, which you answered because your spine is already jelly and your will to live has already been transferred to a spreadsheet.

So… yeah.

Maybe you are that girl.

The bell attached to the door jingled as you step into the spa, and this is where you immediately felt out of place. The air smelled like eucalyptus and tears of the rich. The lighting was soft, flutey music passing through one ear and out the other, the woman at reception desk with the kind of smooth and poreless skin someone had when they bathed in rosewater.

You step up, feigning confidence like you hadn’t just Googled “what happens at a massage” just an hour ago.

“Hi, uh… I’d like to get a massage?”

She looked up from her computer with a smile too serene to be trusted. “Of course, what kind were you thinking? We offer Swedish, Thai, deep tissue, shiatsu, hot stone, aromatherapy-”

You nod slowly, brain buffering like YouTube trying to stream Paul vs. Tyson. Swedish? Do you get buttered up and rolled around like an IKEA meatball? You can’t ask that. You’d already committed the biggest crime by pretending you belonged here.

“Deep tissue,” you said, like you knew what the hell that meant.

She gave you a polite nod, tapping away on her keyboard. “Great choice. One of our more intense options. How long would you like the session? Sixty or ninety minutes?”

“Um… sixty’s good,” which is actually code for: I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m more scared of farting if you press too hard on my spine.

“Perfect,” she chirped. “The massage therapist will discuss pricing with you. You can take a seat, they’ll call you back shortly.”

You stepped aside, sitting on the impossibly soft couch in a sack of second-guessing. Of course there was a candle named something you can’t pronounce. And of course there’s a small framed sign on the coffee table reading: Relaxation is a journey, not a destination.

Just as you begin contemplating how to fake an emergency bolt, an intrusive thought crossing your mind to stand up and scream that you had a fucking bomb, a calm voice called your name.

You stood up, maybe way too quickly, meeting the eyes of a woman smiling at you with a clipboard in hand.

Thank god. A woman. The anxiety deflated from your shoulders. You didn’t really consider the possibility of a male masseuse until now, but the idea of some beefcake oiled up and kneading your thigh was not something you emotionally prepared for.

“This way,” she gestured for you to follow her down a hallway lined with softly glowing wall sconces and the sound of babbling water. You’d never felt so simultaneously underdressed and overscheduled.

She opened a door and motioned you inside. “You can undress to your comfort level and lie down under the towel, face down. I’ll let your massage therapist know you’re ready.”

“Towel?” you echo, glancing around. On the table sat a singular, small, pathetic white towel. It looked like something you’d pat a cat dry with, and you didn’t know if you expected a beach towel or a blanket.

Still, you nodded like a champ.

There you stood, alone after she exited and shut the door behind her. Unsure of how much was too much as you undressed. Were you supposed to keep your underwear on? Take it off? Would that be weird? Shit, what was the social etiquette here? It felt wrong to Google it, like the masseuse would walk in on you hunched over your phone naked like a caveman discovering the world wide web for the first time.

Eventually, you compromised by only keeping your underwear on and sliding under the towel, if you can even call it that. It barely covered your ass, and if you breathed wrong a cheek was gonna peek.

You lie face down, pressing your face into the weird little donut hole in the massage table. Every attempt at relaxation was a fail, your body as stiff as a mannequin.

The door creaked open, a voice drifted through the air all too low and smooth, way too sexy for this situation.

“Good evening,” he said.

Wait.

Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.

You lift your head just a fraction, seeing a tall man stepping into the dimly lit room. White uniform shirt rolled to the elbows. Forearms like Greek sculpture. Messy white hair. A face so hot you swore you could hear angels filing HR complaints. His eyes were icy, meeting yours and curved with a smile.

“I’ll be your masseur tonight,” he said. “Name’s Satoru. Just let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” you say, voice cracking.

He chuckled softly, washing his hands in the corner, the sound of running water far too sensual. You press your face back into the donut, trying not to internally implode.

You asked for this, your brain whispered.

You chose deep tissue, whatever that meant.

You hear the flick of a small bottle opening. Something shifts behind you, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla blooming through the room like a secret. A soft, wet sound followed, and then-

Drip.

Oil hit the small of your back first. Warm, silky. You twitched without meaning to.

“Sorry,” his voice came playful and low, like he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, only letting out a small squeak of laughter.

Then came his hands.

Large, warm, firm. Gentle as they pressed into your shoulders, thumbs digging slow, practiced circles into the knots near your spine. You can’t help the exhale escaping your lips, something between a sigh and a sound you’d only make in bed.

“This your first massage?” he asks, and damn him. Even his voice sounded like a smirk.

You coughed. “That obvious?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, hands now kneading into the ridge between your neck and shoulder. “You’re stiff. Tense.”

You laugh nervously. “It’s just work stuff. Desk job.”

“Hm,” he hummed like he already knew. Like he could read it in your body the moment his hands touched you. “I’ll start at your shoulders and work my way down. We’ll see if we can get you loosened up.”

You made another strangled sound of agreement in response, biting your lip.

Every stroke of his palm dragged warm oil over your skin, spreading heat along your back, down your spine. The pads of his thumbs pressed into the muscles beside your shoulder blades, firm but slow. It wasn’t just good, but shamefully so. Soothing, deep. Every time his thumbs pressed in, you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Focus, you told yourself. This is a professional, he does this all the time. And you’re not special, just some towel-clad client on a table meant for meat tenderizing.

But gods, his hands.

They were confident, skilled, moving in ways like they had the heaven’s permission to touch you. Maybe they did, each stroke leaving your skin burning in its wake. Your hips shifted slightly. Not on purpose. Well, maybe it was on purpose. You hated yourself for it.

He hadn’t said anything for a while, the room quiet aside from the ambient spa music and your stupid heartbeat echoing in your ears, your heart trying to crawl its way out from your ribcage. You focused on the feeling, the press of his digits into your shoulder. On the long drag of his hands gliding down, down, oil-slick and hot against your spine.

Shit, your brain was melting.

You felt his hands move again, slower now, gliding at your middle back. You couldn’t help but wonder if the towel slipped, didn’t dare look. You just stayed still, very still, praying for dignity while also very much wishing he’d go lower. His thumbs pushed into the small of your back, just on either side of your spine, and you exhaled, loudly.

You immediately regretted it. But he didn’t say anything. Just chuckled softly, barely a sound, and pressed deeper.

Gojo had given thousands of massages before. Hell, he’d worked on celebrities, models, athletes, all kinds of bodies sculpted and polished and worshiped. But this one? You? You weren’t some glammed-up goddess or an over-confident regular. You were shy, uncertain, nervous in the sweetest way, biting your lip like it’d save your soul.

And when he asked what was hurting, where it ached, you’d mentioned work like it explained everything.

He knew exactly what you needed.

His thumbs dragged slow over the curve of your back. You shifted slightly under him, just the tiniest movement, but not from pain. From heat. From something much, much lower. Gojo felt it, the tremor running through your muscles like a secret. The towel was still clinging to your hips, just barely, and he let his hands dip lower, enough to brush the top curve of your ass to see if you’d flinch.

And you didn’t.

Fuck.

He was breaking rules. His own rules. He didn’t do this. Never had. Not once. Not even with the flirty clients or the ones that offered more.

But then again, none of them were you.

Your skin was warm beneath his palms, your breath hitched in a rhythm that wasn’t just relaxation. He could hear it, feel it. And when his fingers barely slipped under the hem of that towel, just to knead the tight muscle at the base of your spine, he felt you tense.

Not with fear, but want.

He pressed deeper, just enough to test. And he almost groaned aloud when your hips lifted. As if it was an accident. But he knew better.

He loved the way you were sensitive for him, dragging his thumbs along the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing your perceptive skin that made his cock twitch.

He was throbbing against the zipper of his pants. He needed to stop.

But he wasn’t going to stop.

“First session’s free, by the way,” he murmured, just above your ear, his salacious tone a blessing to your ears. “House special.”

You made another soft sound and Gojo had to bite his cheek just to stop a deep groan threatening its way out from his lungs.

You thought you were in the clear when his hands left your back. For a moment, you considered breathing again. But then-

“Gonna move to your legs now,” he said, voice smooth and casual. “Starting from your feet.”

You couldn’t find it in you to protest. Your feet. The one part of your body that rejected human contact like a toddler would broccoli.

You tensed as he lifted your foot gentle, resting your ankle against a bolster. You took this opportunity to look. And he looked way too comfortable, crouched near your calves, rolling his sleeves up even more, his forearms, fuck, the veins, and warming more oil in his hands.

The first touch was light, gliding his fingers over your heel, your arch-

You flinched.

“Oh?” he laughed, glancing up. “Ticklish?”

You wanted to crawl inside the nearest candle holder and die.

“Maybe a little,” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“Noted,” he chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”

And if Gojo Satoru wasn’t a liar before, he was now.

Because his thumbs rolled firm circles into your arches, sliding up the curve of your foot, down each toe like he fucking knew. You twitched again when he hit that spot near the ball of your foot.

He didn’t even pretend not to notice.

“Aw, you’re trying not to laugh.” His voice was warm. “Cute.”

You exhaled like a balloon deflating, face hot. “You’re evil.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, slowly dragging his palm up your sole to your ankle. “That’s one way to thank me.”

He didn’t linger much longer there, probably for your dignity which was already on life support, before he moved up, kneading your calf in strong, slow strokes. His hands wrapped around the muscle with confident pressure, and oh, it felt good.

All thoughts of embarrassment evaporating the moment his thumbs began sliding up your calf, massaging deep into the tissue. His touch slowed as he moved higher, now smoothing hot oil into the back of your knee.

Then he moved to your other leg. Same path. Foot, ankle, calf. All familiar but different. Like he was trying to memorize you. And this time his hands went slower, savoring the goosebumps prickling your skin as his hands moved higher, thumbs digging deeper. And when he reached the back of your thigh, right where the towel barely covered, you felt it.

The hesitation. The pause. The line of professionalism being toed.

And then crossed.

His hands never stopped moving, but his thumbs dragged slower, brushing up the back of your thigh and letting his touch linger along the soft skin there. His touch was light, too light to be considered a deep tissue massage.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice low.

You could only nod.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re very responsive.”

Was this normal massage talk?

No, it couldn’t be. But you didn’t dare respond, didn’t want to stop him, even as your breath hitched and thighs threatened to instinctively press together.

Gojo’s hands stayed high on your thighs. One thumb circled the outside of your thigh.

“You’ve got tension here too,” he remarked, and this time, it wasn’t professional at all.

Your hips jolted.

“Sensitive?” he asked, almost a whisper.

You wanted to say something, maybe yes, maybe God, please don’t stop, but all that came out was a hum, shaky as his fingers gripped your thigh tighter.

“Don’t worry,” his voice silk-soft and soaked in pure heat. “I’ll take care of it.”

You didn’t even know he shifted until his voice came too close to your ear, just a low murmur.

“I’m gonna remove the towel now. That okay?”

You’re too far gone, just nodding.

“Need you to say it for me,” his voice is gentle.

“Yes,” you swallow, voice barely above a whisper.

He grips the towel, slow as sin, dragging it off your spine and letting it peel off you like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His fingers graze, not enough to claim but just enough to tease. You’re face-down, so you don’t see it. But he’s squinting, biting back a groan, cock already stirring and probably dripping.

He oils up again, slick and warm, spreading his palms across your ass with expert precision.

“Just breathe. This’ll help with tension in your glutes.”

Glutes, he says it like a medical term. You almost believe he’s just being good at his job, except his hands are kneading deeper, practically stroking the plushy fat of your ass.

His hips subtly press against the table, trying to relieve the throb without making a sound. His jaw is slack, eyes hooded, and he’s already sweating. He’s circling your ass with the heel of his palm, eyed glued to were your thighs part ever-so-slightly, revealing the slightest sliver of wet lace. His mouth waters.

His thumbs brush the hem of your panties, it’s innocent at first. But then he does it again, lingering.

You can almost feel the air shift.

Something about the way he touches you makes your skin buzz. He hasn’t said anything… too off yet, but the drag of his fingers along your thighs, the brush against the edge of your panties, you’re beginning to think it’s not exactly on the menu at most spas.

“Gonna take these off too. Helps me reach deeper tissue,” his finger hooks just teasingly into the hem at your hips.

You know it’s a lie. It has to be. But you nod.

And again, he waits.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you exhale, heartbeat in your ears.

Then he hooks only his thumbs into your panties, slow, like it’s a favor. You lift your hips slightly so he can pull them down, and he takes his time. His thumbs caress you as he drags them down to your knees, ankles, then off completely.

And now you’re bare. Naked. Exposed under his hands and eyes, no doubt dripping from tension and need alone.

The only sound in the room is the soft roll of incense smoke, faint music, and the slick shhhhhkkk of oil between his palms to start again, skin to skin.

He shifts, thumbs dipping lower and palms kneading the tops of your thighs. It’s almost too much, you want to move, clench your legs shut, but you don’t. You stay soft, pliant, open.

And he watches. Every flutter of your muscles. Every twitch. The faintest glisten where your thighs part.

This was no longer routine.

So wet already. You poor thing probably didn’t even mean to be.

He watches your hips shift when he gets close, the way your toes twitch as his thumbs drag sinfully along your inner thighs. It’s like you’re desperate and embarrassed all at once. And yet, you obeyed him. And he loved every second of it.

You’re so pure, so sweet, so filthy for him. Not a single complaint. No hesitation.

Glutes soft and flushed from the heat of his palms. Inner thighs slicked with oil. Breathing shallow and shaky. And his favorite part, your slit tucked between trembling legs, glistening with more than just oil.

He shifts again, subtly dragging his cock against the edge of the massage table. Hard, throbbing, and unforgiving.

“You’re responding really well,” he murmurs, the heel of his palms pushing into your inner thighs enough to part you only so he can see more.

And you’re going insane.

His hands on your thighs, voice in your ear. Every pass of his palms leaving your nerves sparking, and it’s taking everything in you not to freely moan when his knuckles drag just too close.

When your legs twitch again, of course he notices. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Just let me take care of you.”

But then his sinful thumbs sweep higher. Still outside, not touching where you need him most. But close. So, so close. And you can’t help the gasp escaping you.

And that’s when he finally brushes his fingers along your folds, light, feather-soft, as if he’s checking something.

Your whole body jerks. His voice lowers a few octaves.

“You’re soaked.”

A beat of silence.

“Want me to keep going?”

Again, you nod.

“Words, sweetheart.

You swallow, face burning and contorting where it’s nestled in the headrest. “Yes… please.”

“Good girl,” his chuckle is low and so smug.

You’re so responsive for him, every time his fingers tease your slick little slit, your thighs tremble like they’re fighting not to squeeze shut.

You don’t even realize the slightest rock of your hips, silently begging for more like you’re chasing his fingers.

He palms your ass again, spreading you open as he traces a single digit up and down. Folds puffy and hot, dripping onto the table, clit twitching like it knows what’s coming.

“You said this was your first massage, right?” he says, dragging a single finger deeper between your folds. “But you’re begging for attention.”

Then his thumb gently presses against your clit, unmoving but giving you the pressure you oh so desperately needed.

“Think you might’ve been made for this.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think. All you know is his hands. The way they press into you, spreading your arousal and oil around as if it’s a divine ritual. The way his thumb circles your clit painstakingly slow, so patient.

You mewl, too far gone to be ashamed.

“Want the full package?” his question come velvet-smooth.

You blink, dazed. “…The what?”

His thumb pressed in just a little harder, your body tensing. “Y’know, the extra. Let me take care of everything.”

“Y-yeah…” your voice is barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

He smiles, the thick curl of anticipation mixing with the burning incense in the air, winding your spine as he murmurs your new nickname again:

“Good girl.”

It’s like this was always going to happen. Like he’s done this a hundred times before and you were just next in line, all dripping wet and none the wiser.

Then he’s palming you again, hands oiled with a fresh squirt as both hands slide over your skin. It’d be professional if it wasn’t for the way his thumbs spread you once again.

It’d be professional didn’t brush directly over your soaked folds, a low growl he lets out, low and restrained when he sees your cunt pulse for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging two fingers through your slick.

Then he dips two fingers inside you, slow and filthy as he immediately curls them right into that soft spot between your ridges that has you gasping into the table padding.

“God, you’re tight. Gonna have to open you up first, yeah?”

It’s as if it’s still part of the massage.

He fucks you slow with his fingers, his free hand moving to move ‘round and ‘round against your clit with his thumb. And fuck, he’s too skilled. Every filthy, wet stroke of his fingers has you whimpering, any semblance of professionalism lost by the sound of your whispers.

“So responsive,” he mutters almost to himself. “You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?”

Then-

Smack.

Your body jolts, a sharp sting across your ass, the crack echoing through the room.

“Mm,” he hums, smoothing the reddened spot of his handprint like he’s checking the quality of his own work. “Pretty thing makes such pretty sounds.”

Another smack. You gasp.

“Flip over for me.”

His tone is easy, casual like he’s asking you to flip a page in a magazine. Your legs move before you, body fully glistening with oil and anticipation.

His face looks almost desperate. Sweat at his temples, white lashes fluttering over hooded eyes at burn. His lips are parted, flushed, bitten like he's been holding back from devouring you whole.

He's no longer the calm masseur from before, but a man on the edge of losing it.

Every inch of him thrumming with want, you can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the slight tremble in his fingers at his sides. His gaze drops between your legs, staying there like he's starving.

He wants this, wants you just as badly. Maybe worse.

And he sees you. Laid out like an offering, tits soft and heaving, thighs glistening, cunt spread and twitching, begging for his attention.

He lets out a low, heavy breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then his hands are tracing down your thighs, hooking under your knees just to bring them to your chest.

And he goes in, no teasing or warning, just his hands spreading you wide, full mouth-to-pussy action.

His tongue slides over your clit like he’s starving. Moaning into you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s filthy, loud, wet, feral.

He laps at you like he wants to crawl into your skin and live there. His lips lock around your clit, tongue flicking fast and relentless, fingers digging into you.

Your hips buck instinctively. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers clutching his silvery strands as your legs twitch, toes curl.

He loves it. The desperate little grind of your hips, the wrecked moan slipping from your throat, the way you push his face impossibly deeper.

So he doubles down, dragging his tongue lower and fucking it into your hole with lewd precision, then pulls back just to suck at your clit like it’ll grant him immortality.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, lost in a daze himself. “Sweet little thing, gonna cum all over my mouth, huh? So fucking wet. Bet you’ve been thinking about this.”

He flattens his tongue, grinding it against your clit, and you cry out, entire body jerking, thighs clenching around his head. But he doesn’t stop, if anything only groans, grinding his hips into the table like he’s getting off just on your taste.

You’re soaked. Senseless. A carnal desire to soak his face in your arousal.

And when you gasp his name, fingers tugging at his locks, body trembling-

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum for me, baby.”

You shatter. Completely. Fully. Back arching from the table, breath punched from your lungs, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it’s fucking cruel. He just stays there, tongue flicking, dragging out every last pulse of your orgasm until your legs go numb.

Your thighs are trembling around him, your cunt a swollen, slick mess, still twitching with aftershocks. You’re still moaning, fucked-out and blissed as he presses kisses to your inner thigh.

Fuck. He thinks you look perfect like this. Made to be ruined for him.

And he’s done being patient.

So he stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free, red, leaking, painfully hard. And shit, he’s big. A slight upward curve, a thick vein running along his thick, long length.

“Up,” he says, voice coaxing like he’s asking you to breathe.

Your legs wobble as you push yourself off the table, only for his hands to grip your waist and bend you right back over it. Your bare chest pressed to the cushiony surface, cheek against the towel.

“There you go,” he drags the thick head of his throbbing cock through your folds, smearing your slick across your lower lips and on his tip until it could drip off. “Gotta get all that tension out, yeah? Let me work those knots a little deeper.”

You walked in here all shy and tense, even spending twenty minutes willing yourself to open your car door. New client, first massage, all stiff shoulders and tight posture. Said your job had you aching. Said you needed relief.

And the first time he saw you, big eyes, nervous smile, a little stutter from your lips when he first touched your shoulders.

He knew exactly what you needed.

“First massage,” he breathes, lining his tip to your entrance.

Then he pushed in. Deep.

You choke on a moan. He’s so thick, splitting you open inch by inch, your walls struggling and stretching to take him. His hands dig into your waist, still warm with oil, just holding you savoring the moment he finally sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back. “That’s it- just like that- you were made for this.”

He pulls back, only until just the tip lay past your entrance, before slamming back in. And you jerk, fingers scrambling for purchase on the table.

Each stroke rocks through your spine. Your tits drag against the table, mouth hanging open, drool smearing the table. Your mind’s a blur, just the sound of skin slapping, Gojo’s breathy moans, and the obscene, wet noise of him slamming into you over and over and over.

“Say thank you,” he almost growls, snapping his hips up so deep your toes curl. “Say it.”

“T-thank you,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Then, smack. A sharp slap to your ass, and you whine.

“For what?”

“F-fucking me- oh my god- for fucking me-”

“No,” he pants, rutting into you harder now, cock hitting that sweet spot so perfect it could make you squeal. “Say it right. Thank you for relieving my stress.”

“Thank you-” you cry out, broken and shaking. “Thank you for- mmh- relieving my stress.”

He leans over you, his hardened chest against your back, cock still pistoning in your soaked cunt. His mouth finds your neck, tongue dragging across your bare skin before he bites. Sucks. Marks you.

Another hickey. Then another.

You’re completely gone, every thrust having your eyes fluttering, your moans shameless, drool coating your lower face. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his thick length more than you already were, clenching with every thrust, every filthy word.

His hips stutter, balls tightening as he pounds you into the table.

“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum- fuck- gonna cum all over this pretty back.”

And he does. One last brutal thrust and he pulls out, cock twitching before spilling across your lower back in hot, thick ropes, painting your skin in streaks of white.

He watches it drip down your spine, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and still twitching from how hard you just milked him for all he’s worth.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, leaning down to admire his work. “You really were stressed, huh?”

Then he drags a hand up your spine, wiping his fingers through the mess he made, rubbing it into your skin like a filthy seal.

The air is thick with heat, sex, and you. His hand rubs sensual circles into your back.

“You good, sweetheart?” he brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

You nod, dazed, wrecked, legs still trembling. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, slow, tender in a way that almost startles you.

“First kiss,” he whispers against your lips.

Then he straightens, grabbing a warm towel from the side table. His hands are gentle as they wipe you down, cleaning you with a reverence that borders on obscene. He helps you stand straight, pressing another kiss to your temple, his big hands careful and supportive.

“So…” he starts, tapping his lip. “Same time next week?”

You can only stare, flushed and panting.

“No charge, obviously,” he adds, giving you a wink. “I’m invested in your health now.”

Of course you’re coming back. With a dick like that? With a mouth like that? You’d be stupid not to.

You shake your head, trying not to smile.

“Take your time, I’ll be outside.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

You sigh, dragging yourself over to the side table on shaky legs, slowly redressing like your soul wasn’t just rearranged. You grab your clothes, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt, then-

Your panties.

Your panties?

You check under the table. Beside it. In the towel pile.

Your brows shoot up, a slow, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips.

That smug thieving bastard.

He took them, slipping them into his pocket. You shake your head as you pull on your pants, cheeks still flushed, heart returning to a normal rate.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely coming back.

[chososcutie]

⟡ ݁₊˚⊹ SWEETHEART, SORRY IM LATE, I WAS LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ synopsis♡: when one fateful day leads to you being cursed, you go on a mission to find the infamous satoru gojo and his castle, but little do you know you’d find yourself in his bed later that night..

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ featuring♡: satoru gojo x reader

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ tags♡: unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!recieving), mating press, praise, making out, p in v, cervix kissing, big dick gojo!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ a/n♡: howl’s moving castle is my favorite studio ghibli film ever, so you already know i had to write a fanfic about it!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ w/c♡: 4.5k

"oh, darling won't you come out of that hat shop with us, you're truly overworking yourself!"

you smile softly, eyes flickering over to where your expectant sisters stood watching you, before looking back at the vibrant purple hat you had been working on, threading through with flowers. "oh no, i couldn't. you all go ahead, though."

they giggle softly at your reply, already well-acquainted with your firm work ethics and habits of almost never leaving the shop, tossing a, "suit yourself!" over their shoulders.

and as the door closes behind them, leaving you to stare at all of the colorful creations of caps littering your desk, you sigh, leaning back to take them all in.

maybe you had been working too hard..

being the eldest daughter of your family, you had been entrusted with the shop from a young age, making and sewing up hats for a living. it had been your father's, though now had been passed down to your mother, who had appointed you as an apprentice, although you were practically the only one who crafted and fabricated everything, and though the work was quiet and calming, it did tend to get rather boring at times.

the interior of the shop was tiny and just a bit cramped, every available surface being taken by assortments of feathery, patterned hats in almost every color. brown, old, and creaking rows of shelves surrounded your working area along with coatracks dipping under the weight of all the caps resting on them.

and though it wasn't much, it was yours.

you continued working for another hour, listening to the rickety clock on your wall tick tick tick away, with an impending sense of dull weariness.

was this all you were ever meant to do?

finally, you push back in your chair with a squeak! decidedly grabbing your hat and plucking it on your head, locking and closing the shop door with a resolute slam.

you would get out and see the town to clear your head. it wasn’t good to lock yourself away in the shop for too long, so you needed to breathe some fresh air before you started working again, and find some inspiration.

and so, you venture out through the hustle and bustle of crowded markets, trains whistling and blowing gray smoke as they chuff along, and the bumping of carriages along stoney paths.

the air grows thick with the amount of people thronging around you, spilling heedlessly in countless directions, and after more than one person gets in your way and abruptly stops, you huff, veering off toward a side alleyway.

it wasn't ideal but it would just have to..

bump!

“hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? you lost, sweetheart?”

a slightly heavier set, blonde man leaned in front of you on a wall, blocking your path. he smiled down at you condescendingly, but it lacked any actual warmth, all teeth instead.

“n-no sir, i’m not lost.” you manage to stammer out, trying to duck past him, but seemingly out of nowhere his companion sidles up next to him, bumping his hip and peering down at you, his mean brown eyes and thick mustache seeming menacing in the dim lighting.

“you sure?” his friend snickers, one gloved hand reaching for your side and spinning you around to press against his chest, a sinisterly unfamiliar cologne surrounding and practically suffocating you with its intensity. “why don’t we show you the way home?”

“leave me alone!” you gasp out, trying to break free from their suddenly too-tight grip on you.

“there you are sweetheart, sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

your body stiffens as a large, warm hand comes to grasp gently at your wrist, tugging you away from the two men, and spinning you around to lay eyes on the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

his eyes were azure colored and half-lidded, his voice low and resonant throughout the empty alleyway. he was dressed extravagantly with a poofy white button-up and red and black pattered overcoat flowing loosely behind him, and as his eyes meet yours, something warm twinges in your stomach, the feeling spreading all down your body hotly.

his gaze flickers away to the men still stood there, as if noticing them for the first time, and something about him sharpens, voice noticeably colder. “oh? and what are you two doing?”

"hey, we were just.." the blonde one's voice raises indignantly, trying to pull you back to them with a hasty tug.

"leaving." the blue-eyed man behind you finishes, his other hand lifting to raise his pointer finger and slice it to the side, causing the two men to immediately break into a march, boots landing heavily as they stomp away in sync.

"wha.. how did you?" you stare up at him in wonder, his own flicking down to your face with a small little smirk tugging at his lips.

"magic. now hang on!"

before you can even reply, he's grabbing you by the hand, and lifting you effortlessly up, up, up, into the sky, floating alongside him high above the town, all the people below you seemingly tiny dots scattered around the vibrant landscaping.

"oh!" you exclaim, fearfully clinging onto him as you feel weightless, the air whooshing below and around you.

"straighten your legs, it's okay.." the white-haired man whispers to you playfully, hands curling protectively around you. "now, start walking andd.. see! you're a natural!" he laughs softly at your hesitant steps into the air, growing more confident as he holds you up with ease.

the ground becomes a blur as you match each other's steps, airily floating as if it were any other day, coasting in sync as colors whirl below you in a mess of banners and flags.

"so, where ya headed?" the man's sultry, honeyed tone interrupts you as you quickly turn to glance at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"oh, i.. uh.. just the hat shop."

so much for your day out.

"hmm, a hat maker you are?" you follow his eyes to where they linger on your simple little sun hat adorned with red ribbon.

"something like that.."

he smiles as he glides over to the small overlooking balcony outside your workshop, helping you down easily, your wide eyes gazing up at him as he prepares to leave again.

"make sure to be more careful next time you're out, mmkay? not everyone around here is quite as gentlemanly as me." his tousled, snowy white hair billows around him as he grins down at you teasingly.

" 'kay.." you nod shyly, and he begins to back up, smile widening.

"good girl."

and blowing a kiss to you, he jumps back off the balcony, eliciting a small gasp from you as you instantly rush over to press yourself against it, straining for a better look.

but he's already gone, practically dissipated into thin air.

with a tired sigh, and a combing of your fingers through messy hair, you lock the door to your shop with a click! before slumping down to the floor.

it had been a long day, and just as you're starting to relax, you hear a small, telltale tinkling of the bell that hangs above your door, alerting you when new customers arrive.

"hello? sorry ma'am we're closed right now." you start to stand up, noticing the woman in front of you, her face slightly flushed and eyebrows scrunched, as if in anger.

her figure is awfully plump, with a round, chubbed neck and doughy arms that hang out of her dress like deflated balloons.

her makeup is done rather sharply, as if made to look intimidating with hooked eyeliner and boldly colored eyeshadow, all accompanied by rouge red lipstick and a mole on the side of her mouth.

"why, you!" she stops right in front of you, lifting her─many─chins to stare down the bridge of her flat nose at you. "it was you he was floating around with this afternoon?"

you stiffen. she couldn't possibly mean..

"that wretch!" she hisses angrily. "eleven miserable years of my life spent chasing him! and this is what he does?" she slams her hand down on the counter loudly, causing you to flinch.

"please leave now! we're closed!" you say, your voice taking on a more firm tone as you try not to tremble, straightening yourself up.

she wheels around at you then, as if having forgotten you were there, still rambling on with passion. "oh? standing up to the most powerful witch, are we?"

her overdone, puckered lips draw up into a sinister little grin as you start to back up, unsure of yourself now.

witch?

"since he likes you so much, let's see if you can win over my precious, when i haven't been able to in more than a decade!"

black oozing spirits erupt from her flabby form, rushing over to you as you stand agape, horrified.

"and if you don't manage to fully capture his fleeting heart, you will die!"

all of a sudden, a cloying murky fog drifts in the homey space of the shop, invading your every sense, and clogging your nose tightly.

"what..?" you gasp, but all at once, it surges over to you, enveloping you in its tepid humidity, your mouth gulping in thick heaves of it, pouring into your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose with tendrils extending out of you, like a possession of your very body.

and then.. all is silent as darkness settles upon you, save for the fading echoes of the evil witch's deep, resounding laugh booming throughout the night.

when you open your eyes again, peeking out through your fingers carefully, you don’t feel different, with the exception of a vague, lingering sense of fear.

you were still plain ol' regular you, the you that stayed in working all day and turned down invitations to go out, opting to sew hats instead.

but something was.. off.

what had happened last night to make you so dazed, and memories so jumbled up?

and then, as quickly as it had been evading you, it all comes rushing back─ the man who had floated you into the air as if in a dream, the witch appearing, the sound of her cackle as she cursed you..

when you think back on the specifics of the spell she had cast however, you feel yourself pale, hands falling to your sides limply.

you were supposed to make the mysteriously magical guy that you had met yesterday fall in love with you? when you didn’t even know his name, or who he was?

that was practically impossible.

taking a deep breath, you desperately begin to wrack your brain for ideas as you try not to panic or think about the cruel ways the witch would kill you if you didn’t end up being capable of it.

one way you knew however that would be worth a shot to undo the curse, would be to find a well-practiced witch or wizard, and have them lift the curse from you, saving you a lot of time having to look for the elusive man and making him love you.

but.. there was no guarantee it would work.

you sigh heavily, trying to calm yourself down. that would mean leaving your town behind to move toward the wastelands where the witches resided, and in turn, leaving your faithful little shop, the only place you’d ever known to travel in the hopes for a remedy.

and so, it was with great strength that you straightened yourself up, huffing determinedly, and placing your hat firmly upon your head before heading out, intent on finding a way to break the curse before it was too late..

to the far west of the town, where weeds ran wild and the flowers never bloomed, muddy trails streaked across the land in brown stripes, was where you found it.

a creaking thing, four-legged and made of rotting wood with rusty pipes haphazardly sticking out of it, emitting black curling smoke to twine through the air, its agape, timber mouth and chipping, corroded eyes bringing a shiver to your spine.

gojo’s castle.

you had heard of it many times from your sisters, stories varying from grossly evil reenactments of how he devoured the hearts of beautiful women in search of his own, to tales of his haunting beauty, with glowing, cerulean eyes that were the last thing you'd ever see of the world, never being able to tell a soul.

and then it occurs to you.

of course! gojo was the most powerful wizard of them all, wielding magic that left no trace, going along with his cold reputation and secretive identity.

he could easily remedy the curse placed upon you with a snap! of his deadly fingers, but with the consequence that you still might not leave alive.

you look back up at the faltering, tarnished castle beginning to build up speed as it strode along.

it was now or never.

and so, with a running start and a leap of faith, you manage to clamber aboard the quickly taking-off oxidized clunker, clutching on to the door handle tightly before the wind practically shoves you inside, falling to the floor in a heap with a little, “oof!”

and when you look back up, rubbing your head with a wince, the enormity of the castle stretches before you, all glittering details that suggest riches, and antique, aged wooden furniture, cobwebs crowding near the top of the roof from the impossible vastness of it all.

slowly, you make it to your feet again, looking down all of the many stretching hallways for a sign of life, your steps clicking on the tiled floor ominously.

“hello? anyone here?” you call out, but to no avail.

eventually, your steps lead you to a small, tucked away room, filled with heaps of glinting trinkets and worn carpet that suggested someone had been here many times before.

there are bookshelves with dusty paperbacks piled atop them and shiny frames, but your interest was in the hefty bed shoved in the center, dipping under the weight of quilted blankets thrown lazily across it, and antique floral pillows that looked alike to a grandmother’s.

from the hours of walking that it had taken you to get here, your feet ached and your eyelids were already starting to droop from exhaustion.

all you needed was a nice sleep, and after evaluating your choices, your fatigue eventually wins as with a soft sigh, you shed your slightly muddied clothes into a pool on the floor, and trudge to the edge of the bed, lifting the heavy covers to slide in, your breathing slowing as you drift off, blissfully unaware of the warmth radiating from someone next to you.

darkness covers the room, so you don’t notice when you turn over on your side and press your soft tits against a moving, breathing body next to you, slinging your leg across him and drifting back off.

but he does, stirring awake with a sleepy murmur and tired, blue eyes blinking open only to freeze on your face, his cock hardening painfully in his pants instantly.

it couldn’t be..

you yawn sleepily, shifting closer only for your hand to drape itself directly across his lap,

fuck.

his eyes squeeze shut, breathing coming in soft, short pants as he tries to control himself.

this was so wrong, you were sleeping, completely unaware of..

your eyes flutter, and you groan as your hand curls around something hot, heavy, and pulsing, twitching beneath your touch frantically.

immediately, his face flushes a tinge pinker, eyes growing half-lidded and his breaths coming faster. wake up, wake up, wake up.

and then with a small yawn, your eyes blearily open to blink drowsily at your surroundings, startling only when they land on the pleading, blue eyed man next to you, hips unintentionally pushing up into your hand for more.

you scramble backward as your eyes land on where you’re tightly gripping him, gasping with surprise and already stumbling over an apology.

“i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know there was someone in here or i would’ve..”

but before you can stutter out another word, his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing onto yours a little uncertainly, as if he was lacking the experience, only making up for it in eagerness as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him.

and then, as suddenly as he had been on you, he pulls back, face still shadowed and lined with the darkness of night as you gasp for breath from the intensity of it all.

you lean closer to him, causing your plushy tits to press up against his arm as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, only being able to see a faint outline of the man before you.

“i’m trying to control myself, but you’re making it a bit hard, sweetheart.” his voice is deep, slightly hoarse, and familiar all at once though you can’t quite place where you know him from.

you feel warmth pooling between your legs and lean forward, your hair tickling his face as you prop yourself up atop him.

“are you gojo? the wizard who eats the hearts of pretty girls?” you breathe out, rubbing your thighs together subtly.

he swallows thickly, lips parting slightly as his hand slowly makes its way to squeeze the soft, supple skin of your thighs as if grounding himself, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make.

"s-something like that, although right now i'm thinking of eating something else.." his large hands skim slightly over your inner thighs, grazing the hot, gushing flood of wetness that had already begun to seep from your panties generously, one long thick finger curling slightly to press on your throbbing lil' clit like a button, your pink lips parting in a gasp as your eyes roll back immediately.

“y-you..” but your words immediately die in your throat as the bed dips and creaks as he rolls you over so he’s on top of you before pressing soft kisses all the way down your body, breathing out a soft, “s’this okay?” to which you quickly nod, already breathless for more.

and then he’s tugging your panties down in one swift motion, and exhaling sharply at the sight of your dripping cunt all laid bare before him, the feeling of the cool air grazing you making you squirm slightly.

two warm, large palms spanning across your waist hold you down as he nuzzles his head between your thighs, placing a chaste kiss to your pussy before pulling back, strings of arousal already attached to his lips.

“mmh.. so sweet.” he quickly buries himself between your legs, busying his mouth with lapping at you like a man starved, his tongue dipping into your honeyed cunt for more as the tip of his pert, button nose nudges against your clit.

“g-gojo!” you gasp out, your head falling back onto the pillows and back arching up helplessly as he uses hot, calculated sweeps of his tongue to stroke against you perfectly, slippery drool stringing sloppily between your legs.

“please..” he grunts, sucking your sensitive, twitchy bundle of nerves into his mouth before releasing with a sticky pop! “call me satoru.”

“satoru.. fuck!” you moan softly, body desperately curving up as you grind against his face for more friction which he lets out a pleased groan at, hands coming to your hips to rock you back and forth, suffocating himself in your warmth.

he quickly throws your legs over his broad shoulders, his head shaking side to side as he sticks out his tongue, gathering all of your honeyed slick with eagerness while you can only writhe and cling onto the snowy locks of his tousled hair tightly, tossing your head back with every loud moan he draws out of you.

it's only when you glance down that you notice the way his hips are desperately rutting against the creaking mattress, humping his throbbing, raging boner into the cushy bed for some form of relief as he eats you out vigorously, parting your sappy folds with his lengthy, dextrous tongue.

“castle gets lonely..” he mumbles into your pussy, the vibrations rocketing up your spine and causing a whine to get stuck in your throat as your stomach knots achingly tighter, the tang of your release on your tongue. “so m’so glad you decided to stop by..”

your eyes glassily cross, barely able to think or hear what he’s saying above the roar of blood crashing in your ears and your heavy breathing, hips twitching up into his mouth and thighs trembling as your stomach aches with the intensity of it all.

and then his whole mouth is covering your core, hot strings of spit mingling with your own sultry mess to streak down your thighs obscenely, and the stimulation turns out to be too much, as all at once your vision turns spotty and you're cumming hard, saturated shimmery squirt just gushing out of you as your body turns into a trembling, whining mess beneath him, sensitivity making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

and as he laps up every drop of your candied cunt, lips glossy and splotches of your sticky wetness pooling across his face, you can only shudder as he continues to suck and slurp at you, until you're desperately pushing him away, the tingling of overstimulation starting to settle over you in pulsing waves.

he sits back, out of breath and you see the slippery sheen of your essence dripping off his glistening chin in droplets, as he eyes you hungrily, like he hasn't had enough until he devours you whole.

he slowly makes his way back up to your face, your back hitting the plush mattress with a thump! as he pins you down, head lazing in a downward angle to draw your attention to the achingly painful, twitching bulge in his pants, sexy half-lidded blue eyes opening just wide enough for you to lock eye-contact.

blue? why did that remind you of someone..

but all of your thoughts are lost the second he's sliiiding his pants down and revealing the neatly trimmed, tufted white happy trail leading all the way to a massive, blushing pink cock, veiny and girthy with milky precum frosting out his tip so prettily.

his lip catches between his teeth as he wraps around himself with one hand, and begins to pull upward in rough-paced tugs, as his head lolls back, more stringy precum coming to gloss over his thickened mushroom head.

"you just gonna watch, or are ya gonna help me out here, doll?" he huskily drawls out, shuddering as you immediately spring to action, coming to straddle his lap in one fluid movement, desperately aligning yourself flush with his heavy cock and sinking down just on the chubbed, rounded tip with a grimace at how enormously big he was.

he makes a gruff noise, leaning back as he helps you to slowly work your way down onto his length, taking every thumping! veiny inch of him to meld into your hot, clenching walls, jaw falling slack at the pure effort it is just to fit him halfway.

"oh g-god, sweetheart.." he chokes out and you feel him pulsating and twitching faintly inside you as if he's fighting back the urge to cum right then and there, his hair flopping into his eyes as he rocks forward slightly.

and then, one thick finger is finding itself on your clit, gliding across the wetness just pouring out of you in sultry sheens as he guides you to take him, and almost instantly, your cunt greedily swallows him to the hilt, a faint bulge outlining his cock stretching all the way up past your belly button generously.

"good.. hah.. girl, taking me so well." he breathes out, and then his jittery lap is already bouncing you slowly, unable to wait another second as you feel his hefty length tracing sweltering hot strokes deep inside you, rolling his hips upward as he pants feverishly, a hand draping its way around your waist and pulling you closer.

drool pours down the side of your mouth helplessly as he moves you up and down on him, your pussy so stuffed and overspilling, it's almost obscene, though he seems to like it, cooing soft praises to you in encouragement.

"i betcha like this, yeah?" quickly grabbing ahold of your hips to get a better angle, he begins hitting into the cushy, soft spot of yours that always makes your legs weaken, smearing gooey precum from his bludgeony tip into you roughly, while the squelching between your legs grows louder, and more lewd with every thrust, the plap plap plap! of your sticky thighs ricocheting off his echoing throughout the vast castle.

he jolts his swollen head allll the way into your cervix, jackhammering with an urgency that leaves your mouth agape and tongue lolling as you feel your abdominals tighten, a familiar tautness creeping its way into your mind.

your pussy flutters around his length as his thrusts grow sloppy, and uncalculated, soft hair tickling you as he leans closer, his musky cinnamon-y scent infiltrating your every sense. "m' s'close my girl, i n-never.. hah.. thought this day would come." he shudders under your touch as you pause, bringing his face closer to truly examine it for the first time that night.

"wait- satoru?" and then, all the pieces come clicking together.

the magical man who had flown and twirled you around in the air was nothing other than the satoru gojo, owner of the infamous moving castle and the most powerful wizard of all time.

and it's then that he cums, spurting heaps n' heaps of creamy bucketloads of ribbony white. so much of it is pouring out, in fact, you swear your tummy swells up with it all, beginning to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets as gojo groans, unable to stop emptying himself heftily inside you.

your release follows just seconds later, as you soak his abdominals in your honeyed essence, slippery sheens coating him generously as he moans softly, still huffing from the effects of his own climax.

as you both come to, stars still blinking hazily behind your vision, you turn to him urgently. "g-gojo, the real reason i came here was 'cause.."

but he quickly shushes you, placing a finger on your pouty lips with a smirk curving up his features. "shh, baby i know, i know. you got a curse on ya, hm?"

you pause, taken aback. "how did you-"

he shakes his head. "in all truth, i was the one who sent her. i wanted to see you." he shifts himself to lean over you, bending your knees up to poke into your soft tits, grinning lazily down at you as he folds you into a mean, mating press. "and sweetheart, even if that love curse was real.. let's just say i already broke it, heh."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @brownied0ll @iluvgogurt445 @loafteaw @satoruswifeyyyyy @lunar-harts @springismss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @luvvcho

[screampied]

ʚ FINISH INSIDE HER ?! ɞ

ᡴꪫ sum. what the hell is a full nelson? no worries, luckily underground boxer toji shows you a hands-on demonstration. although, you want choso to try it with you too. not only are you a slut visual learner, but you also think you can take them both - not in a fight though.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, boxer! au, boxers toji & choso, 3sum, choso walks in on you and toji, unprotected, full nelson, manhandling, brief ōral (f + m), quickie, size diff, finger sucking, praise, dirty talk, choking, they fight over you, whiny choso, squırting, impact play, slight nıpple play, premature ejac, spıt.

an. kind of based on this ask!

“upsie daisey, uh huh. biiiiig fuckin’ stretch,” your mouth drops open once your thighs gets sprawled apart. your back slumps back against the fighter — toji, you’ve been training with him for a while. not only were you training with him but you’ve also been a bit of a fan. you mentioned to him on how you wanted to strengthen your ‘flexibility’ a bit more and of course, he had just the right thing to help you. out of curiosity, you asked him about a certain position you watched him perform on his rival, choso kamo. full nelson, it was considered illegal in some rings if not all. toji would always perform a specific choking move where he’d pin choso down with ease, burly buff arms putting him in a head lock - preventing him from moving a single inch. the entire crowd always goes wild at it every single time—so you wanted to try it out for yourself. “easy, easy. don’t tap out on me jus’ yet, okay? y’er a big girl.”

bobbling your head to give him a nod, an airy breeze shoves you back into his chest. the stretchy fabric of his boxing shorts tickle against your skin upon impact. “o- okay,” you breathe, gasping once he hooks two big arms underneath the undersides of your thighs. he’s got such a good taut grip that seconds later, you felt yourself throb a bit at the feverish, hot friction. “you’re not really gonna, heh, choke me out right?”

“not unless y’er into that, princess,” he jibes, a throaty husk of a chuckle leaving out of him. and as you’re spread all out, limbs extended—yeah,

you were probably fucked.

after what seems like hours of meaningless stretches and exercises to prepare your limbs, toji’s finally got you in the position — you were sprawled right in his lap, being in a safe firm chokehold.

his voice was roughly gruff, and as he spreads your legs just a bit further, you feel the cottony bandage that wraps around his arm ghost up against your thigh. his touch was gentle and you intake a sharp breath, further continuing to lean into his touch - his grasp. “mhm, seems like y’er a bit more flexible than i thought. this comfy?”

“no,” you let off a sheepish snort, starting to feel a brief pang on your thighs from the position. to be fair — not only was full nelson uncomfortable but it was dangerous. just one wrong move and snap. but toji was a professional, he’d make sure you’d keep all your pretty little limbs in tact. probably. clearing your throat, your eyes scan around a plethora of trophies and plaques he’s won throughout his career. “but um, have you ever tried this position with no clothes on?”

toji grows quiet, allowing you to lie back on his chest. black curly strands of chest hair fondle against your skin before he murmurs gruffly into your ear. “maybe.”

the growing bulge that hid underneath his boxers had you almost feral. you felt its presence—how it was just there, poking right against your shorts.

you prepare for yet another sharp drawn out breath, taking in his loud axe cologne that wafts through the entire studio. “can we try nude?”

and that was probably dumb to ask.

it was very dumb to ask.

your lewd filthy thoughts loved to make themselves known out of your lips at the worst times. your heart raced the moment you blurted that out, feeling the tips of your ears burn a scorching temperature. he’d say no, you were almost sure of it. you were just a dumb fan who managed to be a favorite, surely he wouldn’t—

“why the hell not,” he snickers, sliding his hands toward the smooth curvature of your hips. “i’ll go easy on ya for today. let’s get rid of these,” he pulls on the string of your panties, already discarding your shorts with such quickness. “i’ll try not ‘ta break you too bad.”

but that was a lie—

not only did he break you but he stretched you out in all the ways possible.

you had the most dumbest expression, tongue lolled out, legs spread, gushing all over the velvet red boxing mat - time and time again.

pink luminescent lighting shine back against the centers of your irises as you stare up at the ceiling’s lights. you’ve never felt so weak. spit slick lips of yours were all swollen and numb from being chewed on constantly like candy. within minutes, your knees were already surrendering, bucking at his very mercy.

“fuck, tooooji.” you’d drag out his name in cute elongated syllables.

the infamous elastic stretch of his cock has you writhe and spasm all over his lap. ludicrously, your voice bounces across the cheap walls of the building. nevertheless, you can’t lie to yourself, you’ve rubbed a few out at the thought of having this moment with your favorite boxer.

unprofessional, maybe. but he didn’t care and neither did you. besides, he was helping you with your flexibility after all. even if it was a bit more intimate than most regular methods.

your heart races, thumping out quick hurried beats as he’s shoving his cock in and out of you. you’re in such a submissive position that you were just a bobble head, a doll. he treated you like one — using your body, bouncing you up and down and manhandling you all over the mat.

he gruffly cackles behind the plushy shell of your ear, watching right before his eyes as you’re jouncing on his dick. your skin was so warm, so hot, the recoil stings for a few seconds before your ass ricochets off his sharp pelvis.

the smacks and paps only grew louder, and so did your sweet melodic moans and whimpers.

a creamy pearl of a ring coats around his base and he grunts, still having a beefy arm around your neck. his muscles flex and you fight the urge to bite his bicep. “easy, good girl. lean right into me. y’er a natural.”

his words went straight to your cunt. toji was a dirty talker, never a sweet talker.

he knew how to get you wet, whether it was with his slick mouth, his tongue, or even his cock. his voice was always so low, timbre and all. the husk that it carried never failed to make you soaked. embarrassing,

oh, it definitely was embarrassing.

he’s got a free hand gripping onto your thigh, kissing your ass with his palm - rough rude spanks.

the cute flinches of your rear bouncing back against his lap makes him slide a tongue over his lips, including sliding over that notorious scar that slides down the right side of his mouth. “fuck, so fuckin’ sloppy. got the mat all soaked. should make ya lick it up, huh.”

you couldn’t even reply . . you tried, but babbles of inaudible squeaks came out instead.

it just felt too good, he felt too good.

you’re panting heavily, the repetitive pop song that blared through the boxing ring’s broken speakers gets stuck in your head. you hear the moist wails of your pussy squelching time and time again, entirely soaking yourself with your own beloved filth. a free hand of toji’s creeps its way in front of you. hand so big that he could easily cover it over your entire face if he could.

with glossy half-lidded eyes, you stare at his palm, feeling your mouth water.

thick long fingers, he knew what he was doing.

toji’s just casually waving his hand around in your face in a slow mesmerizing motion as you bounced on his cock. they were so lengthy and thick, his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrist to the edge of his arm, you saw the veins poking out. he was so built that you couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t help but drool. “what a sloppy little girl. i could really snap you in half, heh,” he huffs, clenched abs pressing against your back. it’s hard, rock hard . . they feel like bricks.

you knew underground boxers like toji had to keep up a strict workout routine but damn.

“but you’d like that, huh,” he murmurs, bringing another smack to your slick wet folds. you moan at the stretch of your limbs, craving for more of his rude spanks against your swollen cunt. you throbbed from not only his words but his touch too, and the thought of him literally breaking you had you a bit more soaked than you thought it would.

this was a workout of its own - rutting your weight up and down against him. he’s got a secure hold on your body, holding your thighs up in place.

you were stupid, not even acknowledging that you’d already grab ahold of his wrist, stuffing his fingers into your mouth. you moan the second the dry bandaged digits delve past your lips and makings way down your throat. as your ass steadily rocks against him in sloppy rhythm, you feel the very tips of his fingers prod against your puny uvula. you almost gag at the unexpected feeling—a cobwebby trail of saliva that was translucent pours down the side of your parted lips.

“no manners, tch,” he scoffs and his ripped abs continue to brush up against your back. “sloppy baby. got some nerve showin’ up to train being this fuckin’ nasty ‘n soaked.”

the hot skin against skin contact rubbing off against each other had your panties in a bunch, despite them already being technically pulled to the side and abandoned.

you were already still sensitive, swollen achy cunt sobbing out its own pleas of pleasure.

haphazardly, your knees buckle and he snatches his fingers out of your mouth. he does this solely to get a taste himself, swirling his pink pointed tongue against his slippery digits all thanks to you. “startin’ ‘ta think you came here for more than to just get an autograph ‘n work out with me, pretty girl.”

and as the plump crown of his cock molds you a tiny brief bulge from just his size alone — it repeatedly thrashes up against your sweetest spot. you shudder, about to collapse backward before you hear the jingling bells of the front door sound off.

“h- hey, toji man. did i leave my . . gloves . . ?”

choso, toji’s rival and regular training partner stares at the erotic scene and his face twists.

“oh,” and he’s flustered right away.

you stop bouncing and your eyes widen as big as saucers—yet, you weren’t even embarrassed. you were in awe, you knew all about choso kamo.

the choso kamo, anyone would be crazy not too. he was the most recent up and coming boxer, and after beating toji with a brutal close score of 58-57.

as you’re reclined back against toji—you finally get a good look at the other dark haired boxer.

he was slim yet also well built, choso was known for fighting opponents with his iconic ponytails but as of currently - he started to wear his hair down. sometimes he’d pin it up, a bit of a wolf cut that flew down his broad shoulders.

as his bashful gaze met yours, he grew nervous. very nervous.

black sable hued shorts cling onto his hips whilst he was shirtless, a few past battle scars painting the entire canvas of his perfectly chiseled body. “am i . . interrupting something?”

“nah. c’mere, ‘cho,” a husky voice calls out and he pauses in his tracks. the air suddenly clouded its way with imaginary thick smoke of lust and tension. it’s so thick you could cut it with a knife.

he swallows—dragging his bare feet across the crimson red mat toward you both, ducking underneath the stretchy multicolored bars before gawking at you. he was far pretty up close once he entered the practice ring, he runs a hand behind his neck before averting his eyes away from your nude body out of respect.

“he’s always been kinda shy,” toji purrs to you, still buried deep into your cunt. you shiver, every movement he makes makes—even just sitting up makes you let off a soft noise. you chew the inside of your cheek, feeling a stickiness stick between your thighs. dark green eyes flicker at choso and he hums, tilting his head. “choso, you know how to do full nelson too, yeah?”

“y- yeah, of course i do why?”

“you’re avoiding eye contact again.”

choso gulps - burying his hands into the burrows of his shorts pockets. a sheet of sweat marinates across his forehead before he glances at toji, rephrasing. “eh, yeah i know how to do full nelson. why?”

“because,” toji smacks his lips, a hand prying its way between the valley of your legs. you moan, still feeling full from tepid hot dumps of his cum practically oozing out of your puffy slit. “we’ve got a new opponent ‘n she wants to experience what it’s really like on the ring.”

“toji, we do full nelson all the time,” choso timidly runs a bundle of fingers through his buzzed undercut, a timid smile curling against his lips. “we never usually do it um . . naked though.”

the boxer underneath you deadpans. he could be so dense, choso stands still before a small gasp wrenches out of his pink glossed lips.

“oh.. oh,” and his face turns into a flustered tint.

you’ve watched a bit of his interviews and it seemed not only was he shy with the press but he was also very shy in person. it was cute, regardless.

as you’re busy being trapped up in your own thoughts, choso can’t help but peek down toward your legs. you were all exposed and being stretched out by his rival. he sucks his teeth in longing, briefly staring away before feeling himself grow a bit . . aroused. “i feel disrespectful for looking, ‘m sorry.”

“no, it’s okay,” you murmur in coy reassurance, and a hand tugs onto his wrist. choso’s breath hitches at your touch, and you felt his dark eyes flicker back toward you. there’s this look in choso’s eyes, it’s mainly lust-driven. his pupils were blown and his heart raced, you looked so pretty. it’s not like he didn’t exactly not know you. he’d see you every so often when you were ‘training’ with toji. not only that but he’d spot you attending almost every boxing match. always in the front row with a vip lanyard. secretly, you were more of a choso fan but toji didn’t have to know that. “do you wanna touch me too?”

“yes,” he blurts out almost right away and his face flushes a deeper shade. a rumble from toji shakes his shoulders - he’s chuckling, and you feel a big arm wrap around your torso. you bite down on your lip, still feeling yourself sit in a creamy puddle of filth, warm cum still plugged into you. choso starts to pant, watching you slither a hand between your thighs, spreading your soppy pussy lips. “i mean.. oh, that’s..” and he’s barely able to think straight, watching as you toy with yourself whilst still being full of toji’s thickset cock. his head starts to spin before he inches closer, kneeling down after your cute hand gestures to come here. “a- are you sure you want me to—”

“it’s okay, go ahead.” you hum, guiding his wrist.

“choso, she’s not gonna bite ya,” toji snickers, bringing your legs back down. as of now — you were currently straddling him with your back facing his chest. choso rubs his neck once more, growing sheepish yet again. it’s adorable, but again, he’s seen you at his matches and face offs. choso being choso though was far too shy to say anything or thank you for your support. but now, maybe he could thank you in another way. toji crosses his arms, cocking his head as he glances at the scene. “atta boy.”

a scowl forms on the timid boxer as his fingers resume to brush up against your drooling cunt. “s- shut up, toji,” and you let off a moan at his gentle strokes. you continue to lie back against toji - staring at choso, ogles as two plump fingers of his partner’s play up and down against your soddened entrance. choso’s mouth starts to water the more he stares, admiring how full you were—you had a few remnants of toji’s cum oozing from your slit and he swipes it up, bedaubing it against your pussy to make it sheeny again. “f- fuck, you’re so pretty.”

“you can t- touch me more, choso,” you lightly pause his hand by grabbing his wrist. his eyes meet yours and he felt the tent in his boxers tighten. oh, he was already whipped from the sound of your voice. with half lidded smoky eyes, he huffs out a single breath before glancing at your lips. you climb off of toji and a brief pop exits your cunt - dragging choso closer. “are you hard, choso?”

“he’s definitely hard,” toji tchs, averting his jade green eyes toward his partner’s shorts. it was hard to not notice the presentable bulge that’s sticking right in front of his leather everlast brand shorts. “cute.”

“shut up man,” he repeats with a glowering scowl.

with a cute dramatic sigh, choso grumbles something under his breath - trying to pay more attention back toward you. he leans into your touch, closing the gap between your legs until he’s right between you. choso presses a chaste kiss against your collarbone before moaning into your tender skin. he couldn’t help but suck against your shoulder for a few seconds, relishing in your candied flavor.

you were so sweet - bandaged hands roam everywhere on your displayed body before he exhales deeply, staring at you with almost heart shaped pupils. “you . . wanna try full nelson with me too, princess?”

throwing your arms over him, you hum with a subtle nod. “yeah, ‘s okay. i can handle it.”

famous last words,

with choso . . he stretched you all the way out, probably even more than toji.

his cock was just as thick, maybe even more. his fat reddened tip swelters the inside of your sopping pussy so good until you’re whimpering his name on constant loop. it’s like a mantra, you’re so dumb that it’s like his five lettered name was the only thing your brain could comprehend to say.

he’s got you upright in the same exact position before, slinging two beefy arms underneath your thighs as your weight bounces and defies gravity.

“fuck, fuck,” he whines, the addictive squeeze your cunt had never failed to make itself known. he reached any and every area so deep. choso had a delicious curve to his cock that sent you straight butterflies. it expands through your walls, french kissing your insides until you whine. his base was repeatedly getting smacked from your ass, each ‘n every time you jerked up from his lap. “y- you’re so good. so warm, ‘m gonna pass out.”

“aren’t you the boxer though?” you try to tease, but your cheeky voice falters the second his slitted tip kisses against that spot.

your vision was merely blurry, seeing nothing but a kaleidoscope of stars. in almost defeat, your head falls back against his chest and toji watches the entire time, buff arms crossed and an amused cunning expression. seeing you milk his rival was something he didn’t know would turn him on so much.

choso doesn’t reply to your little jest, still pumping such fat inches inside of your gripping walls. he’s already dumb, knocked out cold with a solid punch - not necessarily from an opponent, but your pussy. “hang onto me, ‘kay? this position requires lots of um . . s- stamina.”

as you nod, your entire body dangles and bobs from the movement — parching hot friction gluing against each jolting limb before you spasm.

“chosoooo,” and your thighs collapse, coming to its pleasurable demise. his thrusts were sloppy, the squelches of your own body was so lewd. you heard it through and through, glancing down to see yourself flutter and clench around his cock. “fuck, fuck ‘m gonna get close again.”

“wait,” a gruff voice murmurs and you glance up to see toji standing over you. he cups your chin, a thumb caressing your quivering bottom lip. “such a empty mouth. hm, open for me, pretty. think you could use some throat training too.”

as choso’s still plummeting his cock into your swollen cunt - stretching you out dexterously, you part your lips open.

by your surprise, toji’s lips meets yours and he pulls you into a deep kiss. it’s a bit of a rushing kiss, sloppy and strings of saliva tangling between each mouths. you moan, feeling the weight of your breasts bounce as you’re making haste on the other boxer’s lap. fuck, you were quite literally living the dream. you whimper, feeling his broad hands grab against your tits, using thumbs to push squeeze pressure against your perky nipples. he was always so handsy, allowing his hands to wander everywhere and yanking against the remaining pathetic pieces of fabric that covered your body.

you were still layered . . partially,

his rough scarred hands slide underneath your blouse as he’s continuing to make out with you, curling his parted tongue beside your own before it turns into obscene sucking. your own tongue occasionally scrapes against his scar that located directly near the right side of his mouth - it tickles a bit—however, you whimper once choso’s dick created its own little kisses against your g-spot.

abruptly, toji who was just claiming your mouth a few seconds ago pulls away from the continued kiss to grip underneath your chin again. “ah, say ah,” and he hums at your obedience, staring at your pretty pink tongue rolling out of your mouth flat. “good, ‘m gonna train this throat a little bit for ya, sweets. that alright?”

“o- okay,” and you’re briefly cut off once he springs out his cock again, thwacking his pink pearly tip against your tongue. he lets off a gruff satisfied grunt, feeling himself harden up once you flick your tongue against his slit. you’re slow, making sure to savor his taste. he watches, smacking his lips and his left brow curls.

toji bites his lip, his abs curlings as he watches you try to suck him of fully — he smacks his cock all against your face softly, watching your needy pout before humming. “such a needy cock hungry slut,” and a thumb swipes against your lip, preparing to insert his hardened shaft down your throat. “aw, you want more, do ya?”

you nod before moaning, feeling choso kiss down your neck, yearning for your attention.

“y- you’re doing so good,” choso whines against your ear, clinging onto your jerking body. “ngh, don’t listen to toji. he’s just mean.”

toji rolls his eyes. he’d reply with a sassy remark but he was still feeling the after effects of sensitivity. his muscles were all tense and spasming from you just bouncing on him just a few minutes ago. you’re just grinding onto choso, feeling your hips ridiculously buckle and snap before he smears his cockhead against your lips like it was lipstick. his plump tip goes against your wet lips, only for him to smack it against your clean pink tongue. “mmph.” you lashes flutter, ogling as he buries a few fingers into your scalp for a good grip. toji grunts, briefly tossing his head back in rapture. his scent grows stronger as he gradually starts to sink his way into your mouth.

“t- toji, ‘m gonna cum. i can’t last,” choso babbles, facial expressions scrunching up the more you quicken your tempo on his lap. toji glances at choso who’s melting right underneath you — he’s got you in a secure hold, but it’s lazy.

one of his arms sling around your torso, another holding onto your thigh. “fuck,” he sucks against your neck, feeling the stretch increase. your walls were his own worst enemy, preparing to milk him for all of his worth. everything felt hot, his throat felt dry and he’s starting to shake right underneath you. “gonna cum, gonna c- cum.”

“not yet, ‘cho,” he grunts, watching as you lean in, adjusting your throat to his heavy size. your tongue swirls around the peeling slit and he huffs, a single hand tightening its hold against the roots that stick onto your scalp. “mhm, look at me. don’t worry about him, he’s just a crybaby,” and you can hear choso let off a scoff from behind you. toji’s sensitive cock was still dribbling a bit with a concoction of your previous juices and he groans at the image of you lapping it right up. “c’mon, little deeper. i wanna feel that slutty roof.”

whilst you’re having your mouth and cunt filled entirely—choso’s whining pitches louder and louder. so loud that it reverbs all throughout the thin walls of the empty boxing arena. thankfully, there wasn’t anyone here and it was usually closed on saturdays. he didn’t like be edged, he hated it.

but it felt good,

so fucking good.

especially due to the fact that he was so close to you, hearing your sweet whimpers follow in sync with his.

your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all.

every frantic spasm - you felt it, not to mention the few lightning type veins that run down the upward curve of his cock, you felt that too.

you rocked against him until your knees were at its last. he’s still holding you up but even he was about to tap out. choso had stamina - but he was no match for his rival, toji.

with murky low eyes—toji’s staring dead at you, bobbling your head and merely shoving you down just a little deeper.

you get sloppy, a puddle of drool trickling down the corners of your chin and down the valley of your chest before his tip hits against the roof of your mouth again.

it’s a rough rude hit and his cock gives the very back of your throat its own few jabs. a combo if you will — yet it’s more raunchy instead of sportsmanlike.

“eyes on me baby. yeah, yeah,” toji turns your head a bit, locking onto your sweet gaze. “get it wet, clean it up for me. make me just as much of a mess as you, girl.”

his words were so low - an almost growl. you were too focused on toji that you concisely forgot about the other boxer that’s sat underneath you.

choso came and it was so sudden—he couldn’t hold it anymore.

his grip weakens and he slouched back against the ring, spurts of hot cum pouring into you deep. he’s trembling, feeling a wave crash down on him as he’s succumbing to his high. choso can’t help but try to mimic toji, swatting the palm of his hand softly against your ass. even his spanks were respectful.

the worn out boxer pants, letting off an adorable finish. his vocals were quite loud despite having a deep bellow. “baby oh, fuuuck,” he mewls out, dark brows coming together. choso was about to lose it even more at the feeling your swiveling hips throwing itself around in a circle just because. toji watches the entire thing, how you were teasing his partner whilst having your mouth all stuffed full. as he’s stood tall before you both, his abs clench and you get a face view of it all. perfectly incised along the edges, you saw a few marks and scars coat against his skin and it’s never been more attractive. choso on the other hand found his hands grabbing onto your tits, gently brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipples before nuzzling into your neck. he was definitely pussy drunk — you could hear it. “babyyy,” a soft voice whines pussy drunkly against the lobe of your ear, and you depart your lips away from toji’s cock. he groans, viewing you lie back before you start to twitch out a bit yourself.

not only was choso close but so were you. as your legs were all stuck up in the air in its ideal position, you dramatically gasp once you feel it.

there’s a tugging pile of pressure that presses down on your tummy. your jaw drops—dangles and everything as you’re being pushed further toward the edge. your arousal steadily builds up until it finally comes.

just seconds apart from choso, you pant - a brief pang of electric shock ascending down right through you. you were speechless for a moment.

there’s nothing but a white noise blaring through each of your ears. it feels like an unpredictable wave, a powerful wave that ripples right through your entire body. it took you a long time to realize you were finishing - not only finishing but you were squirting.

“ohmygodddd,” you whimper out, feeling your legs vigorously shake. you gush out right onto the mat. feeling yourself grow hot — you’re even hotter because of choso’s body underneath you.

effortlessly, bodies stick against each other, snuggling in filthy warmth. as you’re leisurely coming to a halting stop of your rhythmic hips, choso’s cock remained tuck inside of you and you catch your breath, head cutely flopping back against his bare chest.

“did . . did you just squirt on me?” choso whimpers, a tremor in his voice.

his voice, it grew a bit raspier. although, you could still hear the softness lingering underneath it.

toji leans in toward you both, spreading your legs open just a bit more - he strums a calloused thumb down your opening, peering as you’re still fluttering out of arousal and was still sopping wet all the way from your needy clit.

“she fuckin’ did,” he coos, and he leans down, getting right on his knees.

you watch with low hooded eyes, still feeling surges of nirvana and euphoria overtake your body. toji purrs in contentment, wide open palms slapping against the foamy ring mat before sticking out his lengthy rosy tongue. you’re catching irregular heavy breaths right along with choso, full lungs preparing to collapse and give out before you pulse.

the moment toji drags his long tongue over the dampened spot of where you just made a mess—you felt yourself throb yet again.

so nasty, he had no shame at all. choso watched too, and he felt the exact same way as you did.

“what a mess,” and with another throaty chuckle leaving his lips, he cleans the mat off entirely before going between your legs. you moan, his palm gifting your cunt with a single abrupt spank. you’re so drenched that a few spurts of your slick coat onto his hand. toji stares at it, scoffing. “pussy tryin’ to talk back i see,” and he rubs his hand in a circular rotation against your cunt, maneuvering all kinds of shapes with his palm. you whimper, grabbing onto choso’s wrist. in awe, toji watches as dumps of cum ooze out of your opening and he even licks that up too, sticky black hair all unkempt and gluing against his forehead. the thin black bangs that run down his brows gives him a more alluring look and he hums, darkened eyes meeting his partner’s. “choso. don’t be a zombie. c’meree.”

you were definitely fucked—

being laid out, defeated and just stupidly stupid.

your legs sprawl outward as they’re both right between them. taking turns, flicking tongues of each against your swollen cunt. they took fighting over you to an entire new level. as they were drinking you dry — you couldn’t help but imagine the lewd thought of taking them both at the same time. you’d probably get crushed, you could barely even handle one as is, but two? that’d be an actual knockout for real.

as you’re still in a trancing daze, you watch both of the boxers with wide rounded eyes, grabbing both of them by the hair. there’s choso who’s really sweet and gentle, giving your pussy soft kitten kisses, softly brushing a thumb down your slit.

and then there’s toji . .

the clit biter - opposite of choso being the clit kisser, he doesn’t care.

with ravened brows furrowing up, he’s so rude to your pussy. every few seconds, he’d tenderly nibble against your pulsating nub, knowing that you’re sensitive there. with a smug grin, he shifts his eyes at you to stare at you dead in the face whilst he’s right between your legs. he’s messy too, moving his head from side to side, his scar swipes against your cunt every now and then.

not only was he messy but he was a hogger. he slurps you clean, luxuriating the tasteless flavor on his tongue before he hears choso cutely huff out in frustration.

“toji, you’re hogging her. ‘s no fair,” he grunts, dark eyes catching a glimpse at him from his hazy peripherals.

“cry ‘bout it,” and he spits on your cunt, hooked bump of his nose rubbing all against your slit.

already - toji’s chin was drenched, and so was choso’s. they both match with a slick of your sheeny arousal dripping down their perfectly chiseled chins. about a good hour had probably passed — then again, you were too dumb to acknowledge the time. all you knew was that you were soaked. you whimper, being nothing but a stiff shivering mess as they devoured you whole.

the numbness in your legs had your back rising up in ecstasy. you wanted more. sloshing slick tongues thrash and glissade against each other before they eventually . . tangle.

toji groans, accidentally meeting with choso’s lips and its brief. his eyelashes open and he has a sly smile at his rival. you watch the entire thing, the timid boxer versus the smug one. toji’s hand still remains on your folds and he’s multitasking, seductively licking choso’s bottom lip - still locking his gaze on him. he’s starting to taking his attention off of you. “hm, don’t tell me you wanted attention from me ‘n not her this entire time, ‘cho.”

a lump gets caught in his throat. choso grows flustered, hearing his own pulse shoot out through his ears as his lips made contact against his rival. “i—”

he’s hard, flaccid still, but definitely hard. there was a loud silence once a smack noise leaves there lips the second they each depart. choso’s got a pout, a longing pout before he tries to act tough.

“shut up, toji.” he grouses, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“how ‘bout ya make me,” and you’re just sat there dumbfounded with your legs still sprawled as if you weren’t just being fought over - invisible questions marks pop up everywhere over your head. what about you? what about you. with quick reflexes, he pins choso flat down on his back before snickering, having the most lewd back arch imaginable.

“our re-match is tonight after all, pretty boy.”

[ughbrie]

ravaged depths | rafayel

⤜ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - You remembered the first Ebb day—how he’d clung to you, delirious, burning up from the inside out. Lemurians didn’t just get fevers. When they went into heat, it was instinct and memory twisted into something raw and feral. He’d held onto you like you were the only tether keeping him grounded. Because you were. You always had been.

So when Thomas told you he’d vanished, that chill ran up your spine.

You knew what this was.

He was probably hiding it. Probably painting himself into madness with those blood-soaked corals he kept sealed in glass like trophies. Maybe he was hurting again. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him like that—vulnerable, a god stripped bare.

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ - rafayel x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ - smut

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 4.2k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags) - nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cutie), dom!rafayel, depictions of heat or mating cycles, references to rafayel's bond story (ebb and flow), possessive behavior, oral sex (f! receiving), clit play, fingering, overstimulation, handjob, cum marking, multiple orgasms, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, unprotected sex, mating press, breeding kink, creampie, and mentions of ownership.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- Well, this was just something that had been bothering me and I had to get it out of my system, lol. There's no plot here, just plain smut. Enjoy reading!

You got the call on a Tuesday.

Thomas’s voice came through sharp and tight over the line, like he was trying not to panic but already halfway there. “I haven’t heard from him in three days. He’s not answering his phone. Studio’s locked, not even a brushstroke done for the exhibit.”

You rubbed your temples. Of course it would happen now.

The thing with Rafayel was—he disappeared sometimes. Not in the ghosting kind of way. No, he always told you where he was going. Always made you promise to text when you were working late, made you promise to tell him if you weren’t coming over. Just so he knew. Just so he didn’t wait by the window like some fool, eyes flicking toward every passing headlight.

“You don’t have to tuck me in, cutie,” he’d joke, head resting in your lap like he belonged there. “Just tell me when to stop waiting.”

He played it off like he was teasing, like he wasn’t dead serious. That was the thing about Rafayel—two faces, same man. Around you, he was soft, dramatic, a little clingy, a little spoiled. He pouted, he flirted, he draped himself on your couch like he paid rent. But when he was with others? Cold as ice. Calculated. He had that detached artist thing down to an art form, and it wasn’t an act. You’d seen the real switch happen more than once—the light in his eyes shutting off like a storm rolling in.

You remembered the first Ebb day—how he’d clung to you, delirious, burning up from the inside out. Lemurians didn’t just get fevers. When they went into heat, it was instinct and memory twisted into something raw and feral. He’d held onto you like you were the only tether keeping him grounded. Because you were. You always had been.

So when Thomas told you he’d vanished, that chill ran up your spine.

You knew what this was.

He was probably hiding it. Probably painting himself into madness with those blood-soaked corals he kept sealed in glass like trophies. Maybe he was hurting again. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him like that—vulnerable, a god stripped bare.

You didn’t wait. You grabbed your gear, told Thomas you’d handle it, and headed straight to his studio.

It was no surprise to find yourself pinned pinned beneath his muscular frame on the couch in his studio, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he feasted on your dripping sex like a man starved. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of his lips smacking and sucking, his tongue delving deep into your folds again and again. You could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with wild abandon.

“Rafayel—!” you gasped.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at the silky strands as the pleasure built to a fever pitch inside you. Rafayel’shands slid up to grip your thighs, pushing them further apart as he buried his face between your legs, his nose pressed against your clit as he tongue-fucked your entrance with deep, powerful strokes.

Fuck.

You could feel your juices coating his chin, dripping down onto the couch beneath you as he ate you out with single-minded focus. Your hips bucked and writhed against his mouth, trying to grind your aching sex against his face as the pressure inside you reached a breaking point. You were so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy as Rafayel’s tongue circled your clit with devastating precision.

Your fingers clenched in his hair, holding him tight against you as you felt your orgasm building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. You were panting and moaning, your chest heaving with each ragged breath as Rafayel brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your walls fluttering, clenching around his invading tongue as he pushed you ruthlessly towards your peak.

Just as you were about to come undone, Rafayel pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“Not yet, cutie. Don’t come, okay?” he purred, his voice rough and low. “I’m not done with you yet.” And with that, he dove back in, sealing his mouth over your sex once more and continuing his relentless assault on your senses, determined to make you crazy.

He was succeeding, because you were in fact going crazy.

Your hands remained fisted in his hair, holding him tight as he ate you out with wild, unbridled hunger, your body trembling and shaking with the force of your impending release. The room filled with the filthy sounds of your coupling, the wet squelches and slurps of Rafayel’s mouth on your sex echoing off the walls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

You whined, “I can’t—I can’t…. I need to—ah!”

You felt two of his long—thick fingers push deep inside your dripping core. Your back arched off the couch, a sharp cry of pleasure tearing from your throat as he began to finger fuck you with deep, powerful strokes. His fingers curled and twisted inside you, stroking along your inner walls and brushing against that sensitive spot that made your toes curl.

Rafayel’s fingers pumped in and out of your tight heat, matching the rhythm of his licks and sucks on your clit. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his invading digits—trying to draw them deeper inside you. 

Suddenly, Rafayel added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you fuller and the new sensation pushed you over the precipice.

You can’t hold it anymore. 

You can’t.

You came with a scream, “Rafayel-!”

Your body convulsed and shook as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your sex clenched and spasmedaround his fingers, gushing and dripping with your release as Rafayel worked you through your orgasm, his fingers pumping and curling inside you, drawing out your pleasure.

You hiccuped, “S-Stop-! I can’t—"

Rafayel never let up his assault on your clit—licking and sucking the sensitive nub as you rode out the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. Your fingers remained fisted in his hair, holding him tight against you as you gasped and shuddered, your body still tingling with the lingering effects of your mind-blowing release. 

Rafayel’s fingers slowly stilled inside you, but he kept them buried deep, plugging you up, as he licked your sex clean of your juices, savoring the taste of your pleasure on his tongue.

You sighed and peered through your half-closed eyelids, Rafayel hovered above you like the tide itself—inevitable, consuming.

His eyes glowed with reddish pink melting into violet, a storm of color that shimmered like sunset trapped beneath the waves. They pulsed with something older, wilder, the kind of magic that belonged to deep-sea gods and forgotten lullabies. Looking into them felt like falling. They held you still, like gravity didn’t belong to the earth anymore, only to him. 

Specks of violet and blue shimmered across his cheeks and down the line of his throat—scales, iridescent and fine as dust, catching the light like stars scattered over his skin. They pulsed faintly with his breath, shifting as if alive, as if tasting the air around you.

You wanted to touch them. Trace them. Memorize the way they glowed like stars scattered across a sea that only he belonged to. But your hands stayed still, curled into the couch cushions, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and the part of you that ached for him.

His skin was damp, slick with heat—his own and yours—and glistened where it met the light, his chest heaving, breath labored but steady. Not desperate. Controlled. 

A god at the edge of surrender.

Sweat trickled down his temple, sliding over the curve of his jaw like it belonged there. His lips—parted, glossy, wet—obviously bitten raw and red from his assaults on your sex. You could smell salt on his skin. Not the kind from the sea. The kind born of fever. 

Of need. Of heat.

And still, the way he looked at you—fuck—it was reverent.

As if your body beneath him was sacred. As if you were the anchor keeping him from drifting into madness. His hand was firm on your hip, fingers splayed, possessive, keeping you pinned in place—not to dominate, but to keep himself from floating away. Like the warmth of you was the only thing tethering him to his shape.

“Rafayel,” you whispered, or maybe you just thought it. But his eyes flickered, focused sharper, like the sound of his name from your lips was enough to bring him back from wherever he was drifting.

He leaned in close enough that the scent of salt and skin filled your senses. 

His weight pressed down gently, never fully—like he was afraid of breaking you. Or maybe afraid of breaking himself if he let go. There was heat rolling off him in waves, dampening your skin where it met his, slick with sweat, pulse jumping in time with yours. You could feel the tremor in his muscles, the restraint, the feral edge buried just beneath the surface.

You weren’t even sure when you stopped breathing. Maybe it was the moment his hands slid up your trembling thighs, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. Maybe it was when his lips hovered a breath above your breasts, his lips latching onto your t-shirt covered nipples. 

He sucked and nibbled at the hardened peaks through the thin fabric, the rough texture of the cotton rubbing deliciously against your sensitive skin. You could feel your nipples straining against the shirt, aching for the direct touch of his mouth, but he teased you mercilessly, refusing to give you the satisfaction of skin on skin contact.

“Please, Rafayel…”

He smiled, and finally his hands slid up your quivering stomach, his fingers splaying across your skin as he pushed your shirt up inch by torturous inch. You lifted your arms, allowing him to peel the garment off your body and toss it carelessly to the side. The cool air hit your newly exposed skin, your nipples pebbling instantly from the change in temperature and the intensity of your arousal.

But that coolness was short-lived as Rafayel’s hot mouth descended upon your breasts, his lips wrapping around one aching, bare nipple and suckling—greedily. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the couch as pleasure sparked through your nerve endings like electricity. Rafayel’s tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, flicking and teasing, before he drew it into his mouth and suckled harder, sending jolts of white-hot bliss straight to your core.

His other hand came up to knead and squeeze the soft flesh of your breast, his fingers sinking into your skin as he massaged the supple mound. He rolled and plucked at your other nipple, pinching and tugging the hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger, giving it the same attention his mouth lavished on its twin. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your sex clenching and fluttering around nothing, still sensitive from your previous release.

Rafayel’s lips moved to your other breast, his mouth covering your nipple and suckling just as greedily as before. He nipped and bit at the tender flesh, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the sting with his tongue. You could feel the wetness of his saliva coating your nipple, the sensation of his mouth on your bare skin is a different sensation entirely.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he worshipped your breasts with lips and tongue and teeth. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into his touch, silently begging for more. Rafayel obliged, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he feasted on your flesh like a starving man at a banquet.

Rafayel looked up at you, eyes glassy and wide, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the pink and violet whole—like he couldn’t see anything but you.

He gasped, voice muffled against your nipple, his lips wet, “Cutie…”

You felt his hips nestle between your thighs, his thick, heavy cock resting against your sensitive sex, still dripping with the evidence of your release. You trembled, thighs shifting and parting slightly, and you felt Rafayel’s cock twitch against your sex, growing harder, more insistent.

He groaned, “I need…”

Understanding him, you reached down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against the hard, velvety tip of his erection. You could feel the moisture from your combined arousal coating his length, making it slick and smooth beneath your touch. You wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft, feeling it pulse and throb in your grip as you slowly stroked up and down, exploring the shape and size of him.

Rafayel let out a low, guttural groan, his hips rocking forward slightly as you touched him. 

“Fuck, cutie… l-let me help you….” he purred.

His hand slid down to cover yours, his fingers curling around your own as he guided your movements, showing you how he liked to be touched, how to stroke and caress his aching flesh. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the desire coiling tighter in your core as you felt Rafayel’s cock grow harder, more urgent against your touch.

Rafayel groaned, low and ragged, “More, please…”

His head dropped against your collarbone—his breath hot and uneven.

Your fingers danced over the tip, teasing the sensitive flesh, smearing the bead of moisture that leaked from the slit. Rafayel’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving against your own as you continued to explore his length, marveling at the way it twitched and jumped beneath your touch. You could feel the power and the strength in his body, the raw, primal masculinity that both thrilled and terrified you. And as you stroked and caressed his cock, you knew that you were playing with fire—but you were more than ready to be consumed by the flames. 

His flames.

As your fingers continued to tease and stroke Rafayel’s throbbing cock, you could feel the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His hips began to rock and thrust against your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of your touch. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he chased his own release.

Suddenly, Rafayel’s body went rigid, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath his skin. A guttural, animalistic groan tore from his throat as his cock jerked and throbbed in your grip, pulsing with a life of its own. You felt the first hot, thick spurt of his seed erupt from the tip, coating your fingers and dripping down onto your sex. 

His hips bucked and shuddered, his body trembling, “Oh gods…”

You continued to stroke his cock, working him through the aftershocks of his release as he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. You could feel his heart racing, his skin flushed and damp with a sheen of sweat as he struggled to catch his breath. Your fingers remained wrapped around his softening length, gently caressing and soothing him as he came down from the high of his climax.

Rafayel’s hand slid up your body, cupping your cheek, tilting your face towards his own. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his desire and his gratitude into the heated embrace. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, the raw, primal hunger that only you seemed to bring out in him. And as you kissed him back just as fiercely, just as desperately, you knew that you would never be able to get enough of this man—of his touch, his passion, his all-consuming love. 

You were his, just as he was yours, two souls entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

His breath ghosted hot against your cheek, shaky and humid, like the tide pulling too close to shore.

“Tell me I can,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, lips brushing your skin. “Tell me I can have you…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek, “Please… I need to feel more of you. All of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m yours.” you whispered, as you reached up to caress his cheek.

He groaned, “You don’t know what you do to me—I’m holding back so much.”

“Then don’t hold back. I want all of it—all of you.” you reassured, “I trust you. Even like this, I’ll always trust you.”

His lips skimmed along your jaw, slick and trembling, like he was drinking you in one slow breath at a time. 

“You’ll ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse with need. “But gods, I want you to.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, glowing eyes flickering.

“I’ll give you everything. Just—don’t look away when I do.”

His gaze were intense and filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Slowly, inch by inch, he began to push forward, the thick head of his erection parting your swollen lips and sinking into your tight, wet heat.

You gasped as you felt him enter you, your walls stretching and yielding to his size. “Rafayel—“

You felt him shudder when you whispered his name, like a wave breaking at last against the shore. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips as your silken walls enveloped him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. He began to push deeper, inch by excruciating inch, allowing you to feel every throb and pulse of his hard cock as it disappeared inside you.

He hissed, “You’re so tight. F-Fuck, c-cutie—” his voice cracked—soft, desperate—as if the need was clawing its way out of his chest.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you struggled to adjust to his size. Rafayel’s hand slid down to your hip, gripping it tightly as he continued his slow, steady push forward, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt inside you. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, filling and stretching you in a way that was almost too much to bear.

For a long moment, Rafayel remained still, allowing you to feel the throb and twitch of his cock deep inside your core. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he savored the feeling of being one with you, joined in the most intimate way possible. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strength and power in his body as he held himself above you, pinning you down with his weight and his presence.

Slowly, Rafayel began to move, withdrawing his hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. Then, with a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward again, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful stroke. He set a steady rhythm, his hips rocking and rolling against your own as he began to make love to you with deep, purposeful thrusts that hit that secret spot inside you with every drive of his hips.

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his, taking him deeper, urging him on. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, of your mingled moans and cries of pleasure as Rafayel took you with a passion and a hunger that left you breathless and aching for more. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter with every thrust, every stroke of his hard, thick cock inside your dripping sex.

He moved like he was drowning in want, and beneath the glitter of scales and heat-slick skin, he was unraveling, and you were the only thing holding him together, like you were the only air left.

Rafayel suddenly hooked his arms under your knees, pulling your legs up and back as he pushed your knees towards your chest. He maneuvered your body with ease, his strength allowing him to bend and position you as he desired. As he did this, he pushed your thighs further apart, opening you wider to him. Your legs were now bent at an angle, your knees pressed against your chest, completely exposing your sex to his hungry gaze.

With this new position, Rafayel could drive his cock even deeper into your core. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your ass as he began to piston in and out of you with long, powerful strokes. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside you, his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick shaft dragging along your sensitive walls, igniting sparks of pleasure that raced up your spine.

“T-That’s it, cutie. Take it, yeah? Take it.” he moaned.

Rafayel’s hips slammed against yours, the force of his thrusts making your body jolt and shake. He was fucking you with wild abandon, his eyes dark and intense as he watched your face, watching the pleasure play out across your features. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core as Rafayel’s cock pounded into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against the force of his thrusts. You could feel the sweat dripping down your body, your skin slick and flushed with the exertion of your lovemaking. Rafayel’s chest heaved above you, his muscles flexing and rippling with every movement, showcasing his raw, primal strength.

“Fuck, cutie,” Rafayel growled, his voice rough and low. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his hips against yours, stirring his cock deep inside you. “I can feel you squeezing me, cutie. You want to come on my cock, don’t you? Want to take every last drop of me?” His words were filthy, obscene, but they only served to turn you on more, to make you burn hotter for him.

You nod, frantically, eagerly. You gasped, “Yes, yes, yes—please, Rafayel!”

“Fuck, I want to breed this pussy—want to make you mine!” He growled, his voice cracking.

Rafayel’s fingers found your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as Rafayel continued to pound into you with wild abandon, his hips slapping against yours, the obscene sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“Come on, cutie,” Rafayel growled, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder against your clit. “Come all over my cock. I want to feel you come apart for me.” His words were rough, demanding, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the couch as you felt your orgasm building to a crescendo. Rafayel’s cock was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. You could feel the pressure in your core winding tighter and tighter, your walls clenching and squeezing around Rafayel’s shaft, trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside you.

With a scream of Rafayel’s name, you came undone, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your sex clenched and spasmed around Rafayel’s cock, gushing and dripping with your release as he fucked you through your climax, drawing out your pleasure.

Feeling your walls clamp down around him, Rafayel let out a guttural roar, his body going rigid as he found his own release. His cock jerked and throbbed inside you, pulsing as he spilled his hot release deep into your core. You could feel the warmth of it, the thickness of it, painting your insides.

He was draped over you in an instant like a weighted blanket, limbs tangled, cheek pressed to your chest, his breath ragged. His skin was damp, faintly glowing, but his body had softened, all the tension melted into your touch.

“Mmh…” he mumbled, voice low and lazy, lips brushing your collarbone. “That felt so good, cutie.”

You laughed, well, tried to. “Are you feeling better now?”

He shook his head, “Still burning. But I’m choosing not to die about it right now.”

You huffed a laugh, fingers carding gently through his sweat-damp hair. “Choosing?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Choosing rest. Choosing you. Very brave of me.”

He tilted his head up just enough to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded but still glowing faintly, pupils still too wide. “Don’t move, cutie,” he said, dramatically nuzzling back into your skin. “If you leave, I’ll literally melt. You’ll come back to nothing but glitter and salt.”

You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.

“Good,” he whispered, already half-asleep. “Knew you had a soft spot for me.”

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if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

[mieisunki]

getting caught

alt: caught in an intimate moment with enhypen

ot7 x female reader warnings: suggestive (mdni)

masterlist

heeseung:

heeseung is one of the members that won't get embarrassed when the two of you got caught. he is a grown man, and if he wants to have some fun with his girl, he will. you, on the other hand, are mortified.

the guys and their girls (including you) had rented out a beach house for vacation. and of course for a beach vacation, you had to buy some new swimsuits that you kept a surprise from heeseung. you felt his eyes on you the whole time you guys were playing in the water.

after playing, the guys went to play volleyball while the rest of the girls went to grab something to eat. you weren't hungry, so you were resting on one of the lounge chairs. right when you got fully comfortable and thought you were alone, you felt something pull at your swimsuit tie. you startle, smacking away heeseung's hand while he laughed.

"not cool." you grumbled before you laid back down. you could feel heeseung's eyes on you when you closed your eyes.

"you're right baby." he sat down next to you. "but neither is my smoking hot girlfriend for not giving me any attention."

"what are you waiting for?"

heeseung leaned forward at your question, finally kissing you. your hands reached up, raking through his damp hair while his roamed your exposed skin. he pulled away from your lips, moving down to your neck. his hand had just grazed the edge of your swimsuit when someone cleared their voice.

"you two lasted a lot longer than i thought." you jump at the voice, pulling away from heeseung to see jay standing there with the volleyball. you face turned as red as your swimsuit, but heeseung just smirked at his friend.

"can't blame a guy, can you?" jay rolled his eyes at heeseung.

"at least go to your room, you horndog." heeseung let out a huff before standing up. you thought he was going to go back to the guys. but to your shock, he bent down, scooping you in his arms. your let out a yell as you were thrown over his shoulder. his hand slapped your ass as he carried you back to the house.

"we'll be down later." heeseung called out as he opened the back door. "maybe."

rest under cut

jongseong:

jay, similar to heeseung, will not be embarrassed at all. he will be annoyed at whoever decided to disturb his time with you while you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

jay was in one of the empty studios, trying to figure out a guitar rift when you showed up. he had been waiting to see you all day, so of course he all but threw his guitar before pulling you onto his lap. you straddled his lap as he kissed you like he had been waiting to all day.

"you could say hello first." you smirk as you pull away.

"hi, my pretty girl." he responded to you before kissing you again.

you were more than happy to oblige, kissing him back. his hands rest on your thighs, rubbing soft circles on the exposed skin as your kisses got more heated. he shifted you in his lap, unintentionally grinding you down onto his lap and causing a soft moan to slip past your lips.

the two of you failed to hear the door open. you only knew someone was there when you heard them gasp. you pull away from jay to see jungwon standing there, shocked at what he just walked into. you let out a shocked gasp, hiding your face in jay's shoulder while he glared at jungwon.

"leave."

you heard a small sorry before the door shut. jay wrapped his arms around you as you apologized. "i'm sorry jay. i thought i locked the door."

he would tell you it's okay, more concerned about you than him. you would recover after a few minutes before pulling away and looking at him. you could tell he wanted to continue, but was going to push it just in case you didn't. luckily for him you did, leaning in and kissing him.

"can we continue?" you ask when you pull away. he smiles, nodding his head before kissing your cheek.

"of course, pretty. let's just make sure the door's locked this time."

jaeyun:

jake will be one of the members that would get not necessarily embarrassed for him but for you. he would feel bad for not being careful enough that someone other than him saw you in a compromised position.

the two of you were watching a movie in jake's room. the movie was quickly forgotten, jake in between your open legs as his lips moved heatedly against yours. your legs were wrapped around his waist. your shirt was lifted up, exposing your stomach.

"my gorgeous girl." he mumbled against your lips before he started kissing your neck. his hands were about to push your shirt up more when jake's door opened.

"oh shit. sorry guys." you hear sunghoon's voice, but the door was shut by the time you two looked. jake pulled away from you before running out of the room and yelling at sunghoon for his lack of knocking. once he came back, he had a pout on his face.

"baby, i'm so sorry." he apologized profusely. "i thought i locked the door. i always make sure i do."

"it's okay jake."

you watch him as he triple checked the handle to make sure the door was locked before continuing his apology. "i don't know what happened. i promise it won't happen again."

"hey jake?"

"yes?" he turned to look at you. you were still laying in the same position as before. you motioned to him with your hand.

"shut up and come kiss me."

sunghoon:

sunghoon is another member who not going to be embarrassed about getting caught. he will be similar to jake and get upset if someone saw you in a compromised position that only he was allowed to see.

it was late. the two of you had just finished dinner with the rest of the guys and were laying in bed. all it took was one comment from you for you to end up on top of him, lips pressed to his. his hands were resting on your hips- tracing circles on the exposed skin.

you had just sat up, sunghoon removing your shirt and leaving you in your bra, before kissing down sunghoon's neck. you grinded down on him causing a groan to slip past his lips when all of a sudden you were on your side. you didn't see jake open the door to sunghoon's bedroom, but he did. he pulled the blanket over you before blocking you completely from jake's view.

"do you know how to fucking knock?"

you peak around to see a red faced jake standing there. "sorry man. we were going to get ice cream and wanted to see if you two wanted any."

"clearly not."

"right." jake nodded before leaving. "sorry, yn."

"don't talk to her."

sunghoon quickly got up, pushing jake out of the room before slamming (and locking) the door. you sat up, blanket falling away from you as you watch your clearly upset boyfriend.

"i'm sorry, baby." he apologized as he made his way back to bed. "i thought i locked the door."

"its okay, hoon." you smile before reaching up and unhooking your bra before throwing it at him. "you can just make it up to me the rest of the night."

seonwoo:

this poor baby is going to be so embarrassed. he's never going to be able to face his members again. the two of you really didn't mean to. you were hanging out at the dorms, and sunoo said that all of his other members were out, leaving just you two.

it started out pg. the two of you were baking because sunoo said he wanted to try out this new cookie recipe. the cookies just went into the oven, and you were cleaning up the mess. the only issue is that sunoo looked way too good while washing dishes.

"it should be illegal for someone to look this good while washing dishes." sunoo laughed at your 'complaint.' he leaned over, kissing the pout off of your lips.

"it should be illegal for you to wear that dress, but you don't see me complaining." once sunoo had dried his hands, he pulled you into a hug- letting his hands drift to your ass and squeezing.

that was how you ended up pressed up against the counter. sunoo's lips had just left yours and were trailing heated kisses down your neck. your hands drifted in his hair, pulling slightly when he sucked a mark on your neck.

"really guys? the kitchen?" the two of you jumped when you heard riki's voice. you see him looking at the two of you with an amused look. "can't even get some water in peace around here."

you smile while apologizing, not really reacting to him catching you. sunoo, on the other hand, kept his head in your neck, refusing to look at riki while mumbling how he was never going to live this down. "i blame you for this."

"me?" you laughed, pulling away from him to get the cookies when the timer went off.

"yes you! why do you always have to look so good?" he exclaimed.

"if i look so good, can we continue what we started?" you look over at sunoo after you set the cookies down. the both of you knew that he never said no to you. he grabbed your hand, pulling you close to him.

"of course we can. just in the privacy of my room."

jungwon:

jungwon is going to be very similar to sunoo in the fact that he is going to be very embarrassed. you don't even get a chance to be embarrassed due to how embarrassed jungwon is. though he does recover faster than sunoo.

his group dance practice had ended, and he was alone in the practice room working on a solo dance. you were sitting against the mirror, holding the phone steady while recording him. your boyfriend always looked good while dancing, and today was no exception.

the song had just ended, and you stood up before handing jungwon the phone. he smiled at you before kissing you softly. "thanks for filming."

"of course." you smile, standing on your toes to kiss him again. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him. your arms snaked around his neck as the kiss got more heated.

he pushes you backward against the mirror before his your lips leave his. he tilts his head as you kiss down his neck. his hands squeeze your waist when you kisses a sensitive area.

"oh!" the two of you jump when you heard sunoo. his face was just as red as jungwon's as he walked over to his bag. "sorry guys. i forgot my bag."

after he grabbed the bag, he quickly ran out of the room. you stifle a laugh as your clearly embarrassed boyfriend pulled you into his arms. "are you finished? or did you want to run through the dance one more time?"

"actually, there is one more thing i want to do." he mumbled as he pulled away. you fully expected him to go back to his phone to restart the song to dance to again. instead, he turned on some random playlist before locking the door. as soon as he turn to you with a smirk, you knew exactly what he wanted to do.

"and what do you want to do?"

he motioned his head for you to come to him. "you'll have to come here and find out."

riki:

riki will try so hard to be nonchalant. he will pretend like he's not the embarrassed boy you know he is. it will last until the member leaves before he's burying his face in your neck while wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

the two of you were in the living room. the rest of the guys were scattered off doing who knows what. you were sitting in between riki's legs while the two of you played a game on the tv. you had just let out a groan when riki won at the last second. he laughed in victory as his arms tightened around you.

"another win for me."

"shut up." you grumble pushing him away from you. he tightened his arms around you. "dude, lighten your grip. i can't breathe."

"i will if you give me a kiss."

you tilt your head up, puckering your lips for him. he smiled before leaning down and kissing you. his hands drops the controller before he cups your cheeks. you smile as you pull away.

"i love you."

he smiles, pulling you into another kiss. "i love you too baby."

"what do we have here?" the two of you pull apart to see heeseung smiling at you two. "on our couch? we sit here, you know."

"how many times have we caught you and your girl on this said couch?" riki questioned with a raised eyebrow while he tried to keep his composure, but the tips of his hears turned red from embarrassment.

"touché." he held up his hands before he left the room. "use protection."

you couldn't help but laugh at the comment. riki let out a groan before hiding his face in your neck. you brush off his embarrassment, picking up the controller once again. "i want a rematch."

"no."

"no? you scared i'll win?" you question with a smirk. he lifts up his head, resting it on your shoulder. all it took was one look from him to understand what he wanted. "you want to keep going, don't you?"

"maybe." he mumbled. you let out a sigh as you pull away from him.

"come on."